Work Text:
When the letter came in the mail, (thick envelope, creamy card-stock), on Tuesday, Abby honestly thought it was a practical joke.
“Why the hell are you getting mail from the mayor, Frank?” She asked, leaning over the countertop to waggle the envelope towards him. She was mildly surprised when he snatched it from her, looking it over with his eyebrows furrowed.
“Is it a ticket or something?” She said, tilting her head to the side.
“Uh, no,” He said, and he was doing that thing again— god, she hated that. He thought he was so subtle, such a good liar, but he wasn’t, because every time he lied, he started licking his lips, “Just something for work.”
“From the mayor?” She had planned on dropping it entirely, but now he was being weird about it, so really, he gave her no choice, “Give that to me.”
Quick as a wink, she swiped it out of his hand and tore open the envelope, unfolding the letter inside. It was fancy, nice paper with a letterhead and everything.
“Wow,” she said with a snort, “Pittsburgh’s finest, over here.”
Frank folded his arms, attempting to look stern. That had never worked on her, though.
“Holy shit,” she said as she began to read, “is this for real?”
“Yes, and I told you, it’s just for work,” He tried to explain again, exasperated, but Abby was engrossed, now, reading every line.
“No way! This is cool! Mayor’s Citation for Heroic Service,” she read with a smirk, “that’s very fancy, Frank. We have to go.”
“I really don’t want to go.”
She glowered at him, what was with this attitude? He was being no fun, “We’re going. It’s not every day you get a medal and a free steak dinner! Wow, my husband the hero. Who would’ve thought.”
“It’s just hospital PR shit that we don’t need to get involved with,” He said sharply, making it clear that the conversation was over. But the kids were asleep, so she wasn’t having any of that.
“Watch your tone, first of all. And second of all, I just said we’re going, so we’re going. Remember? You owe me.”
Ever since the day that he’d gotten dismissed from PTMC and sent off to rehab, there was a tally of things that he owed to Abby. A lot of them were reasonable: if he was home in the mornings, he woke up with both of the kids so that she could sleep in. He paid for her to get pedicures once a week. He got her a subscription to a dry bar. And after a lot of contention, forehead botox. Now, were these things reasonable? Yes. Abby thought so. Were they also evidence of the last death rattle of a marriage on hospice? Also yes. And Abby was aware of that. But she felt she could at least enjoy her life in as many ways as possible if she was going to be stuck with him.
And if she wanted to go to the Pittsburgh City Council proclamation meeting to award her mediocre husband with a Mayoral Citation for Heroic Service, they were sure as shit going.
“Fine. We’ll go.” He said with a sigh, and for some reason, Abby didn’t feel like she’d won anything.
Pittsburgh’s City Council Chamber looked like it belonged on some kind of law show. Abby half expected Judge Judy to reveal herself behind a column, or perhaps (even better), Olivia Benson, testifying against some depraved panty snatcher.
Frank had begrudgingly dressed in his nice button-up and been cantankerous all night, much to Abby’s great irritation. But, she had been waiting for a chance to wear her nice dress that she’d ordered right after rehab stay #2, Reformation brand called “Briony”, shade cabaret, with a halter-top and an open-back that showed off her thoroughly aerobicized midriff.
They looked beautiful together, Abby knew this. Nearly uncanny. ‘Evil twins’, they had been called in college, for their matching, thick, dark hair and other strange, small similarities. A sharpness to their twin jaws, heavy eye-lids, pale eyes. Once, drunkenly in a bar, they had told the bartender that they were sister and brother. Had made up entire backstories, different names. The sex they’d had that night was the best she’d ever had, but that was when they still had fun. When they still liked each other.
In any case, they were both looking photo-ready and the babysitter had been tipped handsomely and plied with pizza, so Abby thought maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to enjoy the evening.
“So, how does this work?” she asked, leaning over to reach her husband’s ear, “Do you have to give a speech?”
“I fucking hope not,” he replied, hushed by her ear, and flexed the hand that rested on the small of her back, his kind of playing pretend.
It was then, after taking out her phone to take a picture of the poster outside the door, that she realized it wasn’t just Frank who was getting a Mayoral Citation for Heroic Service. It was also Melissa King, their names linked together with a fancy, swirling ampersand. She wrinkled her nose with distaste, mind instantly flooding with the memory of every time in the last year that her husband had said her name. Always impossibly fond. Always regalling something hilarious she had said, or something wonderful she had done. Sweet, funny, smart, Mel.
After he’d brought her up in therapy, put her on his list of people he wanted to apologize to at work, his way of integrating back into PTMC, after only knowing her for one fucking day, Abby had snapped and looked her up on Facebook.
Melissa ‘Mel’ King. Most of her profile was private, so she could only see certain life events.
Born: February 4th, 1997 in Bend, Oregon (making her the oldest of Generation-Z, vomit emoji, and an Aquarius, a square-aspect opposite to her own sign, Scorpio).
Graduated high school in Covington, Virginia in 2015 (the same year Abby had graduated from Rutgers, another vomit emoji).
Then, a few public posts. Some graduation photos posted by a relative: Mel, awkward and sun-burned, standing with her mother, her twin sister hanging off her arm. Some photos she’d taken of a cat that she’d found, pleading the good people of Virginia to locate its owner. Finally, her mother’s funeral, which Abby had scrolled past quickly, a sudden wave of guilt washing over her.
Graduated college, pre-med, University of Virginia, 2019 (the same year Abby had been pregnant with Tanner, but Mel still looked like a teenage girl, posing with a bouquet of flowers in her graduation gown).
And then a move to Pittsburgh, noted with a little house symbol, which had garnered heart emojis from no less than ten family friends.
Started job: Resident Physician, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center
That was basically it, except for her profile pictures, which Abby had clicked through feverishly while nursing a Trader Joe’s wine spritzer. Then, her cover photo: her in Colonial Williamsburg with her sister, grinning from ear-to-ear in matching bonnets. It had been the same since 2017.
She’d thought it might make her feel better, especially when Mel looked the way she did. She didn’t mean it in a bad way, but Mel was… mousy. Unassuming. The first thing Abby had even noticed was her glasses, ever-present on her dowdy little face. Her hair, dishwater blonde and always styled the same way, she didn’t look like a seductress. A mistress. No way. Mel just… wasn’t Frank’s type. But then, she’d tried to even recall what his type was. They’d started dating in college, neither of them had much opportunity to experiment.
In a panic, she’d dug up his high school yearbook, looking for the year that he’d been on homecoming court. When she’d found that the girl in the photo beside him had worn glasses, she’d slammed the book closed with a gasp. She didn’t know what to think.
But this… this was quite another thing.
“I didn’t know this was a joint party,” Abby said, folding her arms across her chest and gesturing to the sign.
“Oh… yeah. I mean, I told you this was a work thing, Abs,” He licked his lips and Abby stiffened, her ears going hot. So that was how this was going to be.
She could see Mel across the room, she was easy to pick out, still looking plain even in a delicate, silk-looking dress— was that Doen? Abby frowned deeply, feeling unsettled. That she didn’t like.
“Let’s go say hi to her, then. Shouldn’t you congratulate your favorite co-worker?” Abby said cooly, and watched as the blood drained from her husband’s face.
More disturbing than the Facebook page had been the way that she’d noticed he kept them distinctly separate at the PTMC summer barbecue. He moved them around like chess pieces, making sure that they never met. That had been a huge fight, but Abby couldn’t even explain why she was upset. It was just a feeling.
“Don’t be like this, Abby,” he said dryly, swallowing hard.
“Be like what?” She challenged, “Friendly? Engaging? Congratulatory?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t actually.” She lied, and then took Frank’s arm and led the way to Mel.
Mel was all smiles, of course, holding a plastic cup full of sparkling punch that she nearly dropped as soon as she saw Abby marching towards her.
“It’s so funny,” Abby started, although she absolutely did not think it was funny at all, “I just realized I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself, even though,” she laughed here, richly, “I feel like I know so much about you! I’m Abby, Frank’s wife,” she stuck out her hand.
As if it was difficult for her to figure out how to hold both the cup of punch and Abby’s hand at one time, she took a moment of awkward shifting to finally shake what had been offered to her. Mel’s handshake was limp and mildly sweaty.
“I’m Mel, um, Mel King! It’s so nice to meet you,” she said, although she had a similar affect to a bank teller being held hostage by someone with a pair of pantyhose on their head. Then, she turned to Frank, braid whipping around her shoulder, “I thought you weren’t coming, Dr. Langdon!”
“Sorry, Mel,” and Abby was suddenly completely appalled, because she hadn’t heard her husband say her name with that much tenderness since before their kids were born, “I didn’t get a chance to tell you that, uh, we ended up finding a sitter.”
“That’s great,” Mel said, although her smile didn’t meet her eyes, she turned back to Abby and said quite earnestly, “you are, um, so pretty in person.”
Abby was caught off-guard, trying not to let her confusion show on her face. It was as if Mel could read all of her darkest, evilest thoughts and knew that she had been thinking about how homely she looked in her Facebook profile picture, “... Thank you.” she said, hoping that she had some kind of ulterior motive, but finding that less and less likely as she looked into Mel’s eager, earnest face.
‘Of course. Um, do we get any food after this?” She wrung her hands anxiously, a habit that Abby found childish, “This is a little late for me.”
“I think if we’re lucky,” Frank said, “We might get a gift card out of this whole thing.”
After about twenty more minutes of awkward socializing and milling around, Abby had found their place-markers at the tastefully decorated tables. ABBY LANGDON, right next to FRANK LANGDON, and to her mild horror, MELISSA KING. Of course, she hadn’t brought a plus one, as Abby knew from her Facebook that she had never had a boyfriend serious enough to change her relationship status, and had never even been photographed with a man to Abby’s knowledge. She’d hoped, after seeing a photo of her wearing sensible hiking boots, that she might be some kind of lesbian, but that didn’t seem to be the case, much to Abby’s disappointment.
There was a sudden dimming of the lights and suddenly someone important looking was tapping a microphone, and Abby noticed that her husband had begun to sweat profusely. Typical Frank.
The man at the microphone cleared his throat, “Good evening everyone, and thanks for coming. Luckily, the air conditioning is up and running…” Abby immediately zoned out as the council member began to attempt to get some kind of chuckle out of the crowd. She did hate things like this, actually, she decided at that exact moment. Suddenly, wearing the dress wasn’t worth it. They should have mailed Frank the damn medal and she could be in bed with a popsicle watching 90 Day Fiance, “... Today we recognize Doctors Langdon and King for their extraordinary actions on July 23rd. While off-duty and acting solely out of concern for another human being,”
Abby’s blood ran cold. What the fuck did he mean off-duty? Her mind was going a mile a minute.
July 23rd was her sister’s birthday, and she hadn’t been able to meet her for brunch because Penny’s nap ran late, and obviously if Frank hadn’t been working, he would’ve had the kids and she would’ve been drinking Mimosas. But she didn’t get any Mimosas. Because Frank was working that day.
“They entered dangerous conditions, rendered lifesaving aid, and exemplified the very best of Pittsburgh,”
She felt the impulsive urge to grab his arm, to get his attention in some way. To shake him. To demand an explanation. But before she could do anything, Frank and Mel were sheepishly shuffling up to the platform to receive their shiny, gold medals, a photographer waiting, everyone clapping and cheering for the two heroes. There would be an article about this in the paper. A newsletter from the hospital PR team emailed to everyone on the subscription list. As Frank stepped into the spotlight of the platform, his wedding ring glinted, bright, white and gold.
“I’ll let these two say some words, and then we’ll hear from Mrs. Bowman, the mother of the little girl that these brave doctors rescued from a rip current on Presque Isle.”
Presque fucking Isle. Presque fucking Isle! He told her he was working and then ran off to the beach with his co-worker?
Abby sat, white as a sheet, waiting to hear what Frank would have to say for himself. The two of them were just standing there, the moment had gone on too long, and Abby could see them turn to look at one another, eyes darting around.
Awkwardly, Frank cleared his throat into the microphone. There was a beat, and then, the squeal of feedback. Mel covered her ears, looking startled.
“... Sorry,” Frank said with a weak, humorless laugh. The audience laughed along with him uncomfortably. Abby just stared at him hard, “We’d like to thank the city of Pittsburgh for, um, the recognition. And, uh,” he trailed off.
Mel took over, leaning in stiffly, “We’re glad we were, um, in the right place at the right time.” she said, and then gave Frank a hesitant smile.
“Yep... and… go Penguins.”
The audience burst into raucous applause. Abby could have fucking killed him right there. But instead, she watched as he posed for a photo, his arm around Mel, doing a stupid “thumbs up” pose, twin gold medals hanging from their necks.
The girl’s mother, tearful but much more eloquent, told an unbelievable story of a man that Abby found completely incongruent with the man she knew as her husband: Her young daughter was playing on the beach, only ankle-deep in the water, dragged out in a second by a rip-current. Frank jumped in after her, and carried her out as limp as a ragdoll. Mel performed CPR while he called an ambulance. Her daughter’s miraculous recovery back to perfect health, a picture projected on the screen behind her of the little girl smiling in her hospital bed, Mel beside her, glowing like an angel underneath the hospital fluorescence, holding a teddy bear.
“And it’s funny—” she said, sniffing, “What I remember most of all, is that Dr. King had been eating an ice cream cone… and she threw it in the sand as soon as she saw my daughter without a second thought... how thoughtful of her, to interrupt her nice day-off on the beach, eating ice cream, y’know? How wonderful to do that for a stranger… I just can’t thank her or Dr. Langdon enough. If they hadn't been there…”
Abby felt like she was going to throw up.
Mel and Frank eating ice cream on the beach together. Had she been wearing a bathing suit? Had he taken his shirt off in the sun? Or had he dove selflessly into the water and come out all soaking wet in his skin-tight— fuck.
As if by some cosmic joke, they were then presented with $50 gift cards for Houlton Farm’s Dairy Bar. Mel clapped her hands together with delight.
That was about enough for her. Feeling like her legs were made of lead, Abby stood up, her chair making a loud sound as it scraped backwards against the hardwood floor. With a start, Mel and Frank turned to look towards her.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence and Abby could feel eyes on her. Before she could think of something intelligent to say, her mouth moved before her brain could catch up.
“Go fuck yourself, Frank.” She said, and walked out before she could hear anyone's reaction.
