Morning sunlight spilled into the living room in wide, golden bands. Fiona stirred awake on the couch, the blanket half-kicked off her legs. Her first thought was that something was… off.
The air felt different. Newer.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, and that's when it hit her.
The living room wasn't the same.
The old, boxy TV that took forever to turn on was gone, replaced by a sleek flat-screen mounted to the wall. The sagging coffee table had been swapped out for something solid and polished. Even the couch she was sitting on felt firmer, like it hadn't been sat on by a dozen Gallaghers over the years.
"What the hell…" she muttered, standing up.
She walked into the kitchen and stopped dead.
It looked like a catalog picture. The dented, wheezing fridge had been replaced with a stainless steel monster that hummed softly, not rattled like a dying fan. The toaster was shiny and chrome, the coffee maker looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, and the countertops… were clean. Not just wiped down—clean in a way that made them seem like brand new installations.
She stepped back into the hallway, heart ticking faster, and that's when she noticed the laundry room door was open. The ancient washing machine that sounded like it might explode every time it hit the spin cycle was gone. In its place was a quiet, gleaming pair of front-loaders, still smelling faintly of packaging plastic.
Her voice came out sharper than she meant.
"Frank!"
There was a beat of silence, then the bathroom door down the hall opened. Frank Jr. stepped out, hair damp, towel around his shoulders, looking at her like she'd just interrupted him mid-song.
"What's wrong?" he asked, walking toward her.
She gestured around them with both hands. "What's wrong? Are you kidding me? The TV, the kitchen, the laundry room—Frank, how the hell did you pull this off?"
He blinked at her, then gave a little shrug. "I worked for it."
"Worked for it?" she repeated, incredulous. "In one night?"
"Yeah," he said casually, moving past her into the kitchen like this was nothing. "It was a long night."
She followed him in, crossing her arms. "Doing what?"
He paused at the counter, grabbing a mug from the cupboard like her question didn't have teeth. "Tech stuff."
"Tech stuff?"
"Yeah," he said, pouring himself coffee. "You know. Computers. Systems. It's not really your thing."
Fiona stared at him, not buying it for a second. "Frank, you've never so much as set up a Wi-Fi router in your life."
He smiled faintly, sipping his coffee. "Doesn't mean I can't learn."
She stepped closer, her voice low but firm. "I'm serious. If you're doing something that's gonna get you in trouble—"
"I'm not," he said, cutting her off, his tone calm but final. "Bills are handled, house needed upgrades. I took care of it. That's all you need to know."
She studied his face for a long moment. He didn't flinch, didn't fidget. Either he was telling the truth, or he was better at lying than she remembered.
Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. "This doesn't feel real."
"Get used to it," he said, leaning against the counter. "I told you I'm handling things now."
Fiona glanced around the kitchen again, still half in disbelief. Part of her wanted to push harder. The other part… didn't want to know. Not yet.
"Fine," she said finally, turning toward the hallway. "But if whatever 'tech stuff' you're doing blows back on this family, I swear—"
"It won't," Frank Jr. said without hesitation.
She gave him one last look before heading toward the stairs, muttering under her breath. "We'll see."
He watched her go, sipping his coffee, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
The sound of feet on the stairs broke the quiet.
Carl came down first, yawning so wide it looked like it hurt, rubbing his eyes with one hand and scratching his side with the other. Debbie followed, carrying Liam against her hip, her hair still a little wild from sleep.
Carl stopped halfway into the kitchen and blinked like he'd walked into the wrong house.
"What the…?" His eyes darted from the fridge to the coffee maker to the flat-screen visible through the doorway. "When did we get… all this?"
Debbie's jaw dropped. "Oh my God… is that new? Is all of this new?" She turned to Frank Jr., wide-eyed. "How?"
Frank just grinned over the rim of his coffee mug. "Early Christmas."
Before they could push for more answers, Lip came in last, hoodie half-zipped, his hair still damp from a quick shower. He glanced around once, frowned slightly, then headed straight for the cabinet to get a glass.
"Where were you yesterday?" Frank asked, setting his mug down. "I was looking for you. Wanted to talk, but couldn't find you."
Lip poured himself some orange juice, not looking up. "Tutoring."
"Who?"
"A girl named Karen," Lip said, leaning against the counter as he drank.
Frank's brow furrowed for a fraction of a second. In his head, pieces of the show he remembered clicked together—Karen Jackson. The smile. The trouble. The fallout. Lip had no idea yet, but Frank did.
He kept his face neutral. "Your brother needs tutoring more than your friend Karen."
Lip raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Which brother?"
Frank's eyes slid toward Carl. "Carl."
Carl straightened immediately, looking offended. "Hey! I don't need tutoring. My teachers just don't get me."
Frank leaned back in his chair, his smirk faint but unshaken. "Yeah, that's usually how it works."
Carl muttered something under his breath and grabbed a piece of toast, clearly done with the conversation. Debbie sat at the table with Liam, still looking around the kitchen like she couldn't believe the changes were real.
"Seriously," she said again, "where did all this come from?"
Frank took another sip of coffee, calm as ever. "Told you. Early Christmas."
No one seemed satisfied with that answer, but no one pushed further—at least not yet. The clink of dishes and the hum of the new fridge filled the room, a quiet tension curling under the morning routine.
Frank didn't mind. Let them wonder. For now, the bills were covered, the house looked like it belonged to a family that had a shot, and that was enough.