Franny Simmons has no luck. In the space of three months, she called off her wedding, and lost her beloved grandmother, who left more than a few surprises in her will.
In order to inherit her grandmother's apartment, Franny must move in with Mason...
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Dear Granny Gene,
Well, it's still a shit show here.
Its been three weeks and things aren't much better between us. I'm trying to keep myself busy while keeping a safe distance from Mason, but he's making it near impossible.
There's always a thousand and one questions from him. Why can't he just let things be for a while? Let me settle back into living with him again.
"It's because you gave me a damn time frame," he says is the reason.
I would just love some space.
*knock, knock, knock *
"Franny?"
Oh my god—that's him! For goodness sake. Didn't I tell you?
I'm not answering him.
It's the last weekend I have off work for another two months, and it's my time to chill out and do nothing until at least three o'clock.
He can go away.
We have been awake for four hours and he's already managed to ask me seven questions. Yes. I counted.
Do you think he's doing it on purpose?
To drive me into an argument?
He knocks again. "Franny? Are you all right?"
I close my eyes and breathe. "Yes, Mason."
"Can I come in for a second?"
I'm still breathing deep. "Sure."
The door no longer creeks in here by the way. I decided to replace it. I know you always said to keep it that way as an alarm incase you get burgled during the night, but the noise went straight through me.
He steps into my bedroom with a half-smile. "I'm going out to lunch with a few friends."
Oh, praise the Lord, he's leaving.
"Have fun," I say and it sounds ridiculously happy.
I think my happiness throws him for a second. I can't lie. I have been a bit of a moody cow recently.
I just miss you like crazy and resent the situation I have found myself in.
"Do you want me to bring you any food back?" he asks, and I notice he's wearing the sixties- style jumper of grandpa's we found in the loft.
Oh, granny Gene, you had good taste. Those clothes were something else. I can't believe Chanel used to sell such things... and you weren't kidding when you said your old job used to pay well.
I mean... Chanel?!
Do you mind me keeping the clothes? I don't really know why I'm asking you this now, but it feels right to do it.
I always used to admire your fashion sense. Those fancy hats with peacock feathers and diamond jewels were a dream of mine. Do you remember letting me play dress up with them?
"No. I'm good," I say regarding the food, still studying his jumper.
Mason rubs his hands all over his front. "Does it look good on me?"
Strangely—it does.
I go back to writing this letter. "It's fine."
"Franny?"
It's official. I think I just lost my mind. "What Mason?"
He flares his nostrils at my tone. "You didn't answer my question. Do you want me to bring anything back for you?"
Yes, I bloody did. He just doesn't listen. "No, thank you."
Geez, does this man know when to give up?
The longer you're gone, the more I realise you were right... about everything. You always said Mason was too stubborn for his own good.
And, I see it now.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record; I'm still wondering why on earth you did this to me.
Did you have some kind of plan set out for us or something? I know you always wanted me to have this apartment. We spoke about it numerous times growing up.
I guess I'm just trying to work everything out.
"Well, if you change your mind, you can text me," he says, hovering by the door like a stalking ghost.
I find myself looking at him. "Are you okay?"
"Just wanted to say how beautiful you look." Then he's shutting the door and leaving.
Your words echo in my mind: It's a complement, Frangipani pants, take it.
Damn, he's pulling a smile from me. I force my mouth to relax and lose my train of thought.
What were we talking about?
Oh, yes... wait a second.
Do you hear that commotion downstairs?
Is that Mason screaming?
"Shit, get down here!"
I rest my pen on my knee. "What's going on now?"
*crashing sounds*
One minute, Gran. I'll be back.
*Open door sounds, echoing voices and muffled screams.*
"Oh, my god, catch it!"
"Catch it?" Mason bellows. "Not a chance in fucking hell! You catch it!"
"Me?!"
He lets out a deep shriek before starting to jump on the spot. "Yes! You work with animals."
It's huge. A ginormous black rat with an even bigger pink tail. And it's squeaking. Pretty loudly.
I can't help but wonder how it got here in the first place. It's not like we can leave a door open for it to crawl inside. Maybe it came through an open window, but then do they even climb that high?
"They usually come in pairs, you know," says Mason.
I do a funny walk towards the other end of the kitchen, trying my best to escape the rat. I know it's still a creature, but, it's disgusting.
"Not helping," I say back to him, trying to use the brush as a shield.
"Out, out, out, little friend. You're not welcome here!"
Mason slams the kitchen door shut. "Don't chase it in there. It'll be in the house then. We only have on choice and that's to catch it."
He has a point.
I rush over to your yellow pages directory and wonder if any of these businesses are still trading. The book must be as old as me.
Rat Man John.
Here's one. And it says he's been trading for twenty-plus years. It's worth a try. Mason calls while I do my best to seal off any gaps. The rat disappeared a bit ago through a gap under the skirting board, but by the noises he's going to make another appearance soon.
Is it okay if I get back to you later?
My hands are tied right now.
And I'm wondering if you left your pet rat out of the will.
