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The first time Frank sees Mel’s apartment, it’s an accident.
Not technically, but definitely unplanned. They’re walking out into the ambulance bay together after a grueling day shift, an easy practice built up over a few months of workplace camaraderie. Frank glances over at Mel, who is already scrolling through her Ready2Ride app, and when he looks up her brow is furrowed.
“You okay?” he asks. Too easy of a habit now. Even then, despite months of gradually becoming more comfortable with each other, sometimes Mel seems surprised whenever he speaks directly to her. She startles just slightly, and her eyebrows rise; this is one of those times.
“Oh- Yeah!” She makes sheepish eye contact, then looks back down at her phone. “Yeah, I’m good, it’s just- my bus is gonna be late again. It’s not a big deal, because Becca’s staying over at the center tonight, but, you know.” She exhales some of the tension from her shoulders. “Still frustrating.”
Frank watches her breath cloud and float past them. It’s early November, but Pennsylvania winters are a bitch and a half and don’t have much regard for what a calendar says. The metal bench at the bus stop would sting with cold through anyone’s clothes. He’s offering her a ride home before he can second guess himself.
It’s a nice ride after a minute or two of awkwardness. She graciously doesn’t poke fun at him for the backseat mess that comes with two kids, and quickly begins talking about the cases they overlapped on in the afternoon. Mel is less hesitant to start conversation with him now, and Frank is less methodical when he responds. That first shift over a year ago, it was like there was an invisible boundary between them that they kept hesitantly peering over. He sees that sometimes with Mel and their other coworkers, and it makes him feel weirdly good to be different. He likes being easy for her.
The problem is when they finally get there. Frank wouldn’t mind driving to the other end of the city for her even on the worst days, but he was kind of banking on making it back to his place quicker so he could pee. Rush hour traffic is still clearing out in the better parts of the city. At the end of the day, he’s a weak man with a weak bladder and a crumbling resolve to keep professional distance with someone he wants to figure out. The circumstances are probably innocuous enough.
He’s not an asshole (anymore), so after they park he turns to face her head-on before asking to intrude on her space, sincerely and reverently.
“You can totally say no,” he offers slowly, “since I didn’t give you much warning. But at this point it’s between you and the Chipotle in Mount Oliver.”
“No, no, that’s totally fine,” she assures him. She starts collecting her things together and then adds, “You know that Chipotle skimps on chips.” She pauses and makes a face, like she’s not really sure where that came from.
Frank snorts. “Well, then I definitely shouldn’t pee there.”
“Definitely not.”
It’s supposed to be a quick operation, in and out, since he’s bone-tired and can guess Mel is too. Nights without Becca are becoming more common, he knows, but they’re still a treat, even though Mel would never describe it that way. He’s also incredibly conscious of the fact that this is the first time they’ve been alone together outside of work. Thinking about it makes him itchy, and instead of interrogating that thought any further he resigns himself to politely rushing out of Mel’s hair so she can relax.
But Frank can’t stop his brain despite his urgency. Observations come at him in flashes; he feels himself latch onto the new information while also desperately clinging to normalcy. There’s a worn brown sofa facing a box TV and stacks of DVDs. Mel has movie nights with Becca. He ducks around the couch and shuffles past her kitchen. Mel has an electric kettle. He turns down a hallway and passes by her bedroom, door open. Mel has a purple duvet and cream colored walls. His head is turned down while he shuts the bathroom door, and his eyes catch something on the floor of her entryway. Mel has a pair of bunny slippers.
Washing his hands is a grounding exercise as much as a hygienic necessity. His head is reeling with all of the images he won’t be able to untangle from Dr. King, who until a few minutes ago was just his favorite (wait.. favorite?) ER resident. ‘Mel from work’ is suddenly synonymous with star-shaped couch cushions. ‘Mel from work’ is never going to be able to bring her tea tumbler to a shift without reminding him of the blue curtains above her kitchen sink. He’s drying his hands and unwillingly discovers that ‘Mel from work’ has an electric toothbrush with stickers on it.
He walks out slowly, conscious of his encroaching on her home and every noise he makes. Mel’s standing at the sink and looking out her window with the little blue curtains. There’s two sets of tupperware on the counter like she intended to heat up leftovers, but her gaze is fixed somewhere in the distance. Her arms are folded across her chest and her thumbs are rubbing small circles in her forearms.
Frank likes watching her think. There’s not a lot of time for it in the ER, where seconds count constantly, but anytime he sees Mel’s thinking face he knows, a little selfishly, that a tactful strategy or some considerate insight will follow. She’s great to have on a trauma or with a socially-reserved patient. He’s a little unsure of how to interact with her as pedestrians.
Levity is probably worth a shot. “I like the bunny slippers,” Frank offers. He wrings his hands.
Mel’s head shakes a little before she turns around. Her eyes soften when she realizes he’s not really mocking her. “Ah, thanks,” she says, smiling at the ground. “They were kind of an impulse buy.”
“I didn’t think Mel King made many of those.”
“She doesn’t- I don’t, not really,” says Mel, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s kind of a funny story. There was this patient a few months ago- it was your first day back, actually,” she interjects, and Frank’s heart clenches a little bit. “He was asking me all of these personal questions, flirting, I guess-“ (is the room smaller? Frank’s certain it’s getting smaller) “-and I had this moment where I realized I don’t actually know myself all that well? Like, I’ve spent a lot of years putting myself through school and taking care of Becca, which I don’t regret at all, but I think I’ve been so wrapped up in those responsibilities that I haven’t given much thought to myself, or what I like. He asked me what I liked to do, and I just blanked.”
She looks away from him then, back to the kitchen window. “So the next time I was at the store, I walked around for a bit, thinking about that, and I was just kind of waiting for something to catch my eye or make me think. And then I saw the slippers.” Mel’s smile grows a little at the thought. “I don’t really know what it was, or if it was anything at all, but I saw them and I laughed a little. And I hadn’t had any other ideas, so, you know, that felt like a good place to start.”
There’s a couple seconds of comfortable silence before Mel startles herself and turns back to him. “Sorry,” she starts, “that was probably a lot. I didn’t mean to, I just-“
“No, it’s okay,” Frank kindly interrupts. His chest is warm with fondness. “That’s actually really nice.”
There’s something tender in her facial expression that he can’t decipher. Mel starts again, her tone softer, “I’m trying to do that more. Pay attention to myself, and what I like. Just, in a curious way.”
“It’s good to stay curious about yourself,” Frank offers, smiling. “And it’s good to have some whimsy.”
Mel grins. “Is that something Frank Langdon knows a lot about? Whimsy?”
Hearing her say his first name makes him falter. He doesn’t have the energy to think about that. He just keeps watching her smile.
“It’s a lifelong pursuit, but I’m working on it.”
When he leaves, Frank realizes he’s never going to be able to wish her goodnight again without thinking of that purple duvet.
——————
The second time he sees her apartment is also unplanned, but he manages to linger anyway.
Frank’s coming off of a brutal night shift — sick kids and sleep-deprived parents, bar fight injuries, a nasty 4 car pile-up on 279 — when he spots Mel’s black athletic jacket draped over a chair in the break room. It’s a miracle it hasn’t been moved overnight, although he guesses it’s in unspoken favor of Mel and her proclivities. He finds her number in a group chat Samira started to coordinate shift covers and realizes he’s never messaged her individually before.
Is it weird to start now? Probably a little. But he’s certain that jacket means a lot to her — aside from when she’s in scrubs, he’s never seen her in the Pitt without it.
He sends her a quick text, and figures that since it’s her day off he may as well offer to bring it over. He’s been there before, so it’s not an outrageous bid, and they’ve been looser with each other since that night a couple weeks ago. Mel, especially, seems a little less hesitant to talk about herself around him. He’s glad for it.
Frank’s not expecting a response until later in the day, but he hears back just a few minutes later as he’s walking to his car.
Oh wow !! I was actually dreading having to come in today and grab it. Thank you :)
He shouldn’t be so pleased with himself, predicting the gravity of the situation called for her coming in on a day off, but he is. Frank lets her know that it’ll be a few hours, just so he can nap, and she generously assures him to take his time.
A few hours of sleep later, it’s late afternoon and Frank’s drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His restlessness has dimmed after getting sober and in all the months after, but right now he feels like he’s slammed a Red Bull at the nurse’s station and raring for a trauma case. There’s a different feeling underlying all of the jitters, though; there’s no sense of danger, no shame or discomfort that he’s desperately steering away from. Is he nervous? Excited? Is that an appropriate reaction for going to a coworker’s apartment? No, he tells himself sternly, because Mel is a peer and they work well together. There doesn’t have to be anything else to it.
That logic doesn’t stop his free leg from bouncing the whole drive over.
He realizes that he’s never seen Mel out of work clothes about ten seconds before she opens the door. When the moment comes, he inhales sharply: Mel’s in a pair of gray fleece sweatpants that cinch at the ankle, and a baggy blue t-shirt with ‘Altoona High School Orchestra’ across the front (and he immediately notes this for further questioning another time). Her hair is out of its signature braid, and there are orderly waves cascading down her shoulders from the tight weaving. She looks genuinely pleased to see him, despite the sleepiness in her eyes, which makes Frank relieved.
“Hi, Langdon,” Mel says with a smile. Her voice is low and gravely. “How’s it going?”
“Not too shabby,” Frank chirps, grinning. All the energy he had in the car rushes down his body as he looks at her. “How are you?”
Mel rubs at her eye absentmindedly. “Pretty good. Tired,” she offers. “But I assume you’re worse off than me, huh?”
Frank shrugs and fiddles with her jacket. “Oh, you know. A mid-day nap can do wonders.” His attention gets drawn to the star-shaped pillows on the couch behind her. He can’t bear to hand over the jacket yet, like a jerk; he wants to stay suspended in this odd, charming moment for a while longer.
Mel’s watching his hands until her glazed eyes suddenly snap up, slightly widened. Her brows dip briefly, and then she asks, “Would you like to come in? For a minute? It’s freezing out.”
Frank, embarrassingly, startles. He was just thinking (daydreaming, more like) about what little of her apartment he saw the first time, but he was absolutely not expecting to be let in. He’d love an excuse to stick around, though.
“Yeah! Yeah, absolutely,” he gets out, awkwardly shuffling between his feet. “Thanks. Don’t want to let your heating out,” he adds haphazardly, cringing.
Mel hums and lets him inside, shuts the door behind them. It looks about the same as it did last time, but it smells a little fresher, like the space was just cleaned. There’s also strings of white lights scattered about: a line draped across the top of their upper kitchen cabinets, bundles around the box TV set, some draped over the back of the couch. It’s cozy, lived-in, and delicately festive. Frank feels the tension roll off of his back in a wave.
“Thank you, by the way, for bringing that over. I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient, you know, after a shift,” Mel says in her sincere, endearing way.
“Not at all,” Frank replies with a shake of his head, not wanting her to think she put him out. “Here.” He hands her the jacket, and their hands don’t technically meet, but he feels shape of her fingertips through the athletic material during transfer. Our hands have never touched, he thinks absentmindedly, then shakes his head abruptly. Lock in, Frank.
He clears his throat. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until later. You ever sleep in, or are you just that more disciplined than the rest of us?”
Mel gives him the knowing look she reserves for his jokes. “I wish,” she sighs, folding her arms together. “My body likes a routine, and I’m already a pretty light sleeper, so I tend to wake up at my usual time on my days off.”
“What’ve you been up to since then?”
“I had breakfast with Becca and then took her over to the center. She’s got a drama class that she really likes, and she’s getting food with her friends after.” Mel’s smile, still a little subdued with exhaustion, grows at the mention of Becca. “I have a set list of maintenance-related things that I always do on my days off, cleaning and reorganizing and stuff, and I took care of that quicker than usual. And now I’m just tired, except my body doesn’t do naps well either, so I’ve kind of just been…” her voice trails off as she gestures towards the couch. “…laying around, half awake, basically. Pretty thrilling,” she adds, looking sheepishly again at Frank.
“I’ll say,” he replies easily. He takes a proper look around, his first real one without having to be coy about it. There are dry erase boards hung in a couple places around the living space, all with neatly written schedules and checklists, some clearly more outdated than others. There are pictures of Becca and Mel together on almost every free surface. He sees several large, fluffy blankets in a basket by the TV, and there are a couple of stuffed animals lined up next to them. The coffee table has a couple of sensible-looking drink coasters that have been stylized with glittery stickers — similar ones to those on Mel’s toothbrush, he notes — that have faded or chipped with condensation. Mel’s set-up on the couch includes a heavy-looking blanket that might be weighted, a Sudoku puzzle book, and a cooled mug of tea.
“You guys have a nice place,” Frank offers after a few moments. “Feels really homey in here. I don’t remember the lights from last time, but I like them.”
“Oh! Yeah, those are for the season. Becca and I always love the idea of decorating for the holidays in theory, but all of the changes and the new clutter — just more stimuli, I guess — it gets visually overwhelming pretty quickly. We’ve figured out that white lights are a good compromise.” Mel looks around her space, assessing it for herself. Frank can’t help but notice how often she still uses “we” for herself and Becca, their needs and preferences. He wonders how much of those accommodations are doubly needed, and how many of them are concessions Mel’s made for Becca. He knows she’s been working on prioritizing herself, and he believes her, which makes it all the more impressive how naturally she takes care of her sister. The idea has always been endearing to him, but standing in this space, recognizing it as theirs, makes him feel it more acutely. That warmth is in his chest again.
Mel turns back to him. “What about you? Any big plans for the rest of the day?”
Frank huffs and looks down. “Hardly. I’ve got some time before I pick up Tanner and Penny, and then we’re gonna go to the Anderson playground and grab dinner after. Don’t know how they want to play outside this time of year, but I guess they’re pretty resilient.”
“Is that the one with the dinosaurs?” Mel asks, eyes widening. “I bet that’s a lot of fun for them.”
“Don’t tell any of our coworkers, but it’s kinda fun for me, too,” Frank says sheepishly. “Not like I can do much with my back, but I had a dinosaur phase as a kid, so it’s nice to be there by proxy.”
Mel’s smiling, but she looks genuinely thoughtful when she remarks, “Makes sense for our field, honestly. I think all of us were probably nerdy enough at some point to have been victims of dinosaurs or Greco-Roman mythology.”
Frank laughs at that, delighted. “Yeah, you know, you might be onto something there.”
Mel chuckles lowly. It rings in the back of his head for a few seconds while they look at each other. He should probably say something else, but he can’t look away from her face. He just keeps hearing that rumbling laugh.
Mel messes with her hair for a minute, brows pinched in thought, before making eye contact with him again.
“So… how long do you have until you pick up Tanner and Penny?” she asks carefully.
Frank glances at his phone. “About an hour,” he replies, also in a more measured tone. He shifts between his feet, his face a little hot all of a sudden. “I was going to go somewhere and grab food before I headed over.” He wants to duck his gaze, but he doesn’t. He looks at her feeling like he’s just confessed something.
Mel looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. She inhales, like she’s steeling herself, before she asks. “Would you like company?”
Frank is silent for a moment before he grins. “Yeah,” he says, gaze back down at the ground, smiling like an idiot. “Yeah, let’s do it, Dr. King. How do you feel about Paul’s?”
——————
That had ended up being a really good day. Frank and Mel had scarfed their sandwiches down in his car, playing public-radio-roulette and talking about the music they grew up on. Frank had dropped her back off, froze his ass off playing with his kids, and split a pizza with them in a warm, leathered booth, talking with Penny about school and throwing straw wrappers at Tanner. When he got home that night to his apartment, he felt less like a sad divorced dad and more like someone going through a healthy transition. Like maybe the next phase of his life didn’t have to be all about grief and repentance; maybe it could be hopeful, too.
A couple weeks down the line, Frank’s still thinking about it. He and Mel are chummy as ever, he gets a side-eye from Dana whenever he asks for her on a case, he’s driven her to her apartment after work two more times, but he hasn’t been back inside. Truthfully, he’s struggling with how to bring something like that back up. They’ve only hung out together the one time, which piggybacked off of a casual errand, and all the time they’ve spent in the car together is still good time, but kind of transitory. Not as much like two friends choosing to hang out with each other, more like two friendly people passing each other by. But he doesn’t know how to make Mel a friend he regularly hangs out with outside of the Pitt. Whenever he mulls on it, or tries to come up with a scenario, he overthinks himself into a headache and gives up.
Mel’s not at all a delicate person, but their friendship feels so; he realizes maybe it’s because he’s oddly desperate not to mess it up. To be fair, life after rehab has felt infinitely more precarious. Coming so close to losing everything — his kids, his career, himself — makes what he has left feel precious. He clings to his remaining lifelines with the knowledge that they’re not guaranteed to him, and that one misstep could send it all crashing down again. He never, ever wants a repeat of the night Robby sent him out of the ER, when he drove around downtown in a complete haze for hours, screaming at himself, slamming his hands on the dash to feel something, heaving and crying through a panic attack. Frank has never felt so untethered and volatile. The whole, wonderful world was reduced to his car and his back and his head. It can’t ever be that bad again. He doesn’t know how he’d survive it.
The post-rehab blues are hitting a little harder as the holidays get close. Abby’s got the kids upstate with her family for the first half of their winter break, which means he’s not gonna see them until the day after Christmas. Abby swore that they’d have a celebration together — a “Dad Christmas,” as Tanner lovingly put it — but it still blows. Two years ago, he might’ve gotten frustrated enough to hash it out with her. Now, he’s solemn and uncomfortably aware of the fact that it’s a miracle he’s getting this at all. He’ll spend Christmas day with his parents, but he volunteered to work shifts leading up to it so he’d have an excuse not to come home sooner. A cop-out masked as professional dedication, and they likely know it. But they haven’t seen him since the first stint of rehab, and he bets they feel resigned the way he is about seeing his kids: under the circumstances, you take what you can get.
On the 23rd, he’s passing through the break room when he catches Mel sat on the floor with her phone. As he approaches, he sees that she’s watching a video of jellyfish, their graceful bodies dancing slowly against a deep blue background.
“Thinking about a career switch?” Frank probes warmly. “I don’t know how well emergency medicine translates to deep-sea diving, but if anybody could finesse it it’d be you.”
Mel doesn’t look up, but she sighs with a smile. “Not for me, but thanks. Scuba suits sound like a sensory nightmare.” She scrunches up her nose and shoulders at the thought. Frank snorts.
“Can I join you?” he asks. Mel looks up then, her eyes brighter, and awkwardly shuffles a couple inches over against the wall. Frank slowly makes his way to the ground, and does an okay job of avoiding any dad-noises on the way down. He’s left a good couple of inches between them, since he knows personal space is important to her, but Mel actually scoots back a little closer as she adjusts her phone so he can see. They’re not touching, but it’s a close thing.
Time slows for a few minutes while they watch. It’s a miracle they get that much free time in an ER, and Frank thinks it might just be the magic of being in these in-between moments with Mel. They’re silent for some time, eyes trained on the shapes onscreen.
Mel looks up after a while, and Frank feels her looking at him. He gives her a few seconds before he turns and makes eye contact. Her gaze is soft and thoughtful, and he almost feels shy about it. What the hell is that about, even?
“How are you?” Mel asks in a soft tone. “The holidays can be a weird time.” She says this matter-of-factly, like it might not even pertain to him, in that gracious and empathetic way Mel always is.
Frank exhales, looks at his hands. “It’s, ah…. definitely different. A little weird, but things have been weirder.”
Mel nods. “Will you be seeing any family?”
“My parents on Christmas day, my kids the day after that,” he replies. “They’re upstate with Abby’s family now. Her parents have this huge farm, big fields, lotta barn animals. Logistical nightmare to live with, but fun for grandkids to visit, I guess.”
Mel hums. “There was a petting zoo every spring and fall in the town I grew up in. Becca and I went for years. She always liked the cows best.”
“What about you?”
Mel gives him a look like she’s been caught. “The rabbits,” she admits.
He chuckles. “Tracks.”
“And yours?”
“Oh, I like the goats. ‘Specially the kids. Running around, tripping on each other, yelling at the sky. They’re so…” Frank pauses, collecting his thoughts. Has he ever been this passionate talking about goats? When was the last time he even thought about a goat?
“I like how earnest they seem,” he finally says. “The little ones, they’re so excited to be a part of the world. Mess around in it.“
Mel grins at that. “What a carefree way to live.”
“If only we all could.”
“That’s kind of why I like watching jellyfish, when I’m overwhelmed,” Mel adds, looking back at her phone. “They don’t have a brain, or bones, or a heart and lungs. They’re essentially a floating nervous system, except it’s not even centralized. I like the idea of living like that… just experiencing, without any of the interpretation or awareness.”
Frank nods, looks down at the screen with her. They’re so light and aimless, the way they drift through the blue. He imagines Mel watching them with this perspective: just her, and the vast world to be curious about, no pain or fear or overwhelm. It’s really nice.
Later, when they’re at the snack cart watching the ER traffic, shockingly alone again, Frank remembers. “I never asked you about your holiday plans.”
Mel startles in the way she always does. “Oh, well, Becca and I don’t really have any close extended family. It’ll just be the two of us,” she says. She looks down at her hands, fiddling with the wrapper on her sandwich. “I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it to you, but our parents have both been gone for almost a decade.”
Jesus. “That’s rough,” Frank exhales, sure that she’d be uncomfortable with condolences or sympathy. “It’s good that you have each other.”
Mel nods. “It is,” she sighs, but her eyes are still a little sad as she says it.
“What will you and Becca do together?” he offers.
“Marathon Christmas movies, starting tonight. Normally on Fridays we go out to a restaurant, but Becca asked to get pizza delivered so we can watch more. It’s not like we haven’t already been playing them for weeks,” she laughs, “But I guess it’s about the spirit of it all.”
“The spirit,” Frank affirms. “Makes sense. And it sounds nice.”
Mel nods again, but soon has her thinking face.
It’s too easy of a habit. He sinks right into it every time. “You okay?”
Mel hums, still thinking, then abruptly turns to him. She scrutinizes his face for a minute, or maybe just thinks right through it. Frank feels weirdly perceived. He lets her work through whatever it is she’s got going on up there.
Mel inhales, then meets his eyes properly. “Would you… I mean, if you’re around, it doesn’t even have to be tonight, it could be this weekend, but…”
Frank saves her. “I would be honored,” he says sincerely, “To be included.”
Mel grins, all traces of uncertainty or melancholy gone from her eyes. “I have to warn you,” she starts, her seriousness back on for a moment, “Despite the fact that Becca is a grown adult, and should be respected and treated as such… it’s pretty likely that we end up watching Elf tonight.”
Frank laughs properly at that. “Like I said, it’s an honor to be involved at all.”
Mel takes the bus to pick up Becca, and Frank drives home first to change. He doesn’t think much about what he’s wearing, except for maximizing comfort while lounging on Mel’s brown couch. The time flies by until he’s at her doorstep.
Becca is, as he anticipated, a delight. He was worried he was going to have to tread carefully, being a new person in their special space, but she seems so excited to see a friend of Mel’s that none of those fears materialize. She asks him a lot of questions — What’s your favorite Christmas movie? Do you like animals? Do you have a girlfriend? How long have you been a doctor? What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever seen? — that he answers earnestly and in stride. Mel’s in their kitchen popping popcorn and mixing in Christmas-colored M&Ms, and he can hear her occasionally snort a laugh at some of his answers. The white lights give their place a warm, cozy glow in the nighttime. It gets even cozier and nostalgic when he sees that they’re watching Elf on a DVD player.
“I like collecting physical media,” Mel explains. “The DVD player and box TV were cheaper already, but I think it’s nice to have our own copies of things. More personal.” Frank agrees, charmed by the idea and their collection of favorites. Becca immediately demands that Frank pick his favorite characters from their collection, to which he obliges while Mel sets up the TV.
The bell rings with the pizza delivery. Mel goes to get it while Becca brings a purple beanbag in from her room and arranges it on the floor in front of the couch, grabbing a blanket for herself and some of the stuffed animals by the basket. As she sits down, she turns back to beam mischievously at Mel, to which Mel replies with a slightly panicked expression quickly masked with resigned amusement. Once she’s done in the kitchen, she grabs two more blankets and passes one to him as she sits down.
Mel’s off-the-clock outfit today isn’t dissimilar from the last one Frank saw. She’s in a different pair of cinched sweatpants this time, with an oversized blue button down and a white t-shirt underneath. They could just be her lounging clothes, but Frank likes the idea of her dressing androgynously. It feels comfortable and practical in a way that he knows Mel is. He keeps glancing over at her, weirdly enamored with the look, but also the knowledge that he’s seeing an honest and special version of her. Their friendship seems to be growing so fast; he finds himself looking forward to catching up.
Mel turns to look at him then. She sees his expression, which he couldn’t guess if he tried, and furrows her brow. Before he can say anything, they hear Becca yell, “I’M A COTTON HEADED NINNY MUGGINS!” in time with a dejected Will Ferrell onscreen. Mel jumps, and Frank laughs.
“He’s so bad at being an elf,” Becca snickers.
Frank leans over to Mel. “I’m guessing you’ve seen this at least a hundred times,” he whispers. “What are your real feelings?”
Mel slowly exhales, like she’d been holding her breath. After a moment, she whispers back: “I gotta be honest with you,” she says with a grimace. “Will Ferrell really freaks me out.”
Frank’s too busy holding in a chuckle to think about how gravely her voice got again.
It’s nice, what they are now. He thinks about the first time he came here, how hesitant he’d been to take up space, how quickly he tried to leave. It’s almost unbelievable how comfortable he’s become. He thinks it’s maybe the most comfortable or safe he’s felt in a long time. Safe, in his head and body, with the bubbly resident he picked up on the worst shift of his life, who’s picked him back a dozen more times since then.
When they talk about how drastically your world changes in sobriety, in structure as much as outlook, he really didn’t envision this. But now, it’s all he sees: that tea kettle, Becca’s stuffed animals, the photos on the mantel, Mel’s bunny slippers. All ingrained his head, as naturally as something else might’ve been once.
He looks over at Mel again, feels that familiar warmth of fondness. What a lucky, lucky man he is. How many lifelines he’s been given. How much gentleness he knows.
Frank moves his hand toward Mel’s, placing his fingers just along her wrist. It’s not brave enough to be a hold, but it’s a close thing. He waits.
He sees Mel smile out of the corner of his eye. She slowly flips her palm up, threads their fingers together, and squeezes.