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Mel rests her head against the wheel, willing her eyes to stay open. For no reason other than to make her life more difficult, she's been running very little sleep the last couple weeks, kept up by the rattling of the refrigerator and the ever shifting line of light at the base of her studio door. The memory of Frank and Abby's touch is pressed into her as cleanly as the frayed stitching of the wheel.
Her lock screen flares, bright in the dim of the employee lot, blue light lingering as the last of the sun sinks below the horizon. She turns her head, broken stitches digging into her cheek. She's met with the glare of her and Becca at the Ren Faire last summer. They still have yet to go this year, Becca's not sure she wants to go at all. Becca's boyfriend, the one she wasn't intending on telling her about, Adam, isn't a big dress up guy. It's more Mel’s thing anyway.
She turns the brightness down and taps on her messages, only having to scroll past her pinned chat with Becca to reach Abby.
She hits call. It rings once, twice.
“Mel?”
Mel wants to see Abby. She wants to be seen by her, through more than the screen. She wants to exist in the daydreams made real that persist every time they meet. It's rare she finds people she's so comfortable with, that the mere act of sitting in their presence is restorative.
Mel wants to go home – she’s so fucking tired – but the studio isn't home. Yet. It will be. It has to be. This level of constant dysregulation is the most surefire way to send herself spiraling directly into burnout. She knows that. She's been pulling too many resources from places she has none. It will be home. She will relax; organize and restructure. At the very least, she will make it less actively hostile. As soon as she has the resources.
Mel is pretty sure what she actually wants is to go home to Abby. The wanting surfaces before the thought does, an urge which is so completely ridiculous she puts it aside. It's unrealistic.
Clearly, she doesn't have much practice wanting things. It keeps popping up at the most inopportune times. This can't be what everyone else is doing. It's really not helpful. She'll work on it.
Thinking about impractical things has been seeping into all the other little things that she finds herself wanting. Coffee with Abby's too fancy cream and the sour cream and onion chips from the vending machine. She's been letting herself have little things, harmless things, things that are allowed.
Reframing Frank and Abby as home is strictly off limits. It's only going to chip at her if she lets it. She should be leaving more distance.
Only, she's so, so fatigued with holding herself back. They make things far too easy.
“Hey. Mel, honey, everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Mel sighs. She doesn't mean for it to come out so heavy. She clears her throat, pitches her voice up. That usually helps. “Um, about tonight. I'm kind of wiped, so I'm not up for much. If you want to reschedule, I understand.”
“Whatever you're thinking, come over."
“I’ll be terrible company.”
“You think I give a shit about that? Come over, have a drink with me. Seventeen minutes,” Abby says. “I know exactly how long that drive takes.”
Mel makes it in fifteen. She even remembers to lock up and grab the tupperware off the passenger seat.
The curtains rustle as she makes her way up the walk, the door swings open, Tanner hanging between the knob and the frame. “Hi, Mel.”
“Hi, Tanner," she laughs. She sounds tired. She hates that she sounds so tired.
His nose scrunches. “You're at our house.”
“I am.”
“Christ, kid,” Abby's laugh echoes down the hall. “Go on, invite her in.”
“Oh, yeah.” He springs back. “Come in, quick. There's bugs.”
“Yeah, you. Scooch, baby bug.” Abby ruffles Tanner's hair and reaches out to pull her into a tight, one armed hug, a dozing Penny cradled in the other. “Hey, honey. Thanks for coming. It's good to see you.”
“It's good to see you too.”
Through the archway, there's a dog stretched out under a sturdy, maple crib. Her tags jingle as she lifts her head, collar a deep brown leather. Between one blink and the next, she's halfway across the house, a blur of downy red waves.
Abby leans sideways and hooks her hand through her collar before she can dart to Mel. “How comfortable are you with dogs?”
Tanner tilts his head. “Dad says Mel loves dogs.”
"Frankie mentioned you liked one dog."
“I do love dogs.”
“Alright," Abby says, letting go. "Give me a second, I have to get Pen settled and I'll be right back."
Then, there's a dog at their heels and Mel has to sit down to untie her sneakers and line them up on the mat. She sniffs them curiously, but is mostly content to wiggle her head up onto Mel's knee in an entirely effective plea for pets.
“So, this is Maggie.” Tanner flops onto the floor with them, petting along her chest and belly. She turns her head back and forth into Mel's hands and then his.
“Hello, Maggie.”
“I think she likes you.”
“I hope so.” Her ears are very soft. Her paw pads are still uncalloused. Mel scratches her gently between the eyes.
The rug is patterned subtly with insects, rows of ants and long, twisting tunnels making worn paths in the pile.
“Okay, bedtime for sleepy bugs.” Abby comes back for Tanner, ruffling his hair and scooping him up to set him on his feet.
“It is past my bedtime,” Tanner says woefully.
“Yeah?” Mel asks, climbing to her own feet.
“Yes,” he sighs heavily. Maggie's tongue lolls as she circles his feet. “Mama let me have ten whole extra minutes to do trains ‘til you got here. That's more than five and two.”
“Oh, wow. That is more than five and two.”
“Do you want to come upstairs with us?” Abby asks. “I can show you around real quick.”
Mel feels her face soften into a grin, “I'd love to.”
“Guest bedroom and hall bath.” Abby gestures to the only closed door, on the immediate left, painted a deep blue. The door to the bathroom is a buttery cream. They're all different colors, Mel realizes, the trim and the exterior door a match for the color inside. The hall itself is a neutral white, carried up from the staircase.
Through a pale yellow doorframe, she catches a glimpse of a dim light and a ceiling full of glowing stars. Maggie slips through, collar jingling as she hops up onto the end of the bed, circling and circling until the bedding lays flat.
Tanner hugs her around the waist, quick, bouncing on his toes as he steps back. “Sweet dreams, Mel.”
“Goodnight, Tanner. Sweet dreams,” she says as he pulls it closed behind him.
His name is carved into a wooden nameplate lined in crickets, and toads, little mice. It's a very near match to the aging fairy garden sprawling on the soft pink door beside it. It has a different knob than the rest, crystal and brass, Abby's name painted in swooping vines.
Abby follows her gaze, fingertips brushing the doorframe. “My mother was an artist. It's jack and jilled with Tanner's, so we'll probably swap Penny in when she's old enough, but for now, we've got the primary set up with a co-sleeper.” She nods to the last door, a sage green, at the end of the hall.
“Mama?” Tanner calls, “hurry, my eyes are going to sleep.”
“I have to tuck him in real quick, make yourself comfortable wherever.”
Mel curls up in a chair in the alcove at the bottom of the stairs, so she knows where to find her. It’s strange, the shuffling creaks and the footsteps overhead, Penny's snuffling in the next room over. She could sleep too, probably, if she lay her cheek on her knee and closed her eyes. It would be very easy to rest here.
Abby jogs back down a few minutes later. “Out like a light.”
“That's- good?” She imagines it is, anyway. Mel unfolds herself from the chair.
Abby pauses at the base of the stairs, exhales, “honey, can I hug you again? Now that I don't have my hands full.”
“Yes.”
Mel can't read the expression on her face well, but she doesn't need to dwell on it for long. Abby strides forward and sinks into her arms.
Mel tries not to go boneless on her. But it’s good, to be held. It's a relief. She soaks in the warmth of her skin, the dash of flour on her shoulder, the mineral scent of sunscreen.
Abby sighs, deep and heavy. “Thank you,” she says softly “I needed that.”
“Yeah. I think I did too.”
“Mm.” Abby steps back and glances around the hall, wincing. “Sorry about the house. I meant to pick up some.”
“Please don’t apologize."
It's a home. Real, with kitschy clutter and sprawling mess. Mel's never had enough to sprawl. Not like this. Big arches sit between the foyer and the living room, french doors off the dining room and the kitchen tucked in the sloping backside of the stairs. It's like something out of a movie, cherry hardwood floors and big windows overlooking a wide lawn. A hallway on the opposite side circles back to the foyer, lined with three closed doors. These, all deep burgundy.
“I know it's all a bit much.” She gestures broadly to the landing. “It was my dad's, well, my parents’, then my dad's. They always thought they would have a few more. But, you know. It was just me.”
Mel swallows. She doesn't know. “It’s, uh. It's lovely.”
It’s never been worth hanging onto more than can be packed into the SUV, their parents ‘99 honda cr-v, the only thing they'd been able to sign over before they passed. The rest got eaten up by medical debt or was never really theirs in the first place. The couch had been repossessed once when they were kids, Becca still clinging to the cushions, wailing. It became easier to not get attached. It got a little tight, the longer things went on. Mel swapped to a futon mat to free up the roof space and they had to pair their wardrobe down to half a dresser each, but they made it work. Careful planning got them through med school with a one bedroom, Becca's seasonal jobs when she could manage and Mel pulling doubles between classes.
The bedroom's always been Becca's, walls painted a bright, buttery yellow. She leaves her collections lining the dresser, perfect spirals of pinecone, perfectly circular rocks, heart shaped leaves the size of fingertips. Pieces of tidy, geometric nature, easy to pack away in worn crumples of tissue paper.
The center takes almost everything Mel doesn't absolutely need to scrape together for herself. Becca has blossomed there. There's an ever growing stab of guilt over how happy she looks, how settled. She went back and forth about it for months, almost her entire stint at the VA, only for it to turn out it's much better for Becca, when she doesn't need to wheedle Mel into cutting her fruit into precise to shapes or ask her to wash her hair and help her brush her teeth for the third time that week, because her energy has waned almost completely and it's only Wednesday. It does nothing for the gap that widened between them in the first place, but it gives them more room to breathe. She's never been only her sister, and maybe she never will be, but this feels closer.
Abby knocks the fridge open with her hip. “Do you drink? Beer, wine? Frankie has a thing for horrible IPAs ”
“Wine,” Mel offers. “Only the cheap stuff.”
“Perfect.” Abby snorts. “ I have pinot grigio.” She pours them each deep mugs, hesitating when she moves to hand it to her. “Hm, well. We also have glasses,” she says stiltedly, “somewhere.”
“No. No, this is great.” Mel smothers her laughter in a grin.
“Very classy, I know.” Abby rolls her eyes, bumping their shoulders together. “You want to go outside?”
“Please.”
Abby leads her though the patio door and curls up in the corner of the loveseat. “Come sit with me?”
Mel sets a throw pillow aside, pulling the other into her lap. Abby’s feet tuck under her shins.
It's a gorgeous night for it, warm lights strung over the patio. Stars are just beginning to roll in behind the clouds.
“Slept up there for a while when I was a teenager.” Abby nods to the dusty window above the garage, across the lawn. “Phase didn't last long. Then it really was just my dad rattling around in here. But I have some good memories with Frankie up there.”
“You were together that young?”
“We were sixteen. He'd been using his lawnmowing money to pay for tutoring he didn't need for months, just so we could spend time together every week. I got a call at two am. Frankie got picked up by the cops and ours was the only number he had memorized, aside from his folks’.” Abby shakes her head. “He'd already made friends by the time I got there, practically had to carry him to the back seat. By the time I managed to haul him in, he'd sobered up enough to vomit all over the seats. He spent the night passed out in my bathtub, skipped school the next day to get it cleaned.”
“That sounds like him,” Mel snorts. “You didn’t wake anybody up?”
“No,” Abby grins. “I got into far too much trouble back then. My dad was a heavy sleeper, didn't really mind what I got up to as long as it wasn't his mess to clean up.”
“Your dad passed?” Mel takes a deep swallow. She can't imagine getting this far in life and losing someone so important.
Abby nods. “A few springs back, right before Tanner.”
“I'm sorry. My parents too, obviously.” Mel picks at a thread on her shirtsleeve. “But I was younger, so, I don't know. It's different.”
“Yeah. I'm really sorry, honey. It seems like that's been heavy for you.”
“It's been fine,” Mel shrugs. “I manage, you know.”
Abby tilts her head, studying her face. “You don’t have to do that, you know, downplay.”
“I don't know,” Mel sighs. “It's been Becca and I since my mom passed. I haven't had a lot of time to think about what that meant for me. I was responsible for both of us. I had to be. Or, I thought I did. I don’t know. She's doing really well now. She has a boyfriend. She doesn't really want anything to do with me. She's been my whole life for so long, but maybe I was suffocating her?” Mel rolls her mug between her hands. “Sorry, ignore me. I didn't mean to go on for so long. I don't really have anybody else to talk to about this and I'm kind of a disaster lately.”
“Oh, hey. No, you're good. I was just listening.”
“Okay.” She pulls her feet in, sets her wineglass aside and wraps her arms around her knees.
“No, hey, I get it.” Abby shuffles closer and Mel lifts her arm onto the back of the loveseat so she can slump into her. Abby sighs, “best, it’s Frankie and I. The moms from baby group come around sometimes. We visit Frankie's parents, but their memory's slipping more and more.”
“I'm sorry too. It's hard.”
“It shouldn't be,” Abby grumbles, sinking closer.
“No,” Mel agrees. She runs her nails over her scalp, feels her melt into her side. Abby's made it so much easier. She really wouldn't have gotten by half as well without her and Frank.
“I'm fucking lonely, Mel,” she says half muffled by the cotton of her shirt, warmth caugh between them.
“Yeah,” Mel says slow, and the admission slides out of her like a knife, a stab wound she's only ever pressed the blade back in. “I think I am too.”
“Mm. You should bring your sister by,” Abby murmurs drowsily, “‘t'd be good, to have everybody together.”
“Okay.” Mel tugs the quilt up around her shoulders as Abby's breath evens out. She begins to snore, sinking in a slow slump to curl up her lap.
Mel tips her head back, watches the clouds roll over the moon and drifts off too, stars still spinning.
When she wakes, mouth wine muzzy and a terrible crick in her neck, a sharp cry pierces the air. There is a beat of silence, then another. Abby, now more closely held in her arms, jolts, groaning into Mel's chest as it breaks off entirely into an unbroken wail. She swings her legs over the edge of the loveseat, stumbling wordlessly back through the patio door.
Mel follows. The air is cool, goosebumps prickling along her arms as she eases the door closed fully. The sound of the insect song and the russling wind muffle to an end. She tries not to feel loss in it. Foolishly, gripped with the urge to lead her back there. To tend to Pen and all the number of things that don't stop needing them, but then, to pull her back out into the summer night and sleep with Abby held in her arms.
It takes longer than Mel's proud to admit – through the making of a bottle and the haakkaas tucked into bra – that there are meant to be more hands involved in this. She reaches wordless for Penny, propping herself against the counter by the fridge.
“You don’t have to, you know.” Abby nestles her in the crook of her arm, brushing her knuckles over her cheek.
For a while, between leaving home and their mom's prognosis, Mel thought she would like to be a mother.
At the best of times, since, she's only just barely able to make sure there was enough for her and Becca. If she had found somebody else – a friend, a lover, a partner – maybe there would've been more in her to give. She’s never managed to get close to anyone else long enough to consider working out the logistics of raising a child.
She tries not to resent Becca for any of it. It was Mel's choice. She loves her sister. It’s not how she should feel. It was her choice. She would do it all again. She loves her sister.
She really, really tries.
“I know,” Mel murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “I want to.”
“Thanks, hon.” Abby presses a kiss to her cheek, nuzzling against her shoulder for a lingering moment before nudging the fridge back open. She gets the next bottle made up and the cap back on the jug of water, snagging another frozen pouch of breastmilk from the freezer to thaw.
Wide awake, Penny blinks up at her, the stormy grey blue of Frank's eyes in a starburst around the pupil. She gurgles and waves her arm.
“Hey, Pen.” Mel tucks her in close, tossing a stray receiving blanket over her shoulder. They get lucky this time, it catches the entirety of her spit up.
Abby rustles around in the cabinet beside her head, emerging with two small toothbrushes. “Want one?”
“Please.”
She passes her one, Cookie Monster blue, his head on the handle. The paste comes out bright pink with glimmering flecks. They brush their teeth one handed over the sink.
“Is there a spare pillow for the couch?” She can get away with using one of Tanner's big stuffies, probably, and the quilt from the outdoor sofa.
“Take the bed in the office.” Abby nods down the hall. “It's all made up from Frankie's last night shift.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She strips bare in the spare room, too sticky with the unrelenting heat of midsummer and the now absent warmth of Abby's body. There's a Penguins t-shirt folded at the foot off the bed.
She sets her phone on the charges and peels back the layers of the daybed. The pillow smells like his moisturizer. She's driffting off before she's fully pulled up the duvet.
In the early light of dawn, she thinks about leaving the shirt behind. She pulls the covers back, stacks the pillows. Her jeans from the night before are hardly notable. No one really notices when Mel comes or goes anyway. When she unplugs her phone, it'll be like she wasn't there at all.
The logo doesn't show under her scrubs, but she feels it, the sturdy, vinyl weight centered over her chest every time she moves