Chapter Text
Florence puts the photo of Anatoly and his family on the fridge with a strawberry-shaped magnet, and he wonders when she even bought these magnets and which terribly tasteless foster family taught her about such things. Also, he’d rather not think about Anatoly every time he wants to enjoy some leftover beef and broccoli.
Everyone in the photo looks miserable, which Florence says is just the culture (fucking miserable culture it is), but there’s a difference between not smiling in a photo and looking on the verge of a murder suicide.
Of course, his own parents always looked very happy in photos, so it could all be bullshit.
But, truly, he’s glad that Anatoly is back with his family, where he belongs. Children abandoned by fathers tend to end up pretty fucked up. He’s heard.
But he’s trying hard not to start stuff with Florence since her belly is full with his child. He’s sure she doesn’t want to hear about how fridges aren’t meant to have things stuck to them and how it sets his teeth on edge.
“Svetlana’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Florence asks, catching Freddie looking at the photo.
The question is tricky. If he agrees, she might be hurt. She’s been insecure lately about her pregnancy weight and asking if he’s still attracted to her, like she can’t tell from the fact that he still gets hard at the faintest touch from her. If he disagrees, it seems like he’s jealous of the Russian woman and is quite obviously lying. The blonde is objectively stunning.
“She looks unpleasant. Typical commie wife. Probably makes his life hell, takes all the money he’s earned and makes him beg for enough for a drink or two.”
Okay, well, that did sound jealous.
“Freddie, you’re not still-“ Her eyes darken.
“No,” He rushes to reassure her. “I have everything I need right here, believe me.”
He kisses her softly. “And, anyway, we’re never going to see him again.”
“Well, don’t say it like that. It sounds so final and…sad. You never know what might happen.”
He wishes Florence would make up her damn mind on the subject of Anatoly, but somehow he is both a threat to their marriage and her best friend who she misses terribly. Why do women have to make everything so complicated?
Freddie misses him too, of course, but not…in that way. And they’re basically pen pals at this point.
Florence recently sent Anatoly a photo of her and Freddie with the stray cat she showed up with one night instead of their groceries, and it was pretty embarrassing for a “family portrait,” but they’re getting there.
He wonders if Svetlana has attached this photo to their fridge in Moscow with a magnet in a quirky shape, but she looks quite severe and also like she would know better.
Still, he must admit the cat is an excellent companion. He’s small and grey and content to sit in Freddie’s lap, purring while he flips through Chess Life and drinks his morning coffee.
Florence has named him Smokey, which is terribly unoriginal, but he was supposed to be her cat. Instead, he’s taken to following Freddie around the apartment, making soft mews until he picks him up.
Freddie makes sure to make a big fuss about how annoying he finds it, but, secretly, he is pleased to be chosen.
Florence says the cat will help him prepare to be a father, but unless their baby is also going to be shitting in a box, he finds the two things fairly unrelated.
Now, she comes up behind Freddie and rests her chin on his shoulder. “I have a surprise for you,” she whispers in his ear.
He’s not sure if he should be turned on or genuinely alarmed. Florence’s surprises have a mixed track record. Sometimes they are things like furniture she found in the street that’s likely housing an extended family of bedbugs or ballroom dancing lessons that yes, he will be attending.
Still, he is intrigued despite his better judgment.
“Oh, really?”
“I got it sent from a special mail-order catalog.”
Okay, that’s not really assuaging his fears.
“It’s not another reptile, is it? I thought we learned they don’t thrive in captivity. At least not with us.”
“Yes, I remember,” she replies solemnly, facing him now. “No, this is something special. For the bedroom,” she smiles mischievously, her dark eyes sparkling. “I was waiting for the right time. I’m going to give you something you miss.”
“We don’t need a toy for that,” he teases, squeezing her ass playfully.
“Not that! Well, actually, kind of that. Why don’t you just go upstairs, and I’ll show you?”
“Okay,” he says warily. He’s already hard, and it’s annoying because his body should really understand situations better.
“Go upstairs, take off all your clothes, and lie facedown on the bed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says only semi-sarcastically and winks.
Okay, this is kind of exciting in a nerve-wracking way. Besides, he’s a good boy - what choice does he have but to follow orders?