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“Hello, you reached the Langdons. Tanner speaking.”
Technically, he's waiting now, not speaking, but that's what he's supposed to say when the phone rings. It's the number from Dad's work. Except, he's not sure why they would be calling. Dad's on his city rug, pretending to sleep while Tanner lines trains up down his back and legs. Mama's feeding Penny. Nobody calls Maggie, because she only barks, Penny can't talk at all yet – she only makes sounds – and Mel's been at work for forever.
“Hello, Tanner. I'm Dana, I'm a nurse, are there any grown ups with you I can speak to?”
“We met before,” he says. Lots of times, but grown ups don't always remember. Dana reminds him a little of Aunt Lydia. It's fuzzy now, but he remembers her some. She smelled soft, like campfire smoke, and hugged him so tight it cracked his bones.
“Oh. It’s Dana,” he tells Mama. He can see them practicing being patient while he's practicing with the phone.
Mama bites the side of her cheek, breathes out slow. “Bring it here, baby.”
Dad sits up so fast the trains click together and clatter. Maggie lifts her head.
Mama shifts so he can climb up next to Penny and brings the phone to her ear. “Hey, Dana, it's Abby.”
Dad doesn't move.
“That is- God, okay. Hang on a second, Dana,” Mama sets her hand over the mouthpiece. “She's fine, Frankie. Tanner, go get your bag ready and your boots on. Dana? I'm back.”
Tanner kisses Mama's cheek and then Penny's. He sets his finger in her palm and she squeezes. He understands Aunt Lydia. If Penny ever grows up to have a little baby, one who looks just like her, he would probably squash them with hugs every chance he got too.
“I understand,” Mama says, voice tight, the way she tells Tanner to keep his nice shoes out of puddles or to leave the sticks where he finds them on the side of the trail. “No, Frankie's on his way. I swear to god, if they give him any trouble, Dana.” She sighs, a big sigh. “Yeah, no, you too. Thanks for calling.”
“Combative patient, non-displaced ulnar break. She's already in a cast, they just need someone to drive her home to discharge.”
“Jesus Christ, Mel.”
“I know.”
Dad lets Maggie out into the yard and ruffles his hair as he turns the corner to head upstairs. “Two minutes, buddy.”
Tanner grabs Toothy out of the basket by the door, his fur matted from his tumbles through the laundry. His floaty keychain is still clipped on from their trip to the zoo. In the bag go; his wooden engine and caboose, a notepad, three crayons – light, dark, and yellow green – and an extra change of corduroy pants. He won't need them, he's only had to change once today and that was not his fault, it was the juice. Penny's already on outfit four.
Tanner sits in the big chair to wait, turning his floaty keychain back and forth. He swings his feet – thud, thud, thunk – into the cushion. He misses Mel.
It's a purple jumpsuit, Penny’s outfit, lilac purple, like Mel's scrunchie and Mama's pajama dress. It's a very purple kind of day, Mama's decided. Mel stays with them a little bit that way.
Mama glances over when Penny's done feeding. “Got everything, buddy?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Hey.” She sits Penny up on her lap. “Wave bye-bye to brother bug–”
“Bye, Penny!”
“Ba buh ba!”
“–he's going with Daddy to pick up Mel.”
“Mum muh!” she giggles.
Dad jogs down the stairs with his sleepover bag over his shoulder. “Ready?”
Tanner grips the strap of his bag and nods, scooping up his boots by the loops so he doesn't track slush salt through the house.
Dad kicks on his hospital shoes at the garage door, lifts Tanner into the truck, and helps him get snuggled under his car coat. Mel must have taken Mama's car, because her SUV is still in the garage. Mama doesn't like that she's still driving it at all. It's older than Mel and Auntie Becca, but it belonged to their Mama since they were even littler than Penny, so they keep it.
The drive to the hospital is quick. He measures it by the usual things; the stubby tree, the big yellow house, the park with the metal slide. In the parking lot, dad helps him unbuckle, even though he's been able to do it himself for the last two whole years. He scoops Tanner up, right out of his seat.
“Okay, eyes and ears closed, bud. We're going right to Mel.”
They have to stop and visit with Lupe first. Dad lets Tanner turn his head for that, but only to look right through the glass. “Hi, Lupe. We need to see Mel King.”
“Hey, kid.” She smiles at him, soft. “Room six. Head on back.”
“Thanks, Lupe,” Dad says.
“Yeah, yeah.” Lupe shakes her head. “Good to have you back, Langdon. Place isn't the same without you.”
He lets Dad tuck his head down against his shirt, so he doesn't see anybody’s insides. That's okay. All he wants to see anyway is Mel.
Dad stops.
His voice goes rough, “Melissa.”
“Frank. Tanner. You're here.” She sounds surprised. Hopefully someone told her they were coming, Mel hates surprises.
Tanner drops down. “Mel!”
“Tanner. Shi-ouch.” Dad tries to catch him, but Tanner flicks the light off and clamors up onto the bed, careful of the tubes and wires, to wedge himself under Mel's arm.
“Hey, buddy,” she says, soft.
“Sorry about squirming, Dad,” he mumbles into Mel's shoulder.
“It’s fine, Tanner,” he says, stiff. He crosses the room in quick, heavy steps. “Jesus.”
“Frank. It’s worse than it looks, I swear.”
“It looks pretty fucking bad.” He can't see Dad's face anymore – he folds himself around her shoulders – but his breathing is shaky. Dad reaches down to run a hand through his hair. “Stay up here, buddy, off to the side.”
“I know, I'm not on anything,” he sniffs. “Sorry, Mumma.”
“I'm okay, buggy. Promise,” she says, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. She has a splint and a sling around the other arm, fingers twitchy.
He passes her the water keychain from the zoo, floaty animals swirling back and forth in glittery grass. It's not as good as her lava lamp, but he's not allowed to take that out of his bedroom without permission. It's real glass and very, very old.
“You worried me.” It’s Dad's turn to get sniffly.
“Oh. I did? I'm sorry.” She turns the water back and forth. A tiger emerges, then a giraffe and a penguin. It doesn't make any sense at all, they would eat each other in there, but it's pretty.
“Don't apologize, I just- I was so fucking worried,” he says. “Mel, God. Don't do that again. Why didn't you call sooner?”
“I– Um. I don't know. I didn't want to be a bother, I guess. It all happened very fast and it wasn't that serious. They let Whitaker handle most of it.”
“That doesn't exactly inspire confidence."
When he was as big as Tanner, Whitaker lived on a farm. Now, he lives with Doctor Trinity Santos - who helped Dad get better and takes Mel out for grown-up drinks every other Thursday night. Once, he caught three rats that got loose inside and he made nice little homes for them in the park across the street. He's not a doctor, but almost. Tanner can't picture him in his head yet, though, so he hopes he comes back.
A doctor does walk in, but he doesn't look like he'd be any good at taking care of rats. He looks angry.
“What’s going on in here?” He stops in his tracks, hard eyes set on dad. “You're not supposed to be here. You know that. I've got another six months before I have to see your face in my ED again.”
“I'm here for Mel.”
“Doctor King doesn't need you here. There are plenty of capable, fully instated doctors on this floor that are taking excellent care of-”
Mel tenses, arm tightening around him. “Doctor Robby,” she says, voice stern like Tanner's only ever heard when he's about to do something dangerous or too tricky to take back. “You need to stop.”
“Mel, I really don't think-”
“She said stop it,” Tanner snaps, and he's halfway down the bed before dad catches him around the waist.
Dad sighs, “Stay with your- Mel, bud.”
“Choose your words,” Mel says, rote, as Dad tucks him, glowering, back in the crook of her arm. Her hold on him is very tight. All but the corner of the keychain is hidden in her fist.
Tanner's got some words for Doctor Robby, alright. He would love to choose them. Harrison’s right. He does suck.
“He’s a child, Robby,” she says in a cold tone he's never heard Mel use with anyone, not even the big kids that play rough too close to Penny.
“I wasn't even gonna bite anyway!” Tanner glowers at Doctor Robby's back. “I just want him to go away from us.”
“Tanner,” she sighs.
“Fine. Sorry, Mel.”
He is not sorry to Doctor Robby.
“Thank you.” Mel brushes a hand over his hair, and he jams his cheek into her ribs so he doesn't even have to look at him.
Doctor Robby steps off to the side with dad, anyway, and then he's gone, so it probably wouldn't have mattered too much if he got one good go in. He's not sorry to Dad either.
“You feeling okay?”
Oh. Maybe not.
His heart kicks and his blood is squirmy. It's too bright and it's too noisy and Mel is the only thing that doesn't smell horrible.
“Yeah,” Mel sighs. “I thought so.”
“I wanna go home,” he sniffs.
“I know, baby,” she murmurs, “I do too.”
“Soon,” Dad says, pulling a metal foldy chair up to the bed. He lays his head on the edge, hand stretched out to tangle with Mel's. “Whitaker's grabbing the paperwork now.”
“Cards until then?” Mel asks hopefully.
Tanner perks up, because Dad always does what Mama and Mel ask. Sure enough, he flicks a deck out of his back pocket.
Tanner falls asleep between hands.
He wakes up to Harrison's mama, Doctor Cassie, tightening the straps of his car seat. Toothy is in his lap, tucked under Penny's car blankie.
“Harrison,” he mumbles, mouth tacky with sleep. His breath makes little puffy clouds in the air, the truck rumbling like a big, sleepy dog all around him.
“Oh, now he's awake,” Doctor Cassie laughs softly, double checking his chest clip. She brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Have good dreams, sweetheart. I'll tell Harrison you said hi.” She hops out to hug Dad, and then Mel, way too tight.
“Thank you.” Mel clutches her back.
“Hey, you were both really brave today,” she says, passing Dad the truck keys and backing into the dim red glow, “I'm sorry you had to be. Get home safe.”
He watches the blurry traffic lights swim by the stars, awake only long enough for Mama to shepherd him up to a cozy oatmeal bath and read him two stories with Maggie curled around his feet.
When it's morning - Maggie wakes him by snuffling right in his ear - he and Maggie go downstairs to find everybody's already in the kitchen.
“Morning, baby." Mama's trying to convince Penny to eat her yogurt without spilling it all over. It's not going very well. "How did you sleep?”
“Okay,” he shrugs.
“Hey, bud,” Dad leans against the counter, grinning through a yawn as Tanner knocks his head against his hip. There's bacon sizzling on the stove and a little crescent of pancakes stacked around scrambled eggs. Maggie whines briefly at his feet before he flicks the back door open for her.
Mel's tucked at the table, cross-legged in Dad's Christmas pajama pants from two years ago and Mama's big sweater. She sets her mug down and pushes back from the table when he scooches up close, leaving enough room for him to curl up in her lap.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, gaze fuzzy on the little stitched deer.
Mel brushes a hand down his back. “Only a little,” she says. “Thank you for coming with your dad to pick me up.”
Tanner shrugs. He wanted to. It doesn't feel right anymore when Mel's not home too.
“We weren't going to leave you there, you know.”
“Right. Yeah.” Mel says. “I know.”
“Oh?” Mama raises an eyebrow, “could’ve fooled me.”
“Jesus, Abby,” Dad sighs. “Can we not get into this right now?”
Mel shakes her head. “It’s fine, Frank.”
“It’s not fine,” Mama says. “You were all by yourself, why the hell would you think I would want-” She bites her lip when she catches him watching. “Christ. Never mind, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” She ruffles his hair and turns back to scraping Penny’s spoon through her yogurt. “Have another bite, Pen.”
“Abby,” Mel says, “I didn’t mean to worry you. I didn’t know- a lot of things, actually. That doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I didn’t think-”
“Clearly, you didn't think. You should’ve called us-”
“-before I hit the ground?”
“Yes,” Mama sniffs, swiping her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “Then.”
“Okay,” Mel agrees easy, like the way she steps onto the merry-go-round, the way she swings him up onto her shoulders so he can see the leaves without taking them off the tree. “Next time, I will.”
Mama nods, face all blotchy. “That’s all I ask.”
“Sounds reasonable.” Dad crosses the room to set his hand on her shoulder. She leans back into his stomach while he passes her her coffee cup and dishes up Penny’s scrambled eggs. “Pancakes?”
“Please.”
Mel has the snowman mug. It's special, from Tanner's first Christmas, decorated with snowmen made out of their fingerprints; Mama's, Dad's, and his. It's only a wintertime mug. Every year, it comes out of the box with the glittery garland and his big stocking and all the fancy glass ornaments for the tree.
“That's not coffee.”
“It’s eggnog,” she says, nodding to the table. “You’re welcome to try it if you want.”
He twists around to reach. It smells okay, a little too cinnamony. The texture is like wet, ground up chalk. He sets it gently back on the table.
“That is so gross. You have the rest.”
He does not throw up in the special snowman mug, but he does take a big drink of water out of Mama’s glass.
Mel laughs against his hair. “Okay, buddy.”
Mama shoots him a look across the table.
“Ugh.” He scrunches his nose. “Thank you for sharing anyway.”
“Mm-hm.”
He traces the pom-pom on the hat of the little snow man him. They should make a new one, with Penny and Mel, and a little snow dog for Maggie. It's going to be huge if they have to use her paw as a stamp too.
“We could make another one, Mama, for Penny’s first Christmas, with Maggie and Mel too.”
“Muh ma!” Penny agrees, banging her tiny fork against the try. It flicks off all the eggs, but she just smushes them with her bare hands instead. Tanner wrinkles his nose.
Mel's breath does something weird, little stops and starts. When he looks up, she has her eyes pinched closed.
“Mel, honey?” Dad says, very soft.
Mama reaches out, but Mel’s only good hand is frozen on Tanner’s back, so she leans toward her. They sit like that, pressed shoulder to shoulder for a moment.
Mel exhales slow. “I'm good. Fine. Give me a second.”
“You don't have to be on the mug if you don’t want,” Tanner says, but that kind of makes him want to throw up too. “Is that not a good idea?”
“Tanner, no,” Mama frowns.
Dad shakes his head, “it’s not you, buddy. Mel just needs a second.”
“‘Kay,” Tanner shrugs. It still feels like maybe it was not a good idea, but Dad’s still humming to the radio and Mama is just drinking her coffee.
“Sorry. All good.” Mel hugs him tight, tight, tight again, even though he must be pressing on her hurt arm.
“You’re squashing me,” he giggles. Penny giggles too, just because he is.
“Oh, no, squashy bug,” Dad laughs, his gaze drifting over them.
“You good, honey?” Mama asks, quiet.
Mel nods, bumping their shoulders together.
“We’ll definitely make another one for Penny, buddy,” Mama says, swapping her coffee for Mel’s eggnog. Ugh. Gross. “I’d like it if Mel wanted to add her snowman too.”
“I would really like that.”
Mama turns and kisses the side of Mel’s head. “Good.”
“Okay.” Tanner lets his eyes drift shut for a cuddle, and when Dad calls, he gets up to help carry breakfast to the table.