Work Text:
Mel doesn't remember their mom eating much. When she and Becca were little, she would sit down at the table with half the serving they had, and when asked about it, she would simply shrug, smile and answer one of two things:
"Oh, a grain of rice could fill me, sweetheart. I have a fast metabolism". Or: "A mother would take the food off her mouth just to feed her children”. Their father would chuckle alongside her, seemingly unbothered.
The thing is they weren't poor. Food wasn't something they were worried about, not for the good ten first years of Mel’s and Becca’s life before their father died. After that, their mom had to pick up an office job and things were a little more tight with the salary of a secretary, but not enough to not provide food. Maybe there weren't as many fresh vegetables, but Mel and Becca didn't really like those anyway. They were happy with some nuggets and mashed potatoes, noodles on Tuesday, tacos on Wednesday and pizza on Friday.
So she grew up eating. Maybe not healthy, but eating at least. She ate her plate completely, plus whatever Becca left —her sister was picky. But it always felt weird, something in the back of her mind just screamed at her she needed to be like her mom. Mom was a normal person, mom had no trouble making friends, or doing things spontaneously, or even just feeling her hair wet against her clothes and using non-striped socks every once in a while. Mom also didn’t eat much. Why couldn’t Mel be like mom?
That tendency of hers could be frustrating, though. When she got sick, getting her to eat something more than the hospital jello was a challenge for Mel. Feeding an adult is hard, more so feeding your own mother. There were many arguments about it, long stares and tense jaws, huffs and silences; that's how they fought.
When her mom started talking about leaving treatment because the corticosteroids were making her face and body blow up, Mel had what she considers the first breakdown of her adult life, though technically she was still a teenager, but with everything around her it was easy to forget.
And then it was just her and Becca. It had been for a while, because their mom spent a few long weeks on the ICU and then some more on hospice care. So her life became just speeding through the days and asking herself "What would mom do?". Mom would stand up for both of them, she would defend and advocate for Becca's needs. Mom would make sure the credit cards are paid and would keep the car with gas and wouldn't forget the oil change. Mom would predict and think about everything that could go wrong: "Murphy's Law, Mel, it's just how the world works". Mom would shower at night to get rid of the day's bad energy and go to bed smelling and feeling fresh. Mom would skip meals, too.
And okay, she's a doctor now, but her mom's teachings came way before the ones in med school, and they hold more ground on her head. And it's so nice, too, the feeling of restraint and the slight dizziness that catches up with her at the end of the day, the one that helps her sleep better than any pill could.
It's not like she doesn't eat at all, it's just not her priority. There are so many more things to be done, at work and at home. Eating just feels like a waste of valuable time. She has enough to keep her body going: a quick breakfast, her vitamins, maybe one of those nasty protein bars if she's feeling too tired at work, and then whatever bite of dinner she can manage. Sometimes she just stares at Becca and doesn't eat at all, just like their mom used to. She doesn't feel hungry, just tired, just like she doesn't feel any pulse of desire, just loneliness.
Things change a little with Frank: they are friends! It's nice, now that the divorce is settled, they have so much more time to hang out, especially the weeks Abby has the kids. Mel can tell those days are difficult for him, so she just fills the little free time they have with made up activities, because that's what mom would do, always nice and caring; she wouldn't want anyone to feel left out. And in consequence, Mel spends more time with him than with any other person, even Becca. Sometimes it makes her feel energized and renewed, other times too exhausted and lonelier than ever, more so when the proximity they stand at it's just not enough for her; she'd like to crawl under his skin, that's all.
And then suddenly Frank's insisting on them meal prepping together, and Mel just can't resist the thought of them having matching meals in their matching Tupperwares that he got them at a discount price.
"That's a lot of food," is the first thing she says when she opens her door to find Frank holding the grocery bags and sporting a big smile on his face.
"Not really, I think we can get two weeks from this," he waves off as he adventures inside her apartment, going directly to the kitchen.
He's on a healthy eating journey, as he calls it, though it's all actually because there's no stay-at-home wife in his kitchen anymore to make him lunch. He sends Mel at least three or four Instagram reels a day of easy recipes for beginners, and she isn't sure if he's hitting at something or if he doesn't know how the "Save" folder works.
"I'm thinking veggie stir-fry for one day, then rice and beans. Then some soup for sure, that's a safe one. Oh, and I got some chicken and tortillas so maybe wraps? Easy enough," he nods to himself. Mel stands back; she's uncomfortable with what he's saying, uncomfortable with what she's thinking while observing him move so freely in her space, with his tight crew neck and his sleeves rolled up, with his beautiful wide eyes assessing every one of the ingredients while he rinses them, with his mouth slightly open, so concentrated, just like he is at work.
He throws a quick glance at her way at some point and smirks.
"Are you just going to stare at me the whole time or what?" he teases.
"I told you I'm not a good cook".
Frank rolls his eyes playfully and Mel's heart aches. She takes a step forward, just kind of looking over his shoulder.
"It's just a veggie stir," he says. "Why don't you just get the rice going?"
"Okay," Mel nods. She fishes for the rice in one of the bags and examines the packaging for the instructions.
"Mel, it's just your normal rice," Frank says after a few seconds.
"I just haven't cooked rice in a long time," she huffs. Frank chuckles, which is nice.
"Instructions haven't changed on how to cook rice," he jokes.
She survives the afternoon of cooking. She's not scared of food, just not used to it in that quantity. She thinks Frank cooks for an army, and when she asks for smaller portions he just waves her off again: "My kids eat more than that," he says.
The following days at work are weird. She takes her purple Tupperware just to see it next to Frank's blue one, but she has trouble actually getting the food in her mouth. She doesn't like eating in front of people, doesn't like having to be quick, nor feeling heavy and sleepy after. She watches Frank take mouthfuls and she wants to cry and hide. She manages to take a couple bites, at least in front of him, and then she starts giving the rest to whoever she sees first, usually Dennis; the guy has an appetite she's only seen before in teenage boys, so it's easy to make him take the food.
"Why's Whitaker inhaling the spinach tart I put all my love in?" Frank says one day, appearing suddenly next to her.
Mel startles a little, she glances up from the iPad at him and then back down.
"Oh, I just wasn't very hungry," she hums.
"Tell me the truth, my food sucks," Frank huffs, half joking.
"No! It’s great! But you know me, I don't have much of an appetite," she assures him with her brightest smile. It must not be very convincing, because Frank frowns and checks her up and down, like he's noticing her for the first time, which is silly because they have been really good friends for a while now.
"Okay," he finally decides. He's not convinced, she knows, but that's fine, because truthfully, there's nothing to worry about.
But Frank worries anyway. Mel can see him the following days, just lingering, staring more than usual, and orbiting around her, especially when food is involved. It makes her anxious, though he doesn't say much, just observes, which might actually be worse.
He convinces her to go grocery shopping together one day. Mel would make up some excuse and just avoid the situation entirely, if it wasn't for the fact that she can't really say no to Frank, at least not to spending time with him. She tries to keep her distance, to stay in line because his friendship means so much to her that she can't dare to temper with it in any way, even when she knows he wouldn't stop her. But Frank has such a pull on her, with his chin dimple, his crooked smile, his bright blue eyes, his stupidly good styled hair; just everything about him, from the way he walks to the goofy imitation voices he does for his kids, just everything makes her want to glue herself to him. Even if it means grocery shopping.
She survives the trip though, and excuses the little food by the fact that Becca eats most of her meals at the center. “And I have a small appetite, remember? We don't need that much”. It isn't a lie, she doesn't have much of an appetite, she's not used to eating anymore. She’s just really tired sometimes.
The prep meal stuff only lasts a few more weeks, a little less than two months, actually. They work long hours, they don't want to spend their little free time just locked up in a kitchen. At least Mel doesn't.
Frank seems to stop hoovering as well, which is a relief. He's still paying attention on occasion, like when someone orders food to share or a grateful patient bakes some sweets for them, but he's distracted easily by general work stuff that needs his full attention. The one good thing about not being close or friends with anyone but him is that no one notices anything weird about her —well, anything else. She's the girl that hides to stare at her phone from time to time, the girl that has trouble remembering people's names and faces, the girl with very bad timing and too straightforward answers, the girl that stims by pressing her hands together and pacing around awkwardly, the girl that no one really sees eating, so what? It's okay. That's just her.
Her and Becca are going through some boxes that were left carelessly after moving. She happens to have the weekend off and her sister happens to have a spurt of energy to organize, which is how they end up on the living room floor with old tableware, family album photos and some of her mom's and dad's stuff that survived a few previous moves.
“Mom was so stylish,” Becca sighs dreamily while holding an old dress their mom used to wear when she had that strange church-going phase a few years after their dad died. She never made them go with her, which Mel was grateful for.
She takes the dress to examine it. It has thin straps and a low neck. She remembers her mom putting on perfume and then turning around to kiss both their heads, telling them to be good before leaving. It occurs to her just then that she wasn't going to church at all.
“I wish it would fit me,” Becca continues. “I would use all her clothes. They are such good quality, too. Hey, maybe they fit you!”
Mel smiles and holds the dress up again before putting it down to check for the size.
“God, I don't remember mom being so small,” she hums before folding the piece of clothing and putting it on the pile with the rest.
“She always insisted on weighing between 100 and, like, 115 pounds,” her sister replies absentmindedly.
“Where do you get that from?” Mel frowns.
“We used to go shopping, remember? You'd stay with dad because you hated trying on clothes. You still do,” she chuckles.
Mel shivers a little, gives Becca a sly smile. “You don't know where those clothes have been! They could have been touched by very dirty hands”.
Becca rolls her eyes at her and grabs another box to open. Mel's smile drops a little. She can’t remember a single occasion when her mom talked about weight or her body, except after getting sick. She knows that’s very common among terminal patients, mostly because they want to feel in control again, to feel like their old selves. She was under the impression her mom didn't care for that stuff at all. That's the thing about having your parents dying young, you never get answers or proper explanations, like where was she going with that tiny dress when she said she was at church? And was she starving herself just to keep up with a number on the scale? Mel doesn't even remember a scale on their house, at least she doesn't remember her and Becca being weighted other than at the doctors.
She goes to donate blood, just like she does every six or so months. Both Frank and her have the day off so she convinces him to go with her. He pretends to not like the idea, rolls his eyes at her and then smiles.
“What else do you do in your free time? Feed the poor?”
“Actually I should get to that,” she hums.
Frank says yes, only if he can pick a place to have brunch after, and Mel agrees. It's fine, she gets a little hungrier after donating blood, she'll manage. Plus, going out with him and being mistaken for his girlfriend it's her little guilty pleasure. No one really says anything to them, but she knows how it looks, and she holds on to that feeling, quietly.
They go to a little clinic that's walking distance from Frank's apartment, because he doesn't want to set foot nowhere near work on his day off. The nurse asks her the same routine questions she memorized years ago, and takes her blood pressure. It's a little on the low side, but good enough.
“Just a little prick here…” the nurse whispers. Mel flinches a little, no matter how many times she donates, the finger stick it's the part she hates the most. She watches the nurse move around. She has short curly hair that Mel really likes. She's also wearing a scrub with a bee embroidery on the chest pocket that makes Mel smile.
“Mhmm,” the nurse hums looking down. “Your hemoglobin is very low”.
“Is it?” Mel frowns, leaning to glance at the HemoCue.
“10.4 g/dL, hon. You can't donate like that. And you should check that with a doctor,” the nurse says.
“I am a doctor,” Mel half mumbles as she stands up.
“Well, then you know,” the nurse brushes off. “I can still get you a free pass for the cafeteria if you want”.
“No, it's fine. Thank you, I'll just— I'll wait for my friend,” she smiles.
Frank finds her just outside, sitting down in the waiting room with her earpods on. She takes them off when he sees him walking towards her with a bandaid on his arm and a frown on his face.
“Hey, the nurse told me you're anemic?”
“She shouldn't be disclosing personal information about patients,” she replies absentmindedly and Frank rolls his eyes.
“She knew we came together —Mel, 10.4 g/dL is really low”.
They start to walk out of the clinic. Frank lingers close to her, like he's suddenly scared she's going to collapse, which is silly considering he's the one with half a liter less of blood.
“I know. I was okay last time I donated… I've been having heavier period flows, so that's probably it,” she waves off with a flickering smile. She looks at Frank who's understandably a little paler than usual. He checks her up and down again. Mel hates that.
“Right”.
“You look like you're going to pass out any second now,” she points out, half joking. “Where was it you wanted to go?”
The invitation comes after a long shift. It's flu season and the days are longer than ever, so Mel's only half conscious when Frank finds her by the lockers.
“... so I change the weekend with Abby so she and the kids can meet her niece —you know what they named her? Apple! Like she's fucking Gwyneth Paltrow’s daughter”.
Mel huffs a chuckle as closes her locker. Frank has his backpack over his shoulder and he's surprisingly full of energy, maybe a little nervous even. Probably upset about not having his kids with him like he had planned.
“I think it's sweet,” she shrugs.
“Of course you do,” he smiles. He shifts a little, fixes his back over his shoulder. “So. Um… anyway, since I'm free and you're free tomorrow night —well, Becca will be at the center for that thing —so maybe you could… I mean, we could have dinner, or, like, I could make dinner for us, at my place. Because you're very specific about your forks and stuff…”
Mel's only partially listening to him while her body fights to not shut down completely. It's one of those days she'll have to eat something before getting into the shower because otherwise there's a big chance of her ending up dead in the bathroom. She wouldn't want that to happen, it's too scandalous.
“Yeah, sure. No problem, I'll be there,” it's what she manages out in a long breath.
When she shows up to his place in sweatpants and a black hoodie she's not sure where she got from, she doesn't expect Frank to be wearing slack pants and an ironed shirt.
“Oh,” it's the first thing she says. “I didn't know there was a dress code”.
Frank smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.
“Um. Maybe I overdid it, huh?” he replies.
Inside, the table is set and there's a vase with fresh flowers in the center. Mel stands there for a few seconds while Frank nervously moves around, going back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room. He brings a casserole with pasta and a bottle of wine.
“I think I under did it,” she chuckles awkwardly.
“Yeah, I should've been more clear, I think. This is a date. Or, it was supposed to be one. But we can undate the date —I can go change”.
“No, it's fine! We don't have to, uh, undate anything,” she hurries to say as she sits down.
Frank smiles in response and starts serving her pasta. He goes on about how everything is completely homemade and Mel's heart feels heavy with love and something else because he spent all his day off cooking for her. It's so considerate and such a waste of time, food, and thought.
Still, the dinner is nice. She's too busy chatting as usual to really get more than a few bites. Frank is so handsome in his formal clothes. They drink a little bit of wine because it's not really their thing before switching to water as per Mel's request, but it's still enough alcohol to get both their cheeks flushed. When she goes to the bathroom, Mel can see her nose a little red and her eyes a little tired.
He expects Frank to have clean up the table by the time she comes back, but he's still there with his empty plate and hers almost untouched.
“Oh, I'm good, we can clean this up,” she says as she approaches the table.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” she nods. She's holding her plate and Frank stands up to join her in cleaning up.
“Because we are not in a hurry, if you're a slow eater that's okay,” he says as he follows her to the kitchen.
Mel moves to the dining room again with a smile.
“Not a slow eater, just don't have much of an appetite,” she repeats.
“Yeah, well. You're also anemic”.
“I'm taking iron and acid folic supplements,” she reminds him.
“But you're not… you know,” he trails off. Mel stands still and stares at him in silence for a few seconds before shaking her head.
“I don't follow”.
“Oh, come on”.
“If you're worried about my hemoglobin you'll be happy to know that my levels are average now…”
“I just want you to know that you can tell me anything—”
“I know that”.
“—and I'm here for anything—”.
"Why are you saying all this?" Mel interrupts. Her voice sounds higher than expected, a little whiny, too. There's a sting on her eyes and a painful knot on her throat. She feels cornered and surprisingly scared.
"Why won't you just eat?" Frank snaps back. He sounds annoyed, possibly upset. That harsh tone of his pointed towards her makes Mel take two steps back, like she was just shot. He's looking at her frustrated, mouth hanging open and wide eyes seeing right through her and it makes her stomach sink.
"I don't know," she breathes out.
He closes his mouth and swallows. Mel can't hold his stare anymore, not when her eyes are flooding with tears. She blinks and a few trail down, as if a dam collapses inside of her. She gasps for air, a terrible sound that makes her cringe.
"Sorry," she mumbles.
Frank moves closer to her, tries to grab the hand that's now covering her own face but Mel steps back again,.letting out apologies between sobs.
“It's okay,” Frank whispers. “Come here”.
“I can't,” Mel replies. She shakes her head but doesn't look at him at all.
“Of course you can,” he assures her in that sweet voice she's heard him use with kids at work, his own kids even, and it just makes her cry harder. She's so tired, and there's this heavy feeling on her chest, like a black hole that threatens to expand through her whole body and consume her completely.
Frank finally manages to get his arms around her body and she can't get her feet to move, she can't stop shaking and she can't stop crying into his perfectly ironed shirt.
“You didn't say it was a date,” she sobs.
“I'm sorry, I thought I was clear,” he whispers into her head while rubbing her back soothingly. “Don't worry about it, it's all good, it's nothing”.
Mel doesn't reply, just stays there, trying to even out her breathing. She has given up quickly on saying something, because she doesn't even know where to start, but she is actively trying to calm down, now clinging to Frank's back.
“I would've worn something nicer if I had known,” she says after a few minutes. Frank's still persistently rubbing her back and rocking her slightly, probably muscular memory from holding his kids.
“You look beautiful,” he says. “You always do”.
“I'm wearing sweatpants,” she sniffs.
“You make everything sexy”.
“I really don't”.
“I'm not getting into a fight with you on our first date,” he decides with a playful huff. It makes her chuckle a little, still pressed to his chest.
They spent another long moment like that, but now that she's calmer, she can hear the steady beat of his heart and fully immerse herself in the way he smells. He must have put on cologne aside from his usual deodorant. It reminds her of dad when he and her mom would go out every once in a while.
“I know a thing or two about hiding struggles, you know,” he says after a while.
“I'm not hiding anything,” she whispers. “You know me, I can't keep secrets”.
“No, I know. Look what just happened when you tried”.
“It's really nothing, I just got overwhelmed,” she explains. She pulls away a little and tries to turn around, maybe to grab the leftover food, show him she can manage a few more bites, but Frank holds her in place.
“Mel…” he starts, cupping her face. She can see him about to say something more, maybe go on with questions or concerns, so she makes a split second decision and lunges forward to kiss him. He hums, surprised, before his lips move against hers, and Mel has to lead, has to be very convincing that kissing right now is the appropriate thing to do, because she can tell Frank wants to pull away to check on her.
The kiss is good, actually. She hasn't kissed anyone in so long, but it feels nice, sort of comforting, like putting on her earpods in the middle of an overwhelming shift to listen to wave sounds. It's like everything goes quiet. Frank doesn't take too long before finally relaxing. He sighs and melts into her, swapping his tongue over her lower lip and Mel whimpers, clings to him even more, forgets she was sort of trying to distract him just before. She feels distantly guilty about it, though.
“You have to know I'm stupidly in love with you, right?” he whispers. There's a blonde hair of hers sticking to the side of his mouth and she brushes it off gently.
“Yeah,” she nods. “Sorry”.
She successfully takes a step back but Frank reaches for her hand. He doesn't pull, just holds her as she manages to grab some napkins from the table to clean her face. She would feel more uncomfortable, but Frank has seen her cry countless times.
“I feel very stupid about this,” she says with a trembling smile. “I thought we were going to order some food and watch a movie like usual”.
“I told you I was cooking”.
“I guess I wasn't listening”.
“That's okay. It's probably what I should've done. I don't know what I was thinking,” Frank huffs a chuckle. He shifts a little awkwardly. Mel likes him like that, with his guard down, almost boyish.
She sits down at the table without dropping his hand. He follows right behind her and sits on the chair next to her. It's silent again, so silent Mel can make up some words his next door neighbors are saying, or maybe it's just their TV on. She can tell Frank's staring even though her eyes are set down on the wet tissue on her hand.
“It's not a quick fix, I know that,” he starts. Her eyes snap up at him, a little terrified again.
“Frank, it's nothing—”.
“It’s clearly something,” he interrupts. “You can't trick a trickster,” he then tries to joke.
Mel cringes and looks down again. The tissue on her hand is pretty much disintegrating, so Frank hands her another one. She takes it and starts ripping the sides little by little.
“We'll figure it out,” he continues. “First your thing, then ours. How about that?”
“What is there to figure out about us? You said you're in love with me,” Mel whispers. He leans down, searching for her eyes with a tiny smile.
“Oh, but you didn't say it back”.
“Of course I'm in love with you,” she smiles back.
“Okay, then that's settled,” Frank chimes. He drops a soft kiss on her temple and Mel drops her head on his shoulder. “We'll find you some help, yeah? I will spoon-feed you if I have to”.
“You saying that doesn't help at all,” she complains against his neck.
“I'll figure out the right thing to say, too”.