3: The Kids
Frank followed Fiona and the boys home. As soon as they opened the door, a little girl came running and threw her arms around Frank's leg.
She looked to be about eight or nine years old, with a round, cherubic face and light freckles—just like Ian. She was incredibly cute.
"Welcome home, Daddy!" she said, hugging him tightly.
"Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing. Let me guess—your name is Debbie?" Frank lifted the little girl into his arms and rubbed his cheek against hers affectionately.
Fiona had mentioned the names of his children earlier—Lip, Ian, Debbie, Carl, and Liam. He'd already met Lip and Ian, the two handsome boys. Of the remaining names, "Debbie" was clearly the most likely to belong to a girl.
Carrying Debbie in his arms, Frank walked further into the house and spotted two more children.
One was a boy, around six or seven, who seemed a bit spaced out as he sat on the couch, eyes glued to the television. He didn't even glance at Frank when he entered.
The other was a baby—still in a playpen—barely over a year old. What really caught Frank off guard was that the baby was Black.
"That one's Carl," Fiona said as she tossed off her coat and ruffled the boy's hair. Carl swatted her hand away without even taking his eyes off the screen.
"And this little one is Liam. Did you miss me?" Fiona cooed as she bent down to pick up the baby.
"Uh… was your mother Black?" Frank asked, stunned as he stared at the baby.
"What's wrong with Frank?" Debbie and Carl both looked confused by the question. Even Carl finally turned his attention away from the TV.
"It's complicated," Fiona replied. "He's lost his memory. Doesn't remember any of us."
"He lost his memory? That's… awesome!" Carl's eyes lit up with curiosity.
"Fiona, Lip, Ian, Debbie, Carl, Liam…" Frank repeated the names, holding Debbie as he looked around at all the kids, trying hard to memorize who was who.
There were just so many of them. It was a bit overwhelming. Frank couldn't match all the names to the faces immediately, but the names did feel familiar—like they were on the tip of his tongue.
Once they were back home, the kids all went back to doing their own thing, paying little attention to Frank.
Frank sat on the couch with Carl, watching TV. Debbie stayed close to him, knowing he had amnesia, and Carl soon lost interest in the TV and began bombarding Frank with endless questions—some of them very odd.
Time passed quickly, and before long, it was time to prepare dinner. Fiona headed to the kitchen.
"Need any help?" Frank asked, getting up and walking over.
"…What?" Fiona was caught off guard, genuinely surprised by the offer.
"Uh… sure. You can take the eggs to the table," she said, handing him a plate.
Frank obediently helped her prepare dinner for everyone.
"How long has your mom been gone?" Frank asked as he watched Fiona move about the kitchen with practiced ease.
"A long time," Fiona replied casually.
Clearly, "a long time" didn't mean days or weeks—it must've been years. Otherwise, Fiona wouldn't be so skilled and confident taking care of everything on her own.
"So… you've been raising all these kids by yourself? I didn't help at all?" Frank asked hesitantly.
Pfft! "Help? If you didn't make things worse, that was already a miracle," Fiona snorted as she continued cooking, as if Frank had just told the funniest joke she'd ever heard.
"Uh…" Frank didn't know how to respond to that. He couldn't even imagine what kind of person he must have been before.
"Fiona, is dinner ready yet?" Lip shouted from upstairs.
"Almost! Everyone come down to eat!" Fiona called back.
Suddenly, the house erupted into chaos—shouting, banging, and the thunderous sound of kids rushing down the stairs from the second floor.
"All these years… you've really held it together. You're incredible," Frank said sincerely.
People often talked about how hard it was to raise a child alone—how single parents worked themselves to the bone. But usually, those stories were about one, maybe two kids.
This house, though, had a whole pack—boys, girls, teens, even a baby. And from what Frank had gathered, before losing his memory, he hadn't done a damn thing to help. Fiona had raised them all, pretty much on her own. Just thinking about it made him feel overwhelmed.
"It's nothing," Fiona replied quietly. Her hands paused, and she turned away.
The kids were already seated at the table, digging into dinner like they hadn't eaten in days. Fiona didn't join them. Instead, she went to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and headed out the back door, which led to the yard.
"Fiona?" Lip called after her.
"You guys eat. I'm not hungry," she said as she stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
Fiona sat on the back steps, took a sip of beer, and gazed out at the street. A faint smile tugged at her lips—until it faded, and she buried her face in her arms, silently crying.
---
Later, when everyone had finished dinner, Lip came out to the backyard holding a beer.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Nothing," Fiona said, wiping her tears with her sleeve, still facing away from him—determined to stay strong.
"It's because of Frank, isn't it?" Lip asked.
She didn't answer, but her silence was all the confirmation he needed.
"Do you think someone can really change that much just from losing their memory? He seems like a completely different person now," Lip said, leaning against a porch post, taking a swig of his beer.
"I don't know," Fiona said quietly, shaking her head and sipping her own drink.
"In some ways, maybe it'd be better if he never remembered," Lip said. "But if he does—if the old Frank comes back—he's just going to be the same useless asshole he always was. Don't get your hopes up."
"I'm not. I never expected anything from Frank," Fiona replied calmly.
"Good." Lip pushed off the post. "I'm going back in to study. It's getting cold these days."
He went inside, leaving Fiona alone for a few more minutes. She sat in silence, took one last breath of the cool night air, then gave her face a firm pat and went back inside.
"School tomorrow! Get to bed!" she shouted to the kids lounging on the couch watching TV, especially Debbie and Carl.
Frank, meanwhile, was led to the bathroom by Debbie to wash up. Then she walked him to his room.
"My kids…" Frank thought as a smile tugged at his lips. He closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.
---
That night, Frank dreamt. Pieces of his past floated up in the quiet, uninterrupted darkness. For once, no chaos yanked him out of it. No shouting, no crashing.
The next morning, as sunlight spilled through the window and lit up the unfamiliar ceiling, Frank opened his eyes.
He lay still for a moment, blinking, trying to piece things together.
Then, suddenly, it hit him.
"I remember! I know who I am! I have kids! I finally have kids!!" he shouted, springing upright in bed, eyes wide, fists clenched with excitement, flailing his arms in a burst of joy.