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“Healthcare Heroes Night?”
Dana peers over the top of her glasses to look at the two tickets, bright yellow and black, currently sitting in Frank’s Apple Wallet.
He doesn’t want to say the q-word. The first and last time he did was on his third rotation in the ED during his Intern. He went right up to Abbot and told him that it was a “quiet night.” Abbot didn’t scold him as Robby or Dana would have. He just gave him a knowing smirk and floated back to the employee break room. Nearly a minute later, there was an announcement for an incoming MVC with fifteen patients. Apparently, a truck started a multivehicle pile-up on I-79 despite the fact that it was a bright, clear morning on a sunny October day. Abbot chuckled all the way to the ambulance bay, and Frank sweated through his underscrub trying to save about six people from the perils of their morning commute.
So he won’t say anything at all. He’ll just take in the silent gratitude. A year or two ago, he would have been pacing the floor, bored out of his mind, and on the tail end of a high that started before he went to bed last night. Now, he’s leaning back in his chair, drinking tepid Red Bull, and getting bullied by Dana. Across the floor, Whittaker and Santos were talking about Whittaker’s upcoming Step 3 exam. Santos, according to her own loud proclamation, knocked it out of the park. Princess and Perlah are scrolling through Perlah’s Hinge behind him. The rhythmic tapping is only interrupted by the occasional balk or laugh. Mel and Mohan are popping in and out, working Chairs and administering Tylenol and icing sprained ankles that decided to come to the Emergency Room over the local Urgent Care.
Frank smiles as he minimizes his tickets. There are worse ways to live, he figures. He’s already lived them.
“The Penguins do this thing every year where they honor local medical professionals. My kids got me two tickets.”
Tanner and Penny handed him the QR code to access his tickets as he dropped them off last week after his singular golden weekend of the month. He wasn’t supposed to have the kids for the weekend, but Abby had agreed that they had to take advantage of his back-to-back days off. All things that he did to her - the lying, the pain, the disappointment - and she was still willing to work with him, to put her kids before her own thoughts and preferences.
Frank takes in a deep breath and tries to imagine the look of sheer delight on Tanner’s face. He had spent all week that week carefully crafting a very inspired self-portrait of stick-person versions of Frank, Tanner, Penny, and Sidney Crosby, all wearing perfectly triangular party hats. Sidney Crosby had a hockey stick. Frank had what he thinks might be a stethoscope. The picture is labeled, in his crooked font, “My Heros.” Franks loves it, spelling errors and all, so much that he’s taped it to the inside of his locker.
“Wow,” chuckled Dana as she tucked her glasses back into the pocket of her scrubs. “Your four-year-old can afford tickets to professional sports games? Here all my kid could do was draw on the walls at that age.”
“He’s a special kid,” smiles Frank and takes another sip of his Red Bull. Not even 9 AM, and the liquid was already the sort of tepid flat syrup that Frank had a love-hate relationship with. The sugar clung to his teeth.
“I’m sure he is,” Dana returns his smile with an indulgent one of her own and rests her hands on his shoulders. Despite her small stature, the pressure is firm on the tense muscles of his neck. It’s hard to remember sometimes, with her quick wit and immaculately dyed blonde hair, that she had been saving others longer than he’d been alive. “What do we get at Healthcare Heroes Night? A raise?”
“A free lunch box.”
“Oh boy,” Dana laughs as she squeezes. It’s a cadence that Frank recognizes - the kind of dark humor that has you laughing to keep from crying. “Between that and the free Dominos left over from the night shift, it almost makes getting socked in the face worth it.”
“I am sorry that happened to you,” Frank says in all sincerity. “This place will take everything from you.”
“Yet, I can’t leave.” Dana squeezes one last time and then gives him a solid thwack on his shoulders. He lurches forward a bit, just in time to see emerging from behind the door. She waves at him with such earnestness that he thinks his face might split in two as he grins back at her. “Like the Hotel California.”
“Such a lovely place,” replies Mel lyrically and a little offbeat as she comes over to the hub. Her glasses are slipping down her nose, and there are golden brown wisps framing her face. Her underscrub has little daisies on it. Frank stares at her like he’s trying to commit her to memory. An uncharacteristic flutter of butterflies rattles around in his stomach.
“Good pick up, kid.” Dana tosses over her shoulder as she takes the clipboard from Mel’s hand. She turns her back to give them the illusion of privacy, but both Frank and Mel know her better than that. Even Princess and Perlah’s conversation has ground to a strategic near-halt. “I didn’t take you as an Eagles fan.”
“Hey, Mel, do you like hockey?” He takes another sip of his Red Bull and tries to look casual. Over Whittaker’s shoulder, Santos stops to stare at him.
When his therapist asked him what he missed about being married, he said that he missed being able to see his kids every day. Tanner and Penny were so young that it seemed like they grew a whole inch or developed a brand new skill between their visitation one week and the next. He would sit there in delight as they climbed over him or showed him how they could do a somersault and try to pretend that this wasn’t killing him. Then Lauren , the therapist, patiently reminded him that it was more about being a father, being a member of a family unit. That wasn’t necessarily about being married.
So, if he dug down and was honest with himself, he would say that he missed being part of a unit. He missed being able to have two tickets and know exactly who would be going with him.
To be fair, he knew who he wanted to go with him these days. He just had to hope she’d agree.
“I’m from Michigan,” Mel states matter-of-factly. She smooths out her hair and readjusts her glasses, but there’s a light pink hue to her cheeks. It suits her.
“Uh…” His palms sweat a little bit.
“They do call it the State of Hockey.” She continues. “Becca used to play in an adaptive league when we were kids.”
“You didn’t?” Frank asks because he needs to know. Although he can’t imagine Mel behind the characteristic face cage of a women’s hockey helmet. He could, though, imagine her wrapped up on the sidelines in a heavy jacket and one of those oversized scarves that were popular when they were in high school. He had no doubt that she cheered earnestly as Becca zoomed back and forth on the ice. He could imagine that lovely pink spread to her nose and her cheeks as she shivered in the cold.
Mel shook her head. “I love watching it though. My dad was a huge fan when I was growing up. It was pretty much on all the time from October into April. May and June, too, if we were lucky. He also really liked the Eagles.”
Frank swallows and nods. God, he is trying so hard to be normal about this.
“Okay, so you like hockey. Are you free this weekend?” He fiddles with the beads on his NA bracelet. The thin gray beads feel rough against the pads of his fingertips.
“I have a day shift on Friday with you and then another day again on Sunday. I’m off on Saturday, though.”
“Perfect. Do you want to be recognized for the healthcare hero that you are?” Frank can feel his heart surging in his chest. He pushes himself out of his chair to stand up. He threads his hands behind his head and rocks on the balls of his feet.
Mel’s pink flush deepens. “Hero feels a little strong.”
“Well, not according to the Pittsburgh Penguins. Or me.” Frank adds, trying not to sound too eager. “I’ve got two tickets for their healthcare night on Saturday. You wanna come?”
“You get a free lunch box.” Dana turns around, glasses and clipboard in hand. A fondness pulls at the edge of her mouth.
“I could use a new one, to be honest. My one from college just lost a strap the other day. I’ve been meaning to go to Walmart, but the one near my apartment is always so crowded. Plus, it’s not a supercenter, so I’m not even sure if they have what I’m looking for. I might have to wait until fall when all of the school supplies are out, and -.”
“Good to know,” he interrupts her jokingly, “that I play second fiddle to a lunch box.”
She looks up at him with the most heartbreaking sincerity that he’s ever seen. “Oh, I’m sorry. I always want to spend time with you. I thought that went without saying. Becca’s got dance rehearsal all day Saturday anyway, and honestly, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I was actually coming over here to ask if you wanted to go see the new Masters of the Universe movie.”
This woman is going to kill him.
“Well, now you have plans and a brand new lunch box. Two birds with one stone.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and fiddles with the NA chip he keeps in there. It’s a solid silver reminder of his first year sober. “I’ll pick you up around 1? The game starts at 3.”
“Great! It’s a date.” Mel smiles up at him. “I have to go back to Chairs now, but I brought that peanut butter protein bar that we both like. You know, the one from Costco. Maybe we could share it during lunch?”
It was a stupid little ritual, and the measly portion of a dry protein bar probably only equaled out to sixty calories tops. But Frank had remarked on it when the two of them got lunch together during those first shifts he had been back. She didn’t eat when the other residents normally did, and he was still too fresh to ask Cassie or Garcia to join him. Collins was gone, off to be an attending with a gaggle of residents of her own. Robby certainly didn’t want to spend more time with him than he had to. So it was him and Mel and a protein bar that smelled like a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, his favorite candy of all time. Without saying a word, she cracked off half and handed it to him. It tasted like chalk and did nothing to curb the sugar cravings that followed him early in his recovery, but it had made both of them smile.
“Only if you split half of the banana bread that the kids and I bought last week. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Mel bounded away, back to meet Mohan, who had been standing to watch the two of them. It took all of the self-control in Frank’s body to keep his eyes carefully trained back on his charts rather than watch the last swing of Mel’s braid before she disappeared again.
“See, Dana, this is where you tell me not to fuck this up.” He clicks into his Epic profile and tries his best to review the results of the labs he’s ordered for a teenager who swears they absolutely did not know that there was that much pot in the brownies that their boyfriend baked for them last night.
“Not my style, kid.” She offers one last reassuring pat as she slips out behind him to return Mel’s clipboard to her. “I think you already tell yourself that enough.”
“Hi, Frank! Listen, l’m really excited about tomorrow and I’d hate to ask this of you -.”Mel sneaks up behind him as he’s unpacking the last of his stuff from his locker at the end of the week. The night shift had arrived. Charts and handoffs were complete. The kids were with Abby this weekend, and they were headed out of town to visit her parents back in Virginia. There is next to nothing stopping him from his Friday night NA meeting and forty dollars' worth of Thai takeout from his favorite restaurant around the corner from his post-divorce condo. It’s not much, but if rehab taught him anything, he had to start taking some joy in the little things.
“Don’t. I’d be happy to do anything for you.” He coughs a little as he fidgets with the zipper on his PTMC Patagonia to hopefully cover up how absolutely earnest that sounded. “What do you need?”
“Do you have a spare shirt or anything? My dad was from Chicago, so I’ve only got Blackhawks stuff.” She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He can smell the rosemary of her shampoo. “I have a Jonathan Toews rookie jersey, but I think the red would clash with all of the yellow and black.”
Mel clearly hadn’t looked at the schedule. The Pens were playing the Jets, Toews’ current team, this weekend. The games at PPG were typically a good time, and most fans were respectful. It wasn’t like anyone was going to jump her or anything, but he also hated the idea of anyone saying anything negative to Mel at all. No way was she going to wear that to the game if he could help it.
“Sure. I’ve got plenty. Do you want Malkin, Crosby, or Fleury?” Frank closes his locker door and tries his best to lean casually against the structure. “I think I’ve also got an old Lemieux jersey if you want to go retro. It’s got the robo-penguin and everything.”
“Oh wow, that’s... a lot. I thought you said that you were from eastern Pennsylvania. You’re not a Flyers fan?” Mel inquires patiently as she pulls out a fuzzy pair of beat-up Uggs she wore on her commute. She liked to keep her hospital shoes in her car. Becca hated the sight of the blood that sometimes seeped into them.
Frank shrugs. “I’m from northeast PA, coal country. My hometown is close to Scranton, the, uh, the city from The Office. The Penguins have an affiliate team there. My dad used to bring me to them all the time when I was a kid.”
“Because you loved hockey?”
“God, no,” snorts Frank. “He took me because it was cheap, and it was the only time I sat still. I came to love it a lot later.”
Frank still has fond memories of those nights with his dad. The two of them would pile into his dad’s pickup truck. Unlike the gas guzzler of a minivan that his mom drove, his dad’s truck only had a single bench across. He spent countless nights on backcountry roads riding shoulder to shoulder to the games. He could still smell the stale popcorn and the cheap Yuengling his dad would buy. In retrospect, his father probably should have never allowed a young Frank to steal a sip or two from the draft each time, but it made Frank feel so special, so grown up, when he did. The tickets only cost thirteen dollars back then, but the memories were priceless.
“I was already a huge fan when the Pens went back-to-back in 2016 and 2017,” Frank continued. He didn’t know why. She didn’t ask. It just felt easy to talk around her. “It was my senior year of college and then my first year of medical school.”
It was a study in juxtaposition. In 2016, he was out with his college buddies at the local sports bar. He was already four shots deep as Crosby and Malkin hoisted the Cup high. He had graduated about a month earlier and had nothing on his schedule but visiting Abby at her parents’ house, backpacking in the Yukon, and lazing at the Jersey Shore. In 2017, he watched Patric Hornqvist score the winning goal on his former team over roughly two dozen pages of notes he’d written about the endocrine system for an exam the following week.
“Anyway,” he has to stop himself. “What jersey do you want?”
“Oh, I can just take whatever one you don’t want.” She pulls her own matching jacket out of her locker. He tries not to think of the idea of her wearing one that matched exactly - Dr. Langdon, Emergency Department, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. It makes him feel too much like his younger sister Nancy, who spent a whole summer scrawling “Mrs. Austin Detrich” on every notebook she owned after going on a picnic with the neighbor kid at age eight.
“Nope. I want you to pick first.” He’s not letting her off the hook that easily.
She makes a thoughtful kind of sound in the back of her throat. It’s the same one she makes when she reviews charts, considers her favorite musician, or tries to find a polite way to say that the banana bread he bought was disgustingly dry. “I’ll take Fleury.”
“You’re a goalie girl?”
“I just think he has a fun personality. I used to watch some of those prank videos he did when I was in middle school.”
Mel shrugs as she closes her locker for the day.
“So the girl likes to get into a little bit of trouble?”
Frank also used to watch those prank videos when he was in middle school. Fleury had inspired him and his middle school cross-country team to prank their coach. Just like the Pittsburgh Penguins, eighteen pre-teen boys got together to move all of the future out of their coach’s hotel room into the hallway during their state championship meet in Hershey. Frank won the meet but got detention and a stern talking to. Overall, worth it, he had reasoned. He wonders if he should recount this anecdote to Mel.
She is close behind him as the two of them duck off to the side employee exit towards the parking garage. Her lunch box is hanging off her shoulder from its singular remaining strap, and her backpack doesn’t look like it’s holding up that well either. He makes a mental note to himself to browse the Cotopaxi website tonight. They really are quality bags, and he’s sure they’d have to have something in the light purple that she seemed to favor. It would absolutely be shipped in time for their next shared shift on Wednesday.
“You know me.”
If Frank didn’t know any better and if it wasn’t from the terrible glint of the fluorescents that dotted the parking garage, he could have sworn that Mel winked at him as she climbed into her ancient Hyundai.
Frank has to stop himself from staring as he watches Mel, hair curling just around the edges of where the embroidered jersey number started, turn around to go grab their free lunch boxes.
He hasn’t decided what he liked better. When he pulled up outside of Mel’s townhouse, she was waiting for him on the stoop. Her big black puffer coat was open to reveal a pair of skinny jeans tucked into boots and a thin white tank top. Good for layering, she assured him, as she pulled off her coat in the car. Thank God he was driving through Oakland at the time because he didn’t think he could stop staring at the way that the shirt just faintly outlined the cups of her bra.
He then proceeded to feel moderately gross. Mel was a trusted friend, his best friend maybe, and an even better colleague. Sure, he had a crush on her, and yes, he did ask her to go out with him. Plus, she said it was a date. But he couldn’t stand the idea of doing anything that would make her feel uncomfortable.
At least, he thinks as he pulls into the parking lot adjacent to the PPG Paints Arena, that hockey jerseys are famously modest. Even Frank’s roomy, medium-sized shirt would probably hang off her. She would be covered from the collarbone to the knee.
All of that felt fine, manageable, doable, until he got out of the car and rounded the other side to see Mel smiling up at him and sitting in his passenger seat wearing his shirt. Something in his brain short-circuited so much that it took him approximately a minute to figure out how to unlock his car so he could open the door for her.
He sniffs and readjusts his Penguins baseball cap on his head as he watches her trail her way back to him, trying to weave in and out of clusters of people trying to make their way to their seats. She has one lunch box in each hand, and she’s beaming.
“Healthcare is a work of heart,” reads Frank as she passes along the black and yellow bag. The Penguins’ mascot, Iceburgh, smiles up at them, complete with his own white lab coat.
“It’s cute, don’t you think?” She pushes her hair back past her shoulder and fiddles with the strap.
“It’s something.”
Both of them are happy to be here. They’ve said as much. It’s just hard. In the months that he’s known her, Mel has never been one for big crowds or loud noises. The arena is a place where it seems like the announcements, the cheers, and the music are non-stop. That’s on top of the running commentary of literally thousands of people as they talk, laugh, and shout. Frank, on the other hand, can’t help but squirm as the two of them pass checkout line after checkout line, offering everything from seltzers to custom cocktails to beer. On one of his last days of rehab, he finally agreed that it would probably be best for him to consider a life where he’s sober from all substances. The nature of addiction is sneaky and recurrent. He knows it’s the right choice, but it stings anew every time. It feels perpetually uncomfortable to not be able to order a glass of wine at a nice dinner or grab a beer at a game.
“Do you want something to eat? Popcorn? Pierogis?” Frank asks over the din. They’ve finally reached their section, 112. They’ll be a few rows up from the glass. He wonders how much the kids, or more accurately, his former in-laws who actually bought them, paid for the tickets.
“Would you mind splitting a popcorn with me? Becca wants me to make tacos tonight, and my sodium levels would go crazy if I had that and a whole tub of popcorn." Mel makes a motion to go into her handbag, something small and beat-up that looks like she bought it in high school, to grab her wallet. Frank grabs her wrist gently. He tells himself it’s just from the several flights of stairs they walked up when he feels the hummingbeat cadence of her pulse under his fingers.
“Nope. I asked you, so this is my treat. Popcorn is coming up.” He gives her wrist a squeeze before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, as equally beat up as her purse, to pull out his Amex card. “Your wish is my command.”
“Frank,” she starts.
“Dr. King!” A voice interrupts her, and he can see the shock on her face. Although they’re not legally allowed to speak to her, Frank knows that she is always anxious that she will see the family that sued her again. It’s in the way that she always looks over her shoulder when they go grab takeout at a place she’s never been to before.
“Do you know her?” Almost on instinct, Frank positions his body slightly between Mel and the woman bounding up to them.
“Dr. King! It’s so nice to see you here. Do you remember me?” The woman finally comes to a halt in front of them. She’s a kind-looking woman, African American, in her late sixties. She carries a cane with her, and her shirt is bedazzled with a large number “87” in Pittsburgh black, white, and gold.
Mel steps out so she’s standing next to Frank rather than behind him. Her shoulders sag in relief. “Mrs. Smith, with the uterine bleeding.”
“Uterine bleeding?” Frank shifts uncomfortably. His mind whirls. He never wanted his brain to do this in these situations, but he could never turn it off. If the woman was as old as Frank thought she was, uterine bleeding was a very bad sign.
“She came into the hospital around last spring for some unexplained uterine bleeding. I saw her.”
Right. Frank wasn’t there last spring.
“She saved my life.” The woman, Mrs. Smith, amends. Off to the side, an older gentleman and a student who looks to be about college-aged linger next to the wall.
“Mrs. Smith, I just did what any of my teammates would do,” demurs Mel. Her cheeks light up with that lovely light pink again, and she methodically pushes both sides of her hair behind her ears. Frank didn’t notice until now, but she had delicate little stud earrings in the shape of figure skates on.
“Dr. King was able to get me to see gynecology and oncology, and she helped diagnose my cancer. I was so nervous and so willing to write it off, but she really took her time with me. Put me at ease at one of the scariest times of my life.”
It might be overstepping, but Frank can’t help himself. He wraps an arm around Mel’s shoulders and gives her a half-hug. He wasn’t there to see it, but it’s not hard for him to believe. Of course, she would take her time with someone who was scared, unfamiliar with the ER, and didn't understand what was happening to their own body. That’s the kind of doctor, the kind of person, that Mel is.
“I -. Thank you.” It might be his imagination, but he can almost feel her lean into his side as she answers Mrs. Smith slowly and carefully. “I hope your treatments are going well.”
Mrs. Smith offers them a megawatt smile that even warms Frank’s heart in this frigid rink. “I’m done with them. I had surgery, and I’m in remission. My son goes to Carnegie Mellon, and I decided to surprise him with tickets. I didn’t expect you’d be here.”
“It is Healthcare Hero Night,” Frank reminds them as he gives Mel’s shoulder a squeeze and drops his own arm to his side.
“I’m not -.” She tries to protest.
“Dr. King is an excellent doctor.”
“You should listen to your boyfriend.” This time, there is no trick of the lights to deceive him. Mrs. Smith, honest-to-God, winks at them as she heads back over to meet her husband and her son. The two of them look at her with such fondness and love that Frank can’t look away.
It’s hard to remember that sometimes. Both of them have spent days up to their elbows in blood and guts and gore. They’ve seen people, good people, die right in front of them. They’ve tried to pull off miracles, and they’ve failed more than they’ve succeeded. But every once and awhile, they get to help someone. Someone gets to keep living their lives. They get time to make amends, fall in love, or see their children grow up. Emergency medicine could take a lot from him, but it can’t ever take away how good that feels.
“It sounds like you did a great job, Dr. King,” Frank remarks as they finally settle into the popcorn line. He adds a bottle of water to his order, too. He’d be dying of thirst by the second period if he didn’t.
“You didn’t have to play along, Dr. Langdon.” Mel playfully bumps into him. It’s a little too enthusiastic, and his balance pitches forward. She grasps at his elbow to keep him steady. It is hard to ignore the feeling of lightning currently running up his arm and his spine.
“There’s nothing to play along with.” He rights himself and pretends not to notice that Mel hasn’t let go of the crook of his arm. “You’re a great doctor, and sometimes, if we’re really lucky, we get to save some lives. Take the win. If anyone’s earned it, it’s you.”
All in all, Frank can’t ask for a better afternoon.
The popcorn is salty and oily, just on the right side of the thin line between decadent and disgusting. The Penguins are up 3 to 1 against the Winnipeg Jets. Once the game actually started, he hasn’t thought about his desire for a drink since. Mel, true to her Michigan roots, understands more of hockey than he does and is happy to narrate her running commentary on the refs. She doesn’t seem to mind that he’s thrown an arm over the back of her chair. Every once in a while, he can feel the ends of her hair brush against the back of his hand. She also elaborates on her and Becca’s shared childhood crush on Patrick Kane. She was in love with him, she swears, right up until he punched that cab driver in the face. And then she was only in love with him slightly.
“There’s something about a bad boy, you know?” She laughs as Bryan Rust, bleeding from his cheekbone, is escorted to the Penalty Box. Frank has to shift in his seat.
Everything goes as well as he could possibly hope for. That is, until he hears the open bars of Faith Hill’s classic “This Kiss.” He grew up in the sticks of rural Pennsylvania in the nineties, and the only thing that ever played in his dad’s truck was the local country music station. He would know that song anywhere.
Almost on cue, the Jumbotron glows with the roaming footage of couples kissing. There are teenagers with their friends who lean over to demurely offer the other a peck on the cheek. A toddler grabs her mother by the cheeks and nearly headbutts her. The crowd roars at the sight of an elderly couple who lean over their walker and cane, respectively, to kiss modestly. Two college students, clearly drunk as can be on a Saturday afternoon, take it a little too far before the camera finally pans over again.
“Oh my God.” Mel’s head is tilted back to stare at the screen above them.
“That’s us, isn’t it?” Frank tries to look up, but the brim of his hat is obstructing his view. He thinks about taking it off, but that would only encourage the camera operator.
“Yup.”
“It’s not going away.” There’s a hint of panic that Frank feels in his chest. He tries to squash it down. He fails miserably. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Mel has turned all the way around so she’s facing him. He finally pulls his hat off his head.
“Nope.”
Great. His hair looks insane, and now the whole arena can see it.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. They’ll go away eventually.”
In fact, he is shocked that they haven’t moved on already. He’s gone to his fair share of these games, of Phillies games when he was a kid, of basketball games when he was a student at UVA. Usually, once the proposed couple doesn't look like they’re going to make it happen, the camera will just move on to its next victim. Yet, it seems like this has lingered on for an impossibly long time.
“What if I want to?”
“Be on the kiss cam?” It’s Frank’s turn to twist around in his seat. She’s leaned in so close that their noses are hardly half a foot apart. This close up, he can see the lovely rings of green, brown, and gold that make up her hazel eyes. She smells like movie theater butter and her herbal shampoo. Despite the cold of the rink, he can feel the muggy heat in the space between them.
“Yes.” Her voice is nearly impossible to hear over the din in their section that keeps getting louder and louder.
“With me?” He asks like he can’t believe it.
“Frank,” She leans in another inch, and there’s something so pleasant about the impatient way that she snaps at him. “If you don’t kiss me, they’re going to move on.”
His mind is all static buzz as he leans over to press her lips to his. The crowd roars around them, but all he can think about is the cool feeling of her tongue against his. Her cheek is soft and hot as he slips a hand against it. The contrast is enough to light him on fire. He feels a tingle in his chest and his back. If he didn’t know better, he might think he was having a heart attack. The two of them hardly notice that Faith’s voice has quieted and the camera has slunk away. In fact, they don’t break apart until the referee blows his whistle to signal the beginning of play.
If the beginning of the afternoon was the best time he’s ever had, Frank is convinced that the rest of the afternoon is the worst time that he’s ever had.
As the whistle blows, Mel pulls back like she’s been burned. Frank retreats, too. Instead of keeping a casual arm around the back of her chair, he sits with his hands primly in his lap. She doesn’t eat the rest of the popcorn or drink the rest of the water. Conversation becomes stilted and uncomfortable. In fact, it seems like she can hardly stand to look at him. As the third period comes to a close, Mel excuses herself to go to the restroom. When she returns, she’s wearing her coat over her tank top, and his jersey is folded neatly into a smart little bundle.
To make matters worse, Winnipeg has closed the lead. The Penguins survive OT, but true to form, they lose in a shootout.
The two of them walk to the car in dejected silence. The crowd around them bemoans the refs, the fact that the head coach can’t pick a good shootout contender for his life, and that their goalies perpetually suck. Mel makes no indication that she agrees with any of it. Although he does know that she’s listening. He’d give anything to hear her thoughts.
Each of them throws their stupid lunch box on the passenger side floor as he opens the door for Mel to get in. Frank knows that it would probably be better for the environment if he donated it to a homeless shelter, Tanner’s school, or even the damn Goodwill. But the only thing he can think about doing when he gets home is throwing the stupid thing in the trash can. He doesn’t want a mocking reminder of how he absolutely ruined one of the remaining good things he had going for him.
He fidgets the entire ride back to Mel’s. He takes off his hat and puts it back on. He gets too hot and rolls down the window. He gets too cold and rolls it back up. He turns on the radio. Unhappy with country music, he puts on his Spotify. That blares the Bluey theme song that Penny insists on listening to anytime they drive anywhere. Mel flinches at the volume. He goes to turn on a podcast, but the only things that come up are recommendations from his fellow NA-goers. The last thing he needs is to remind himself that he was both a loser and an addict.
If Mel notices any of it, she doesn’t say. She just keeps her head tilted to look out the window. It’s early in the evening, hardly 5:30 PM, but that means it’s already dark this time of year. Half the houses have ancient jack-o-lanterns on their stoops, while the other half have Christmas trees in their windows. He wants to hear Mel talk about her plans for a Christmas tree. Does she like real ones? Or does she have a plastic one she got on sale? What’s her favorite ornament? Who taught her how to bake Christmas cookies?
He frowns. He might never get the chance to ask her these questions. He’d totally understand if she’d prefer to keep her distance from now on.
“Alright,” he pulls over on her street and puts on his hazards. His subsequent sigh turns out much more melodramatic than he had originally hoped. “We’ve made it back. Um, I had a good time today, and I guess I’ll see you at work. When do we work our next shift together? Wednesday, I think?”
Mel makes no move to leave. Instead, she turns around to look at him. “I’d like to talk about tonight.”
“Right,” he rubs his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans. For all the months he’s spent taking accountability, it doesn’t feel like it gets any easier. “Listen, Mel, I totally understand. I’ve always tried not totally buy into the hierarchical nature of medicine, but obviously, you know, I make a lot of mistakes. As a more senior Resident, it’s really on me to make sure that I’m watching my boundaries and making sure that you feel comfortable. I value you as a friend, and I admire you as a doctor. I admire you so much, honestly, that you don’t even know. And I’d never want to take advan-.”
“What?” Mel blinks at him like he has four heads. “No, Frank. I wanted to talk because I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Frank has to choke back a laugh.
“It was silly and inappropriate. I, uh, can sometimes read signals wrong. And I knew what I wanted, but I’m not sure now that’s what you wanted to do. It was nice enough for you to share your tickets with me, and then for me to force -.” She rattles off nervously. The words all come out in a breathless string. Her eyes look everywhere, the center console, out the driver’s side window, at the roof of the car, but at him.
“Mel.” It feels like a risk, but he presses a palm against her cheek anyway. It’s feverish and just as soft as it was in the arena. “You didn’t force me to do anything.”
“Oh.”
“I kissed you because I wanted to.”
“Oh.”
“And I’d like to kiss you again. If you’d let me.”
He leans in closer. Another risk. Mel doesn't move backwards. She just keeps blinking at him with her lovely hazel eyes. It’s cliched, but he could get lost in those eyes if she’d let him.
“Please.”
He uses his thumb to trace the high ridge of her cheekbone. He accidentally knocks her glasses a little off center. It’s charming. He laughs a little, feeling the tension dissipate.
She’s still chuckling when he finally brings his mouth to meet hers. He can feel her body go rigid for a second before it melts into his. Well, at least as much as it can over the center console. Still, he relishes the way that his hand tangles into her hair and the little squeak he can’t suppress when she catches his lower lip between her teeth.
He has no idea how long they stay like that - kissing and laughing. It’s not until another car comes up behind them and beeps that the two of them jump apart. It’s the second time that’s happened today, and Frank is giddy at the prospect of losing more time with Mel.
He could spend all the time in the world with her, and he’s still not sure that would be enough.
They spend the rest of the weekend texting back and forth. Little things as they go about the rest of their time apart.
Mel makes tacos and watches a movie with Becca and goes into work on Sunday. She eats lunch with Cassie and Whittaker. Abbot, who’s filling in for Robby as part of his sabbatical, helps her diagnose a brain tumor. One of the nurses brings in banana bread, and it’s way better than the one Frank bought at the farmer’s market last week.
Frank goes to an NA meeting. He Facetimes his kids and his parents. For the first time in a long time, he goes for a winding run along the river’s edge. He works on Monday night. Someone swears to him that they just happened to sit on a zucchini. He reassures a first-time parent that their kid is just tired, not struck down with RSV.
They both agree that the Penguins really could have tried harder when they played the Oilers on Tuesday.
On Wednesday, they both arrive for their shared day shift. Mel gets there earlier than he does because she always does. She assured him before she left that she packed two protein bars this time. He brings her a Gatorade from Sheetz when he goes to pick up his daily Red Bull. Before he has to start on rounds, he puts his lunch box next to hers.
Two matching bags sit side by side. One of them has a beaded keychain on it, orange and blue, that says “Best Dad Ever.” The other has a lilac scrunchy looped around the strap. He closes the fridge and smiles as she waves to him from the other side of the glass.