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Mel plans. She researches and she scripts. Then she edits, updates the plan, and scripts some more. Three weeks of messaging Abby Langdon – adjusting to the steady company of early morning messages and the ever present hum of home cooked meals and advice for how to settle into the city – have lulled her into a false sense of security.
Nothing could have prepared her for Abby to be quite possibly the most gorgeous woman she's ever met. Her first impression, removed from the glow of a screen, is her ass in light wash jeans, cut not so much to cover but to cling to every curve, as she bends to rummage in the glove compartment.
Mel clears her throat, suddenly dry. The one time she has to leave her water bottle in the car. She may lose consciousness.
"Abby?"
“Mel!” Abby brightens, turning to greet her in white tank top so lightweight it's nearly sheer. Holy fuck. “Hey, hon. You hug?”
Not usually. Though, she can’t recall why not.
Mel swallows. “Hugs are good.”
“Thank you for coming.” Abby draws her in and Mel is reminded precisely how breathable the fabric of this sundress is, all softness where she's pressed against her chest and stomach. Steady pressure fits around her waist, palms pressed to her ribs. Her head fits exactly beneath Mel’s chin. A wooden hair stick twisted through a chignon of strawberry blonde waves blurs, too close for her eyes to focus on. She smells like Frank – their laundry detergent and herbal shampoo. It's a good fucking hug. She's really, really not interested in letting go.
Mel shuffles back. “Yeah, of course.”
Abby snags a stretchy wrap off the passenger seat and lifts Penny – scrunching and fussing as she's rearranged – from her carrier. She gestures to the open van door, Penny’s cries of protest dying off as she’s bundled in. “Tanner's down there. He needs acclimating if you want to pop your head in and say hey.”
Mel kneels down to perch on the edge. She hasn’t met many children outside of a clinical setting, not since she was a child herself. Not that there was ever much opportunity for her and Becca to socialize with other children.
“Hello,” she waves, folds her hands into her lap. She’s not sure what she expected. He looks like any number of other kids she’s observed in passing. The fastening's popped off one side of his overalls, metal loop wedged in the corner of his mouth. He worries at the neckline of a pale knit sweater vest, the same dusty green of Penny’s wrap.
“Hi.” Deep brown eyes squint back. He's got Landon's bone structure, his chin, the same sweep of dark hair. He scrunches his nose and she catches the spray of freckles on his cheek, the crinkling film of a temporary tattoo – a toad poised mid leap.
“I'm Mel."
“Okay.”
“I- Um. I wanted to say thank you for the lasagna.”
“Oh,” he hums, stretching out on his stomach. “You’re Mel. Our emergency person.”
“That’s right.”
“You're welcome. I only did the cheese sprinkles and chopped the veggies, you know.” He rolls a pair of wooden trains over the grooves of the carpet. The coupling rattles. It stops short of sticking to the metal track of the passenger seat. “Dad has to stay here. This is just a visit.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Yeah.” Tanner shrugs. The engine slides away.
Mel rolls it back. The first time their Dad checked himself in for the weekend, she and Becca had been about this age, a year younger maybe.
“Thanks.”
The magnets click back together, drawn back into the loop of the floor mat.
“No problem.” She has trouble imagining she was ever this young. Becca hadn't been talking yet.
Tanner drags a fanny pack out from under the passenger seat, swapping the wooden trains for a beetle green vw bug and a dented fire engine.
Abby leans in over her shoulder, hand warm where it rests on her collarbone. She can pick out each individual ring, the liquid puddling of her bracelets. Her thumb brushes absently over the exposed curve of her shoulder. “‘Kay, that's Penny sorted. Everybody good in here?”
Mel swallows, nodding. “Mm-hm.”
Wind kicks up, dragging the first crackling leaves of the season along the concrete. Brush skitters into neatly manicured soil, the breeze ruffles the hem of her sundress. Soon, it will be too cool to enjoy the air carrying her along. There are only so many warm days left. Hair clings to the back of her neck – she's worn it half up, two loose dutch braids tailed in ribbon holding the bulk of things away from her cheeks – penance for trying to slow the dwindling summer.
The doors whoosh open and stifling air conditioning pours out. Silver Elm doesn't seem terrible, as far as inpatients go. Security sees them through with a sweet wave to Tanner and Penny. It’s noisy, but no one's shouting, fan humming unevenly above it all. There's an odor, stale and tense on the inhale. Tanner edges behind her skirt, reaching up to grip Abby's hand.
“Bring anything with you?” asks the receptionist. Deborah, by the slate metal tag pinned to her polo.
Solemn, Tanner holds up his fist of cars.
Deborah's mouth pinches. “Right. Bags and IDs.”
She turns the diaper bag inside out for inspection, huffing when Abby takes the time to pack everything back the way it had been, though she doesn’t seem in any hurry to get their IDs scanned and the lobby is devoid of anyone but them and the security officer – their feet up and well loved paperback cracked open.
“Doctor King. Hm.” Deborah frowns, scrolling through something on the computer without making eye contact. “We weren't expecting you. We do encourage visits from loved ones, but we really prefer to avoid distractions from treatment when possible.”
“I was approved by Frank's therapist. I should be on the list?”
“Fuckin’ hell,” Abby mutters, folding her own shirt back under a spare romper for Penny. Mel, absorbed and fascinated in equal measure by the precision of her system, startles when a small hand brushes her own. Tanner, scowling, takes her hand like a tether, sneaker toe scuffing at a crack in the linoleum.
“It seems like you are,” Deborah huffs. “Though I'm not sure how that happened. We try to reduce potential triggers and influences from environments that may have enabled the addiction. Visits from friends, or co-workers, in this case, are typically kept to a minimum. Time with loved ones is already so limited.”
They're allowing ten minutes of phone time and two visits a week. Mel's not sure how much less distraction he could have.
“Well,” Abby chirps, edging closer. “It’s a good thing this place’s so inclusive and supportive of diverse families n'at.”
“We are, yes. We pride ourselves on-”
“Glad to hear. Honey, bag needs carrying, you mind?”
Oh. She’s looking at Mel.
“Um, no. Not at all.” It’s a calming pressure, the weight of it settling on her shoulders.
“I see,” Deborah says, pinched.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Abby stretches up to kiss Mel’s cheek. She hadn't, um, processed that quite yet. Mel hadn't considered– up. God, she's. Hm. Okay.
It's nice. Fuck it. One moment of indulgence. Mel leans into it, hand steadying her elbow. She turns her head just enough to catch Abby's grin. She lays her cheek against her temple, nose brushing her forehead, she soaks the warmth of her in. She basks in it.
“Of course," she says, soft.
“Yunz have a good one.” Abby nods to security as they breeze back out into the sun.
Tanner kicks a stone down the path, swinging their hands as he swerves after it. “Mama?”
“Hm?”
“I didn’t bite.”
“Christ, kid,” Abby ruffles his hair. “You sure didn’t. And look how well it went.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Tanner mutters. “She was too far anyway.”
"Oh?"
"Mm-mh. Counter's too tall."
Mel snorts before she can help herself, “your Mama took care of that all on her own.”
Abby grins, eyes darting from her cheek to her mouth to the path, the tumble of gravel kicked ahead of them. “I think you like my bite, Melissa King.”
She’s not wrong. It’s kind of everything she's ever wanted. The greedy, brutal dream that stirs anytime she gets too close to wanting too much. It's not real. Though, Abby knows that too. It's worth it. To be here with her and Frank, she can't think of much that's not.
A throat clears. “Hey.”
Frank.
Mel missed him. Oh, fuck. Mel’s struck with the horrible, slick crack of realization. God, she missed him. An ache blooms directly between the fourth and fifth intercostal space, a severing of the absence of him so intense it stalls her where she stands. She should look away. Dirt scatters underfoot, half planted. Her right tingles, shock still, lifted mid step. Distantly, she feels Tanner let go to chase after his rock as it skitters down the ditch. She has to tell her achilles to go lax manually. It would be embarrassing, if there was anyone paying enough attention to notice at all.
The whole of Abby’s attention redirects as she sways forward and pulls him in. He folds, rests on her. Her hand curled around the back of his neck, nails drawing through his hair. There’s something brutally matched about the familiarity in their sorrow. They look like they belong together. They touch like they’ve belonged to each other for a very long time.
Her chest pangs in crushing familiarity. Becca had begged their Mom for a pair of kittens the whole year before their dad died. Remembrance aches in her palms, into her fingertips, sunken into soft fur. They'd only gotten to keep them for a week before she was too swamped with grief and obligation to keep them. It had hurt, letting go. It'd hurt more that she ever believed she would keep them to begin with. Her stomach sinks, leaden. She never quite learned how to want things she has no business holding on to.
“Fuck, Abby,” Frank breathes, voice hitching. “Two fucking weeks. She looks older. Fuck. Fuck. I'm so sorry.”
“We're okay, baby,” she murmurs as he runs a hand over Penny’s back. “We're all just fine. Half way there. Pretty sure you're not on amends yet anyway. Breathe, Frankie.”
“You're right. Fuck, you're always right.” His hands shake. Tanner plops down at their feet and drags his fire engine over Frank's shoe.
“I know I am.”
“Mm.” Frank presses his palms to his eyes, turns his head to rest against her shoulder instead.
“Hey there, buddy. How's Maggie?”
“Heavy,” Tanner sighs, picking at his laces. “Mama says she's too big for me to carry now and she's still barking at the bunnies.”
Abby sighs, stepping away to brush the dust off of Tanner’s nose, “she's learning. Other than the barking, they've all been a dream, honestly. She's the sweetest company.”
Frank clears his throat, scrapes a hand through his hair. He half shuffles his feet, stalling when he realizes Tanner’s engine is still parked. “Mel. Hey.”
“Hi.” She stumbles forward and hugs him in graceless relief. He catches her, hand solid on the small of her back, other slung around her shoulders. Her voice might’ve cracked, just a little.
“It’s good to see you,” he murmurs into her hair.
“God, Mel, it’s really fucking good to see you.”
“You too.” She draws away, searches his face. He's lost weight along his cheeks, deep bags under his eyes and a couple days worth of stubble. He's pale, but then he's always pale. His heart rate is normal and he seems hydrated, at least. She should’ve brought her med bag. She cups his jaw, stretches up on her toes to meet his gaze, “Do they have you on diazepam yet?”
“18mg AM and PM.”
“That seems fast.” It seems borderline fucking dangerous, actually. They have months, there’s no need to push him.
Frank shrugs, “I don't want to be on it any longer than I have to.”
“It’s not about what you want,” she says, too sharp and too absent, and too sick with worry to regret it.
Clearly, Frank is unconcerned with her tone. He looks amused, if anything, nuzzling his scruff into her palm like an overgrown cat.
Mel hasn’t been able to check in on him nearly as much as she would have liked. Twice, they've managed to sync up a call. Abby's offered to coordinate more often, but her schedule has been unforgiving and she hasn't wanted to take any more of his time from her and the kids. Maybe she should have. The onsite prescribing psychiatrist is working closely with PTMC, but Mel’s heard enough about what Robby has to say to doubt they have his well being at the core of their return to work agreement.
“How is your back?”
“Not great," he says plainly. "It hurts."
She catches his chin with her thumb and he melts into her grip. “There's no reason for you to be in any more pain. They’re managing symptoms?”
“Mm. They have me on 5mg Prochlorperazine and 10mg Cyclobenzaprine tid.”
“Drowsiness?"
“Yeah. And somehow, still having trouble sleeping, fucking dizzy too,” he sighs, “better than the vomiting.”
“Hm,” she grumbles.
His expression brightens. “You’re going to call them, aren't you?”
“I’m going to call them, yes."
“Okay,” Frank’s grin softens. “Don’t know if it'll change anything, but you're welcome to. You know that. Thank you for being here.”
“Of course. Don't thank me for that.” It’s selfish, anyway. Maybe the most selfish thing she's ever done. Burrowing her way in. Only, they keep letting her. Her thumb grazes the divot in his chin. She lets her hand drop, but his arm stays around her shoulders.
Tanner stands, evidently done with trying to realign Frank’s laces. They carry on, wandering the path. The let him lead, looping through the gardens.
“Christ, you’re cute,” Abby sighs, knocking their shoulders together. “You've been holding out on me, Frankie.”
“Ignore her,” Frank says in a mock whisper, “she’s terrible with women.”
“Like you're any better,” Abby scoffs. “His idea of a first date is pizza and a movie. Has not changed since we were kids.”
“If it was up to you we would hit the craft store, knit through dinner, and then wind up in bed.”
Abby arches an eyebrow, “you’re against dates in bed now?”
“I didn't say that.”
“Mm-hm. I may have implied that we were all having dates in bed to get Mel on the family list, by the way.”
Mel’s stomach rolls, a wave of guilt and desire. "She, uh. Full disclosure. We kissed, also."
“Jesus, Abby.” He scrapes a hand through his hair. “You did not.”
“They were threatening her with less time, Frankie. You want me to let them talk to Mel like that?” She brushes her knuckles over Mel's arm, gentle, like she’s soothing something fragile.
Mel's hair stands on end. Frank can feel it probably, the goosebumps prickling up the back of her neck.
“I know you like to behave yourself, honey, but I'm not going to let ‘em get away with talking to you like that, it's not right.”
“It's okay.”
It was kind of nice. It soaks in alongside the warmth of the sun. She's not sure anyone's stood up for her in- Well. In a long time.
Surely, when she was a child. Someone must have.
“Okay,” Frank squeezes her shoulder, steers her around the curve in the garden. “This won’t cause any problems for you, will it? Your partner, or-”
“I'm not seeing anyone,” Mel clears her throat. “Won't, um, won’t your therapist ask questions, if you suddenly pretend to be interested in me?”
“Yeah, Frankie,” Abby shoots him an incomprehensible look. “They got any reason to suspect we’re not being honest here?”
“I uh-” Frank's cheeks go pink. He scrapes a hand through his hair. “I've been talking about you often enough. They'll probably buy it.”
“Oh.”
“There,” Abby says, beaming softly. The light catches her hair, glowing halo, like the suns suspended in resin. “Nothing to worry about.”
Sloped along the hillside, there is a bench beneath a sun painted oak. Frank leads them there to sprawl flat on his back in the shade. Tanner kneels down off a ways to drive his cars in the dappled shadow of the treetop.
Mel sinks cross legged in the grass. It’s soft, undeterred by the creeping autumn. Abby ruffles Tanner's hair and weaves back to sit between them. She drapes a sleeping Penny on Frank's chest, kicks off her slides, and leans back on her elbows, face tipped to the sun. Mel catches a strand of her hair, tucking it back into the twist of her bun. Abby hums, turning her head into her hand.
“Mm, would you?” she gestures to Mel's lap. “I never make time to do anything with it these days.”
“Sure.” Abby shuffles up, settling her head on Mel's thigh. She curls up on her side, ass pressed to Frank’s hip, feet tangled up with his knees. The field stretches out into a shallow gully, wind cresting the bank. It warms, as it passes through the trees.
Mel eases the stick from her hair, brushing it back with her fingers. Strawberry blonde waves blanket her thigh. Abby hums contentedly as Mel scratches her scalp.
“They go with ADHD again?" Abby asks, muffled by Mel’s skirt.
“I think they expected me to be surprised by the diagnosis?”
“‘Course they did.”
“Yeah. And. I uh- I'm an addict. ”
“That too.” Abby reaches back for his hand. Blindly, they interlace fingers. Mel follows the line of their arms to Penny's sleeping profile, the relaxed tilt of Frank's chin and the bags around his eyes. He's unfairly pretty.
“You'll heal,” Mel says. The certainty feels unearned, but when she presses against it, it does nothing but steady. “You admitted you need help and you're getting it. You already did the hardest part. Baby steps. You’ll get there.”
“Thanks, Mel,” he says, sighs, “that’s what they say. I'll keep it in mind next time a lab tech has to watch me piss.”
“I could leave ‘em a note,” Abby offers, grinning against her thigh. Mel traces the curve of her smile in the next twist of braid.
“On my dick?”
“Why not.”
“Abby, baby,” Frank snorts, shaking her softly by the grip on her hand. She tilts like she wants to shoulder him and then thinks better of it, sinking more deeply into the turn of Mel’s knee.
"What would it say?” Mel snorts, giving way to a truly embarrassing giggle. She schools her expression.
Abby flicks her gaze up, laugh softening. “I'm sure I'll think of something.”
Mel leaves a braid over her shoulder. It’s indulgent, elaborately woven in around the edges. She’d almost foregone the ribbon, but her own style looked just as nice finished off with just the one. It'd come free easily.
The sunlight dwindles, Tanner creeping in closer as the shadow shortens, until he’s playing in the light over their feet. Eventually, an alarm buzzes in Frank’s pocket. Reluctantly, they break away from each other, gathering up snack wrappers and discarded sweaters. Frank tugs Abby to her feet, then turns to Mel.
“Need a hand?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She doesn’t, not really, but she lets him tug her up anyway, burrowing into his arms when he holds them open. Abby leans in on his other side, Penny tucked between them, in a tangle of limbs and grief.
Fireflies drift up out of the gully. Mel blinks away the blurry glow. Tanner leaves his cars in the grass to set both of his palms on Frank’s arm. He thunks his head into his hip and squeezes.
“Thanks, buddy,” Frank says, voice gruff.
When Tanner lets go, he gathers his cars and takes Mel’s hand.
“Oh,” Frank says, glancing between them.
“On the way in too,” Abby says, quiet. Frank’s arms tighten around them.
They leave him in the lobby, the pressure of his arm lingering around her shoulders. The air conditioning washes over her, evaporating all of their muggy warmth. The loss clings like a shroud and for all Mel tries, she can not shake it. She clamps down on her tongue, bites back the sting in the corner of her eyes. She should be better than this. God, she should be so much better than this.
She’s said goodbye to far too many people to feel so unmoored by the absence of someone she will see again so soon. Abby leans into her side, arm looped through hers, they wind through the lot. Mel doesn’t let go of either of them until they reach the van, Abby drifting around the opposite side to load Penny.
Tanner leaves the fire engine in his place.
She turns it over in her palm, wheel spinning. “You want me to hang onto it for you while you get in?”
“Bye, Mel.” Faster than she knows what to do with, he hugs her tight around the waist and climbs in to start on his buckles. The door clicks, automatic, sliding shut.
“Goodbye,” she says, touching her hand to the window.
“Wait,” Abby says, skirting around the trunk. “Let me-"
Mel turns to her just in time for Abby to land on her toes. She can't bring herself to care. Clumsily, Abby stretches up and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. The grip on her arm is bruising and sweat damp. Mel ducks down to pull her into a tight hug.
“I’ll see you on Wednesday," she rasps. Hair tickles her nose, smudging her cheek with sweat. Her skirt is stuck to her stomach, breath leveling out as she holds her.
“Wednesday,” Abby echos, squeezing her hand, before letting it drop. It feels wrong to leave it the distance between them.
"Text me when you're home safe."
"You too, yeah."
"I will. Promise." Mel turns around before she gives into the urge to say something she won’t be able to take back, weaving halfway across the lot. Between a beat up minivan and a 4Runner tall enough Abby’s head wouldn’t clear the hood, Mel watches her hit the button and lean back against the driver side, expression sliding off her face as soon as the door whirs shut. Penny’s wrap hangs loose around her shoulders, fists balled up and trembling.
“Fuck,” Abby hisses, scrubbing a hand over her eyes. The sound carries. The ache thrums and Mel does not need to speak it.
She swallows back the lump in her throat and drops into the seat. The trapped heat is stifling in the setting sun. It leaves her breath shaking, wet salt on her cheeks.
Through the windshield, Abby tips her face up, breathing in deep before swinging around and settling behind the wheel, composed mask already in place.
Mel sets her hand in her pocket, fits her thumb in the divot of the dent on the fire engine’s side. She turns the key. Three days. She can wait three days.