( frank grasps the bottle like a lifeline. it makes for an easy ritual and distraction: hand around throat, cold glass to lips, that slight fizz on his tongue. it’d need to be something stronger to help tide him through this conversation properly, but he wasn’t going to show up at her door wavering and drunk and messy, either. this is already going to be difficult enough. )

Just through the holidays, probably. Wanna see the tree lighting at Rockefeller.

( his kids had loved it — ice-skating at the rink — new york in the season, the macy’s windows lit up — all of the reminders makes it harder, but that’s exactly why he comes back. he marinates in it like pushing his fingers down on the bruise, making sure he still feels something, waiting to see if it still hurts. if it does, that’s good. it means he still cares.

and unfortunately, as he scrutinises karen over this bottle, he finds himself having to conclude that this hurts, too. he takes a deep breath, pushes out the exhale, holds the drink to his chest. )

Listen. Thanks for letting me in. Didn’t know if— things weren’t great, the way we last left off. And I don’t like leaving unfinished business.

( she’s not business, frank, you idiot,
but that’s the closest to how he can think to broach it. to start broaching it. )