The Astoria

by xcherrycolaxx

Summary:

On the Upper West Side of New York City, sat The Astoria, an ornate, pre-war apartment building located on the corner of 73rd Street and Central Park West. Over the years, The Astoria was home to a vast roster of celebrities, including famous painters, world-renowned poets, and filmmakers.
And high above, on the eighteenth floor, lived Mel King and Frank Langdon. Who—despite their first encounter—fall in love from across the hall.

or the rockstar ballerina au.

Chapter 1

On the Upper West Side of New York City sat The Astoria, an ornate, pre-war apartment building located on the corner of 73rd Street and Central Park West. Over the years, the Astoria was home to a vast roster of celebrities, including famous painters, world-renowned poets, and filmmakers.

High up on the eighteenth floor, in apartment 1817, lived the King sisters. Neither of them were of high influence, and neither of them were even close to being famous; they were just everyday New Yorkers trying to get by. A lot of their neighbors were regular ole people. Their great-grandmother rented apartment 1817 back in the 1920s, and it’s been strategically passed down their family ever since. Thank God for rent control.

The old, wooden door was slightly worn and weighty with the original brass hardware that dulled to a soft patina. The foyer was small but welcoming, with an umbrella stand and a coatrack sitting near the door; a full-length mirror was set in the plaster. Oak, hardwood floors stretched below in a parquet pattern; in some places, the floor would creak softly underfoot. The walls are thick plaster—not drywall—with gentle curves and crown molding running along the top edge.

Perched in front of the peephole sat Becca King. "Someone's moving into Mrs. Abernathy's old apartment," Becca said, peering through the peephole at the door across the hall. She had been eyeing the door for a week now, waiting to see who was moving in.

Becca knew she got her nosiness from her mom. They always stood outside when cops would drive by or if a neighbor was being rolled into an ambulance. Their mom would say that they’re curious; the neighbors would say they were nosy.

"Finally," Mel exaggerated. "Mean-ass old lady," she uttered mostly to herself. "Hopefully the new neighbors aren't so crabby all of the time.”

"I hope not." Becca stood there observing just a little longer. "I'm trying to get a glimpse of the person that moved in, but it's only the movers."

“I’m sure you'll see them soon. Come on, go get dressed. I have to be at the studio; I have an early class today," Mel rushed around the kitchen, shoving an apple in her mouth, holding it there while she packed her bag.

"Fine," Becca said with a deep, dramatic sigh before shuffling her way down the hallway, the floor creaking behind her.

Mel plopped her duffle bag on the table, shuffling through the contents to make sure she had all of the things she needed: her pointe shoes, a few leotards, leggings, and some snacks. "Race you downstairs!" Becca ran past her. Becca always got dressed at the speed of light. She had her clothes picked out for the week, hanging up in her closet on color-coded hangers.

"Wait, hang on," Mel tried to stop Becca from flying out the front door, but she was already down the hall.

Mel just sighed and rolled her eyes; she hated being rushed. Granted, it was her fault; she stayed up late watching one of the Real Housewives with Becca, and they slept in late.

Picking up her partially eaten apple and tossing her bag over her shoulder, Mel hurried out of her apartment, pulling on the heavy door, making sure it was securely locked.

She whipped around to try and catch Becca, but she accidentally stumbled into someone else, her duffel bag falling off of her shoulder, and she dropped the apple.

"Oh god," Mel fumbled around, hiking the bag up her shoulder and picking up the apple she had to throw away now. "I'm so sorry," she finally turned to the person she ran into. She felt her breath hitch in her throat.

Standing in front of her was the most attractive person she's probably ever laid eyes on. He was tall, with dark hair that flipped perfectly and the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen; tattoos ran up his right arm, and he had a silver hoop in his nose. The stranger was just standing there with a guitar case on his back and a box in his hands; she couldn't tell if he was annoyed, his expression neutral. "No worries," he finally replied; even his voice was sexy.

Frank was having a mini crisis when he took in the sight of the little, blonde woman in front of him. He literally just got out of divorce court; he was warding off love and relationships forever, promising himself he would work on the next album with a clear mind. And then this cute little thing stumbles into him with her golden fucking hair and her tight leggings.

She was flushed, which is something he was used to when girls would talk to him, and sometimes even less, look at him. "I'm Mel, I live across the hall," she pointed over her shoulder.

"Earnie is a nice old man; he lives in 1816," she pointed to the apartment to the right of his. "And he thinks the place is haunted, so if you hear him mumbling about a Gunther, that's the ghost on our floor. Just play along; he usually goes away after a minute or two. My good friend Samira lives in 1815. She's a doctor, so she’s useful to have around."

He didn't mean to come off as hostile and cold, but being friendly and kind usually got him stuck in some messy situations. Plus, he's attracted to this girl; the best move is to squash that now and pretend she doesn't exist.

"Thanks for the rundown. I have to go," he nodded his head towards his apartment before abruptly turning, slamming the door behind him. Even he winced when the door shut loudly.

Mel jumped back; that exchange felt very weird, and then he proceeded to slam the door in her face. Noted, he was just a younger, hotter, male version of Mrs. Abernathy. Shaking off the encounter, she made her way to the lobby to find Becca. Mel was annoyed she stopped to talk to the new guy; she was late as it was, and then she tried to be neighborly to that douchebag. She didn’t even know what his name was, for crying out loud.

Becca was talking the poor doorman's ear off; she had her mother's gift of gab—she could talk to anyone about anything for hours on end. "Good morning, Arturo," Mel said to the morning doorman.

"Good morning, Mel," he tipped his hat. "Becca was telling me someone finally moved into 1818."

Mel had to physically pull Becca away from Arturo. She yelled over her shoulder, "Sure did! He's a jerk! See you later, Arturo!"

"Wait," Becca slowed down, "you met the new neighbor? Tell me about him."

"Well," Mel started, "he's very good-looking; he's got dark hair, blue eyes, and an arm of tattoos, and I assume he plays music, but I tried to tell him about the neighbors and just, you know, be friendly, and he blew me off; he's a total jerk."

"Damn," Becca shook her head. "Better luck next time."

"Third time's the charm," Mel agreed, dragging Becca down the busy New York street.

Back on the eighteenth floor, Frank was lying in the middle of his living room; he was too depressed to actually unpack and too tired to give a shit about the boxes thrown around haphazardly. As long as his instruments were put up and out of the way, he didn’t care if it all got ruined.

An irritating buzz ricocheted off of the walls; he wasn’t sure who would be calling him right now, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone. Picking his phone up, he saw his and Cassie’s picture take over the screen.

“God,” Frank hit his head against the wood floor. He knew they’d all be calling him throughout the day, all begging him to help them unpack and get settled in while simultaneously asking how the divorce went.

“Hey,” he mumbled. Out of all his friends, Cassie was the one he’d be able to tolerate the most right now.

“Hey,” her voice soft and understanding, there was always a little roughness to it too. “How are you? I know it’s going to be a hectic day, but I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“How is someone supposed to feel after a divorce?” Frank wondered, sardonically.

“You said you wanted a divorce.”

“Who actually wants to get divorced?” Frank asked. “Nobody. But it had to happen. I just don’t know how to feel; too much shit is happening at once.”

“Well, don’t go online; the fangirls found out about the divorce, and your DMs are probably overflowing with marriage proposals and nudes,” Cassie scoffed. “Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Frank shot back. “You know I’m the chronically offline one except for sharing my Wordle scores.”

“True, I don’t have to worry about you like I have to worry about Jesse—that whore.”

Frank chuckled; it was true. Out of all four band members in The Vital Signs, Jesse was the one that slept around the most. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, but he would definitely be having a field day in Frank’s inbox right now. “No, I’m just going to focus on writing for a while, maybe produce a few things, but I’m not looking for that.”

“How’s the new place?”

Frank looked around at the bare, white walls and the piles of boxes. “It’s nice; it’s huge. Tons of room for Tanner and Marie.”

“You know we’ll all be over to help a little later, right? Robby’s in town too; he wanted to be here for you.”

“Yeah, I saw he texted me this morning; I just…haven’t looked at it yet.”

“It’s fine; he’s probably busy with some other band drama, who knows? Anyway, we’ll all be over there in a little bit. At least I can test out the security of your building; the last thing you need is another stalking situation.”

Frank let out a chuckle. “She was harmless; she was like five feet nothing.”

“These fangirls are insane, you should know that,” Cassie laughed. “I’ll be over in a little bit, alright? Try to stop moping and start unpacking.”

“Whatever you say, Mom,” Frank rolled his eyes. “See you when you get here.”

The quiet in the apartment felt unnerving, almost unsettling. If he wasn’t living on a tour bus with his bandmates, he normally would be at home with two rowdy kids running around and Abby talking his ear off. He couldn’t remember the last time he lived in such a quiet environment; it made his skin crawl.

He stayed stretched out on the floor for a lot longer than he wanted to, staring up at the high ceilings, drowning in his thoughts.

A soft but assertive knock on the front door pulled Frank from his depressing thoughts about his ex-wife and his new life. Craning his neck up, Frank looked around the room, as if he’d be able to hear better by doing this. Could Cassie and everyone else have already gotten here? Frank didn’t think so.

Reluctantly, he walked to his front door, cautiously looking through the peephole. It was an old man; Frank had to assume it was the guy that thought the place was haunted. Earnie? Or was Earnie the ghost and Gunther the old man? Frank’s interest was piqued, so he answered the door.

As soon as their eyes met, Earnie was jutting his hand out towards Frank, offering him a crooked smile. “Earnie’s the name! I live over there in 1816.”

“I’m Frank,” he said slowly.

The little old man was slightly hunched, leaning on a cane, and he had those glasses that made his eyes look fifteen sizes bigger than they actually were. Small tufts of white hair wrapped around his head like a wiry crown, and he wore a light blue dress shirt with ballpoint pens tucked in the front pocket.

“The girls across the hall will tell you I’m nuts,” Earnie turned to motion towards both doors, “and maybe I am, but I’m telling you right now, Frank, there’s a ghost in Astoria’s halls,” he said in a scandalous whisper.

Unsure of what came over him, Frank leaned closer, whispering back, “Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“You’ll hear him!” Earnie yelled in a way that did make him seem a little nuts, but who was Frank to judge this guy? "He moans and groans down the halls,” Earnie explained, literally holding his arms out like a mummy and walking like one too. “Things will fall off your shelves; you’ll hear things. I’ve been missing the same pair of shoes since ‘82.”

Frank wondered if he’d actually lived here that long. “If I hear anything, you’ll be the first person I tell. What’s his name?”

“Gunther!” Ernie eyed Frank suspiciously.

“Alright, well, any sightings I have of Gunther, I’ll be sure to come get you,” Frank assured, hoping this was the extent of the conversation.

“Wait!” Ernie reached his free hand out, gripping Frank’s wrist. For an old man with bony, frail fingers, he had a pretty strong grip. “Did you hear that?”

Frank leaned closer to the hallway. “You know what? I think I did. Like a thumping sound?”

“Yes! I knew it!” Ernie pointed his finger in the air, turning away from Frank. “Nice to meet you, Frank. I have to go investigate.”

A little dumbfounded but amused all the same, Frank watched the old man hobble down the hall. “What in the hell?” He muttered to himself.

“Pst, is he gone?” The girl that lived diagonally from him stuck her head out of the crack in her door.

“Around the corner,” Frank whispered, motioning with his hand.

The girl scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I love Earnie, I really do, but I’ve heard about the goddamn ghost three times today.”

“Does he have, like,” Frank pointed to his head. “Alzheimer’s or something?”

Samira couldn’t help but laugh. “No, he doesn’t. I’m Samira,” she introduced.

She was already trying to avoid Earnie, and she wasn’t really in a social mood after a fifteen-hour shift. She studied the guy for just a second before he said, “I’m Frank.”

She thought he looked familiar, but Samira couldn’t place it, and a generic ass name like Frank didn’t give her any clues. Maybe she saw him at the hospital once or something. Or her eyes were crossing from exhaustion. She decided to check on her mail later, too tired to care if her packages got moved. “Nice to meet you.”

Frank stood in his doorway for a second longer before going back inside. So he had two hot neighbors and an old guy that thinks the place is haunted. All in all, he couldn’t complain; none of them seemed to know—or care—about who he was. Maybe the quiet wouldn’t be so bad.

Chapter 2

The ache in her toes was familiar; it was more comforting than it was painful. The pain was a reminder that this was where she belonged, this was her life. The studio lights hummed above her, casting long shadows on the marley floor, and for a second—right after all of her students left—everything just disappeared. There was no noise, no pressure, it was just her in the studio now. 

She could feel the choreography deep in her bones, she didn’t even need the music. It was like her body just knew what to do, like it was practicing something ancient. And maybe to her, it is ancient and ritualistic. Pulling her hair up in a tight bun, lacing her shoes, it was all like a thousand tiny gestures that felt like a prayer. Every pilé is a promise, and every pirouette feels like a chase for perfection, for beauty, for that fleeting moment where she feels weightless and the world holds its breath with her, for her. 

Mel has always loved the quiet war in ballet, the war between discipline and desire. People always thought ballet was dainty and delicate, they don’t see the bruises, the blisters, the hours spent chasing a line, a balance, a note in the music that matches the turn of her head. It’s like a wildfire disguised as grace, and only a few people get to see the fire. 

Mel’s favorite part of the day was when she got to just dance in the studio alone. She could work on her routines, and she could work on strengthening her ankle she shattered a year and a half ago. When her alarm went off, indicating she had to get Becca, Mel fell to the floor dramatically and sighed. Her chest heaved and her lungs burned, but it felt good. She felt alive.

Pulling her leggings on and her sneakers, Mel put her earbuds in and made her way to Becca’s center. Tonight was taco night with Samira, so Becca wasn’t going to stay over at the center. Selfishly, Mel liked it when Becca would stay home; it was less quiet, less lonely. They’d stay up and watch shitty reality TV and Mel wouldn’t be reminded of how lonely she was. 

It was mid-June, it was humid at six in the evening, she felt her hair sticking to her neck, and her clothes felt heavy. Mel liked the cold more than the heat; she got to wear comfortable sweaters and oversized hoodies. Plus, there was nothing—nothing at all—that could compare to New York in the autumn and the winter. Mel wasn’t sure if it was her mom’s innate ability to always find the magic in New York City that was passed down to her, but she liked to think it was. Mel loved New York, she loved living here, she was happy this was her home, and it always will be.

She wasn’t in the mood to cook; it had been a long week of practicing and teaching, and all she wanted to do was share a bottle of wine on the couch without having to think about too much. Mel held her phone up to her ear, hopefully Samira didn’t buy any ingredients or take anything out yet. “Girl, the guy in 1818 is so hot, have you seen him yet?” She answered. 

“I met him a couple of days ago, he seemed like an asshole,” Mel scrunched her face in disgust. 

“Really? I just saw him shirtless, and let me tell you, he’s a lot better looking shirtless than Mrs. Abernathy,” Samira said. They both laughed into the phone. 

“Maybe I caught him at a bad time. Whatever, enough about him, I don’t want to cook, I was thinking Andales?”

“God, that sounds amazing. I’ll take the usual. Is Becca coming?” 

“Yeah, I’m on my way to get her. I’ll pick up the food too, I’ll see you in like an hour?” 

***

“I don’t get how these idiots end up on these shows,” Becca shook her head at the TV. “None of them want real love half the time.”

“No kidding,” Samira agreed, picking up the bottle of wine, drinking right from it. “I don’t think I could be on one of these shows, I’d get so emotional and jealous.”

“I feel like I’d be kicked off early,” Mel said, taking the bottle from Samira, drinking straight from it too. 

”Should we switch to VANDERPUMP Rules?” Samira suggested, looking between the sisters, they gladly agreed. 

“Hey,” Samira nudged Mel with her foot a little while later. They got through an episode and a half before Becca fell asleep in the chair, her mouth hanging open and her glasses askew. “What do you mean the new guy was a jerk?”

Mel explained her awkward encounter, still a little put off by the whole thing. “I don’t know if I’m just overthinking it, but it felt weird.”

“No, that’s definitely weird. People don’t just slam doors. Then again, they are heavy, maybe he just let it slip,” Samira tried, but even that was feeble at best. “No, I’m done making excuses for men. He was rude to you, so we hate him.”

“We don’t have to hate him, but I hope I just caught him off guard,” Mel shrugged, finishing the bottle of wine. 

A dull, steady thump outside in the hallway made both Samira and Mel freeze. They looked at each other for a moment before Mel spoke up, “We should probably make sure that wasn’t Earnie, right?” Mel asked slowly, untucking her feet. 

Samira nodded, “Yeah, you’re right. It was probably him climbing that stupid step stool again.” 

Without thinking, Mel whipped open her door to make sure Earnie was okay, but instead, a girl was lying on the floor outside of the new guy’s apartment, kicking his door rhythmically. “Oh hey, sorry if you heard that,” the girl said, still not moving from the floor. “Frank’s being a douche.”

“Checks out,” Mel accidentally said. Her eyes grew three sizes before she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I don’t know him.”

“Did he lock you out or something?” Samira asked, diverting the conversation. She cringed at how dirty it was for the girl to be lying on the floor. Samira got the same sense of familiarity when she saw the girl, like she recognized her from somewhere. 

“No, we’re fighting over…work,” the girl carefully said. “And it’s my duty to annoy him until he comes to his senses!” She yelled at the door, as if she were yelling at Frank through it. 

Just then, his front door was yanked open, a girl with blunt bangs rolled her eyes and snapped, “Get off the floor and get in here before you get him kicked out for the noise.”

Mel and Samira stood in her doorway, watching the scene unfold, a little dumbfounded. Mel was wondering what they could be fighting about that was work-related at ten at night and Samira couldn’t shake the fact that she thought she recognized some of these people. 

“Sorry about her,” the girl with the bangs apologized, “we’ll keep it down, we’re not normally like this.”

“No worries, glad everyone’s okay,” Mel said slowly, watching bangs pull the other girl into the apartment across the hall by her ankles. Distant yelling could be heard on the other side of the door. Both girls stood there for a second longer, trying to hear what they were fighting about. Mel could be just as nosy as Becca sometimes. 

“All of you are being ridiculous!” Trinity stood in the middle of Frank’s new apartment, ready to rip his head off. 

“Us? You sat outside the apartment, kicking the door! The neighbors came out.” Cassie waved her hand towards the hallway. 

“Well, I’m sorry, but we can’t show all these sad, depressing songs to the label,” Trinity stormed over to Frank’s open notebook. “I mean, come on, Frank! I’ve been here before, lying on my apartment floor, begging someone, please save me? You really think that’s what the fans want to hear?”

“You know them so well, why don’t you write the fucking songs?” Frank snapped back. He could feel the anger radiating off of him like fire. He was about to join Jesse on the balcony and say fuck his sobriety and smoke some weed to chill out. 

“You guys!” Cassie tried, but when Frank and Trinity started arguing, it took a force of nature to get them to stop. 

“Better yet,” he took a few menacing steps forward, “Why don’t you tell Robby on me again?”

“Really, we’re on this again? You could have died, Frank! If I didn’t tell him, then what? Were you just going to keep doing drugs until you weren’t you anymore? You’re already a fucking shell of who you used to be!” 

“And why is that? Because you blew my life up! I had my shit under control, but in typical Trinity fashion, you had to overstep like you always do!”

Frank was seething, his hands were shaking, and he was just so angry. He was never an angry person before, and that’s what scared him the most lately. He didn’t feel like himself. 

“I didn’t blow your life up! Your wife found out about your drug problem and then cheated on you! That’s on you, not me!” 

“Guys, that’s enough,” Cassie’s mom voice rang out, making both Frank and Trinity back off like two scolded dogs with their tails between their legs. “Nobody’s calling Robby, we all need to take a breather.”

“Gladly,” Frank stormed out, bumping his shoulder into Trinity’s on the way out. 

“This is your house!” She yelled, but he was already slamming the door shut behind him. 

Frank saw the blonde girl from across the hall standing in her open doorway, and for some reason, he reacted. “Are you listening to us?” He accused, the edge in his voice harsh as he stepped forward. 

“Excuse me?” Mel asked, taking a step forward as well, her arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t care what you and your friends are talking about, but you’re being loud. I have a sister in there who doesn’t like loud, sudden noises. Earnie lives right beside you, and every bump and creak this place makes, he thinks is a civil war ghost. So excuse me, but you’re being rude. So no, I’m not listening to you and your friends fight, I’m coming over here to tell you to be quiet and stop slamming doors.”

Mel was the most non-confrontational person in the world; she hated yelling, she hated getting angry, but she hated it when her family was disrespected even more. Her hands might be shaking, and her voice trembled, but she did it. She was proud of herself; she just told off some six-foot tattooed guy, and now he’s left speechless. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and Mel took that as a victory. “Goodnight,” she said pointedly before turning around gracefully, her hair flew around her head as she slammed her door shut. 

Frank heard her say, “I’ve lived here longer, so I can slam my damn door!”

She was right, the last thing he needed was his neighbors complaining about him and the band. Letting out a frustrated, strangled sound, Frank gripped his hair, pulling on it before going back into his apartment. He didn’t slam the door shut this time. 

“We piss your neighbors off already?” Jesse asked, nodding his head towards the door. He was drumming his hands against the top of the coffee table. 

“Yeah, we’re being loud. And my other neighbor thinks the place is haunted, so he’s probably having a hay day,” Frank sighed. “Where’s shithead?”

“I told her to go out on the balcony,” Cassie pointed over her shoulder. “What the hell is going on with you guys? This is worse than the Season Two recording sessions.”

“Oh man,” Jesse laughed in that stoner kind of way, he was squinting at Cassie, nodding in agreement. “Even I wanted to leave back then.”

Frank felt guilty. He felt guilty about a lot of things, but he didn’t know how to feel or how to react, so he shut down. “I’ll try to work on different songs,” Frank mumbled. He’s always been a little fidgety, and he was twisting the beaded bracelet around his wrist. “I can’t help that I’m sad, that’s what I write about.”

“No man, I was reading over ‘The Architect’ and we can totally spin that, Cassie and I laid down a baseline once you two divas are done fighting, we can make it sound like a fast-paced love song.” 

“I can’t help that everything sounds sad,” Frank uttered. 

“You have a lot of shit going on, don’t be sorry. These songs are good,” Cassie assured him. “We don’t have to have a lot ready anyway, we have Rolling Stone next week and the label isn’t asking for anything new until next month, we’ve got this.”

He forgot about their Rolling Stone cover. After the divorce was finalized and he had to move to one of his least favorite cities, it wasn’t exactly on the front of his mind. “Shit, I forgot about the cover.”

“We’re doing it here in New York, so at least you don’t have to travel,” Jesse nodded, flipping through Frank’s songbook. 

“Are we done?” Trinity marched into the room, her jaw set and her arms crossed. 

“Are you done insulting my songs?” Frank questioned quickly. 

“Are you done blaming me for ruining your life?”

“Are you done ruining my life?”

“Guys! How about we talk about ‘The Architect’? It’s about Abby, right? We were talking about how we can make this a poppy love song.”

“It’s actually about drugs, but keep going,” Frank replied sardonically. 

“Jesus,” Trinity gave him a worried look. “Alright, let’s go, what are we thinking?”

And just like so many fights before, as soon as they started working on the music, all of the tension and the bitterness faded away. The four of them didn’t agree all of the time, and they definitely bickered a lot, but at the end of the day, Frank wouldn’t want to live this life with anyone else at his side. They’ve seen the world together, they’ve all seen each other at their lowest points in love, and they were still together, still making music, and that’s all he could really ask for.

 

Chapter 3

Photoshoots were always a little weird to Frank; he never knew what to do with his hands, he didn’t know how to stand, and he definitely didn’t know which angle to turn his head to “capture the light.” Whatever the fuck that means. When the entire band was together, he had an easier time in front of the camera, there wasn’t as much pressure. But right now, he was doing his single photos for his ‘special edition’ cover of the magazine, and he felt like a fucking idiot. 

Everyone always said that he was a natural in front of the camera, which didn’t make sense because Frank felt like an alien every time he stood in front of the camera, but he was glad it was over quickly. Thankfully, he was dressed normally in jeans and a jacket, he didn’t have crazy makeup on and he wasn’t wearing something ridiculous. (The last photoshoot they had, someone on some team was adamant on superhero costumes.) These photos were urban, taken on random streets in Brooklyn, against brick walls and near abandoned, graffiti-splashed buildings. 

“Alright, we’re going to Gramercy Tavern,” Tamara—the photographer—instructed. 

“Thank god, I’m starving,” Cassie rested her arm on Frank’s shoulder. “Glad that part’s over.”

“No kidding,” he chuckled in agreement.

“Do we think this interview is going to be a bunch of bullshit about Frank?” Trinity asked, flicking his forehead.

“Rolling Stone has always been pretty decent to us, maybe they’ll brush by it and ask us about the world tour,“ Jesse shrugged, always trying to be the upbeat one. ”I’ll divert the conversation if need be.”

The photoshoot was on a public street, blocked off with barricades and large, blacked-out SUVs; someone must have leaked that they were here. A few excited voices rose from the end of the street. The band turned just in time to see dozens of fans standing at the barrier, holding out things for them to sign or their phones to take photos. 

Frank grinned, besides making music with his four best friends, the fans made everything worth it. They’re the reason they have five multi-platinum records and sold out stadium shows. They’ve always tried to have a good relationship with the fans, even if now it was a little harder with just how many there were. 

All four of them made their way to the end of the street, running towards the screaming fans. 

“Frank, I love you!”

“Trinity, you’re my favorite!”

“Cassie, marry me!”

“Jesse, sign my tits!” 

Their security team followed them, but by now, they knew not to intervene unless there was an actual threat. One fan handed over a jacket they wanted all of them to sign, while another leaned over to take a picture with Frank. They tried to get all of them, at least signing something or offering a photo, but it was always so hard to keep track of who got what and who they already talked to. Plus, Frank saw Robby at the other end of the street, stalking over in their direction. They were probably late to the interview, but honestly, they’d rather be here doing this. 

“Alright guys, I gotta take them,” Robby started pulling Jesse and Trinity off of the metal barrier. Frank tried to stay back and grab a few more signatures, but soon enough, he felt their head of security grab his collar. “Come on, Frank,” Jack shook his head, dragging Frank from the wave of fans. 

“When did you get here?” Cassie questioned. 

“I’m always around,” Jack replied cryptically. The Ray-Ban aviators always sat low on Jack’s nose, and he was typically wearing some kind of all-black ensemble.

Like he had a sixth sense, Jack whipped his head around to the end of the street where the fans were gathered. They must have started hopping the gates because within a split second, the band was surrounded by security, running to the car waiting at the other end.

Cassie was closest to Frank, reaching his hand out, he grabbed her arm, pulling her closer. They’ve gotten separated before in situations like this; they were taught to try and buddy up if they weren’t already together. “I gotcha, buddy.” Cassie patted his hand, holding onto it as they got thrown into the car. 

Frank stumbled into Cassie, making her trip inside the vehicle. Jesse took the front seat, and Trinity went into the back row of seats through the open hatch. “We’re all in,” she shouted to their driver. The driver sped away from the curb, not wanting to get caught surrounded by a sea of screaming fans.

***

In a secluded corner of the restaurant, they were halfway through their meal and hopefully halfway through the interview. It wasn’t bad so far, she mostly asked them about the tour they just did and about their upcoming album. So far, so good. No mentions of his rehab stays or his divorce. 

“Alright.” Julie—the interviewer—pushed her plate away, turning back to her notes on the table. “You guys are known to cause trouble, mostly with public safety officials. Why is that? There were multiple citations with your last tour.”

“We like our fans, man. We don’t want it to happen, we’d love to meet ten thousand people safely, but it just doesn’t happen,” Jesse leaned back against his side of the booth, resting his hand on the back of it. “We don’t do meet and greets, we just kind of show up and hope it doesn’t turn into this massive problem.”

”Why don’t you hold traditional meet-and-greets?”

“The fans pay to see us perform, they buy our music, they collect our records. They’re the reason we get to live this amazing dream. It doesn’t feel right to ask them for money just for us to say ‘hi’. We’re just four regular people,” Trinity answered.

“We’ve talked about your sixth album coming out next year, which album would you say was your favorite to record?”

Frank looked around at the other three, they all grinned instantly, “Our third album Fountain Soda was a blast to record. We were at this house over in Australia, and we spent the whole summer just recording on the beach, swimming, exploring this crazy place none of us have been to,” he replied, reminiscing fondly over that time of their career. 

“That’s personally my favorite album,” Julie smiled widely in his direction. 

Cassie cleared her throat next to Frank, shifting in her seat before gently nudging his foot under the table. Her eyes caught Frank’s, and then she looked down at her phone.

 

The Amusement Park 🎡 

 

Trinity 👹🍕

anyone else clock the fact julie wants frank’s cookie bad?

 

Jesse 🥁 🍨

She checked him out as soon as he walked in!!

 

Cass 🧚🏼‍♀️🌮

She’s making it painstakingly obvious. 

 

Frank

my cookie???

 

Trinity 👹🍕

get with the times frankie!!

 

Jesse 🥁 🍨

Seriously man, I’m older than u 

 

Cass 🧚🏼‍♀️🌮

It means she likes you, Frank

 

Frank put his phone face down on the table, feeling a little freaked out. He dragged his eyes up to Julie and she was already looking at him, quickly looking away when they made eye contact. It should be normal for him by now, women finding him attractive and making it painfully obvious, but he wasn’t used to it. He was always the married one in the band; he could easily ignore the flirtatious fans or the random photographers asking for his number. As soon as he dropped the word “wife,” people left him alone, but now he doesn’t have that security anymore.

Cassie and Jesse pulled her into a conversation about the recording process, so Frank took this as an opportunity to check the group chat again. 

 

Cass 🧚🏼‍♀️🌮

Someone did her research on his divorce 😂

 

Trinity 👹🍕

he’s totally freaking out over there

 

Jesse 🥁 🍨

Why? She’s cute!

 

Trinity 👹🍕

because that’s what he does, he freaks out over everything

 

Frank

i’m literally not freaking out. 

 

Frank shot Trinity a dirty look from across the table before turning back to the interview, trying to pay attention to the questions and contribute. Fidgeting in his chair, he laced his fingers together and then he unlaced them, he would bounce his leg furiously and then he’d shift to playing with the napkin in his lap. Frank’s always been a fidgety kid, he’s never been able to sit still. 

“What would you say is the hardest part about being in this band?“

“Being away from our families is by far the hardest thing for me, having two kids under five is hard, I miss them every day we’re on tour,” Frank answered, and Cassie nodded in agreement. 

“I’m with him, we are the kid-less side of the band,” Trinity nodded, motioning to her and Jesse, “but I miss my mom, my friends. It’s really rewarding coming home and seeing them, though.”

“What would you say is the most rewarding part of being in The Vital Signs?”

“God, that’s a tough one,” Jesse rubbed the back of his neck. “I think just being able to sit with my three best friends doing the thing that we love.”

“Yeah, we might bicker and argue, but at the end of the day, I wouldn’t want to do this shit with anyone else,” Cassie agreed. 

“You four do have this natural chemistry that doesn’t come easily. I mean, you’re one of the biggest artists I’ve ever interviewed, and you’re all so nice and humble too, is it easy to keep yourself grounded while still being megastars?” 

“Honestly, yeah,” Trinity laughed, glancing at the other three. “We don’t view ourselves as these crazy famous people, we’re just four friends having fun.”

“Yeah, we told ourselves when we first started that we weren’t going to be these egotistical assholes, and I’d like to say we haven’t changed at all,” Cassie added. 

“Only thing that’s changed is the new instruments, and we have a couple’a Grammys,” Jesse chuckled.

The interview ended a little while later, Julie thanked them about a thousand times before they were ushered into another set of SUVs. Leaning his head against the window, Frank watched the streets blur together until they were coming to a rolling stop at The Astoria. 

The one thing Frank hated about this life was just how much he missed being a normal person. He can’t walk down any of these streets without someone knowing him, he can’t go to the store alone, he’s got security almost everywhere. He missed his anonymity sometimes, but then again, his kids would be taken care of for the rest of their lives. So who was he to complain? 

Jumping out of the car, he tapped his side pockets, his front ones, and the jacket pockets before he made his way inside. “Good evening, Mr. Langdon,” the doorman—Pierre—nodded. 

“You can call me Frank, Pierre,” he smiled before making his way across the lobby. It always seemed to be a little busy for an apartment lobby, but this place was massive; he’s never lived in a place like this. Nobody paid him any mind usually, which was nice. 

Frank was impressed with the lobby when he first checked this place out, it was one of the reasons he picked it out. Corinthian columns flanked the lobby, their fluted surfaces rose high above to meet a coffered ceiling painted in muted cream and gold. The floors were polished marble that stretched towards a grand staircase with a wrought-iron railing. The elevators were through an archway just behind the stairs. Between the two sets of doors that led up to his floor sat a green, velvet settee, a large mirror hanging on the wall right above. 

The left elevator was being worked on, so he stood in front of the available one, pressing the button to go up. 

Across the lobby, Mel walked in after a long day of practice; her ankle burned, and her back ached, but she was smiling, greeting almost everyone in the lobby. It almost felt like that scene in Beauty and the Beast; she was even a little strange like Belle, too. 

As soon as Mel saw The Asshole neighbor standing there, she almost contemplated the eighteen flights of stairs, but her ankle was sore and she was tired. Looking straight ahead, she marched towards him, standing near the elevator, pretending that he wasn’t there. 

The thing was, he was standing right there. She could smell the fancy cologne he was wearing, and his hair looked even more perfect than it normally did. It wasn’t fair, how could someone so good-looking have such a shitty personality? Although now that she thought about it, that was probably better, she didn’t need to develop a crush on him. 

He knew he was a dick to blondie; he was very aware of that, but the problem was, if he wasn’t so cold and standoffish, he’d probably fall in love with her. And well, he couldn’t have that happening right now. He pretended to be busy on his phone, but every few seconds, she would shift on her foot, and his eyes would dart over to where blondie was standing. She had on another pair of tight leggings and that giant gym bag slipping from her shoulder. 

Mel knew it was going to take a while for the elevator to get down here, but this felt agonizing. She glanced toward The Asshole again and saw he had a giant rose tattoo on the top of his hand. While it might be well-done, he was such a cliché. What punk guy didn’t have a flower tattoo on the top of his hand? She almost audibly scoffed at how basic he was. 

Mel glanced at him a few more times, trying to convince herself that he was unattractive. And repulsive. She could have sworn that the last time she stole a glance, he was already side-eyeing her. But she couldn’t be sure. 

To both of their relief, the elevator dinged. 

When a lot of people piled into an elevator, Mel always wondered how they knew it hit the weight limit. Did it make a noise? Or a light would flash? Or was it one of those tragic things that you find out on the news? It freaked her out—it has since she was little—but she tried not to think about it every time she had to leave her apartment. 

And as much as she didn’t like getting in a crammed elevator, she hated getting on an empty one with The Asshole. 

As soon as everyone filed out, he stepped forward first, as if he owned the floor, his eyes focused straight ahead. Mel scurried in right behind him, her shoulders tense as she held her breath. Mel always turned over her shoulder as soon as she walked in the doors to press the button, but this time, as soon as she did, he was leaning forward to do the same. 

Their fingers collide. 

It was a quick touch, probably less than a second long, it was warm and unexpected. Both of them jerked away sharply. Frank rested his hand at his side, flexing his fingers instinctively. Mel clenched her fist, stepping to the opposite side of the elevator. Frank tried to reason with himself that the sharp feeling he felt when they touched was a shock from the metal on the elevator. Mel pretended she didn’t feel anything at all. 

They stopped at the third floor. Frank was confused for a second, but then he saw Earnie slowly walk in, a wide smile on his face. 

“Hey Earnie,” they greeted at the same time. Mel and Frank made eye contact over Earnie’s head, but they quickly looked back down as soon as he started talking. 

“Hi you two!”

“Were you visiting Bea?” Mel asked. 

“Sure was,” Earnie looked to Frank. “My granddaughter lives on the third floor.”

“That’s nice you get to be so close,” Frank cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward.

“Is she ready for her last year at NYU?” Mel asked, feeling less tense with Earnie in the elevator. The tension wasn’t so thick and she felt like she could breathe a little easier. 

The three of them fell into conversation as the elevator slowly climbed up. Earnie did most of the talking, telling them how Bea was going to NYU, and then she was taking a year off to volunteer in the Galapagos. Frank was glad he didn’t have to contribute much to the conversation other than a quick “no kidding” or “that’s awesome”. He didn’t even mind it when the three of them walked at Earnie’s pace to their front doors, letting him talk their ears off. 

When they made it to the small intersection between their apartments, Earnie checked his watch and said, “Oh! The Masked Singer is on in a few minutes. Goodnight Mel. Goodnight Frank. Let me know if you hear any haunts out here, will ya?”

“Of course we will,” Mel answered for both of them. 

As soon as Earnie’s door clicked shut, the awkward tension between them rolled right back over the hallway, it was almost like a storm cloud. Mel didn’t know if she should say goodnight or not; she was a little too scared to talk to him. 

Maybe she dug out her key a little slower than she normally does, she was waiting to see if he would say anything. She heard his door open and hoped he didn’t hear the sharp breath she took in when he turned over his shoulder, saying, “Have a good night.”

Mel squeaked out, “You too.”

 

Chapter 4

Mel loved teaching the little kids. When the director asked her to take on the 3 and 4-year-olds, Mel agreed without any hesitation. She’s always been good with kids, and in all honesty, it was easier on her ankle because their routines were way less demanding and they didn’t practice as much. The most challenging part was dealing with the parents of those children. Right now, one of the mothers was rattling on about her daughter’s strict, organic diet. Mel wanted to remind her that she wasn’t feeding them, and she would be fifteen feet away in the same room, but the woman wouldn’t let her get a word in. 

Standing there patiently, Mel tapped her foot, waiting for Mrs. Whatever her name was to get done with her tirade over red food dyes and processed foods. Granted, she knew she should care about processed foods or whatever this mom was going on about, but it didn’t seem relevant since class was over and Mel isn’t required to feed any of the kids. 

Thankfully, another parent intervened and pulled her away, allowing her to escape the exhilarating conversation. Smiling at Olive's mom, Mel asked, “Is everything okay?” 

“Oh yeah, Olive loves it here. I just wanted to let you know that her dad will be with her next week. He’s already on the permission forms and everything,” Olive’s mom was one of the quiet ones who never said much; she just stood off to the side most days. 

“Of course!” Mel assured her. “That’s totally fine, as long as he’s on the authorization forms, we have no problem with that. Thanks for the heads up.”

She didn’t mean to rush them out or get annoyed with their stupid, organic food rants, but this was her short day, and she had the entire weekend off. All Mel could think about was sitting at home and doing absolutely nothing for a few days. Samira was meeting her here, and then they were going to do a quick grocery run. Both of them had a terrible habit of letting their fridge and the cabinets get down to the bare minimum, and Mel couldn’t really cook a meal with a bottle of ketchup and a can of Dr. Pepper. 

As soon as the last overbearing parent filed out of the studio, Mel let out a breathy sigh, thankful that the constant noise and the talking died down. Gently sitting on the floor, she took off her shoes, stuffing them in her lilac duffel bag, and then she shook her hair loose from the tight bun. Samira said she would be here in about fifteen minutes, which gave Mel just enough time to dance alone. 

The only sound she could hear now was the faint hum of the city that lived just beyond the windows. She slowly raised her arms into a perfect arc; the silence in the room was filled with internal rhythm, something deep in her bones guidedher across the floor. Mel was gliding across the floor with effortless grace, her fingers painting unseen shapes into the air. Every one of her movements flowed seamlessly to the next. She wasn’t practicing; she was simply remembering. Feeling. 

Her mom had been a ballet dancer, but stopped once she got pregnant with Mel and Becca. As soon as the girls were old enough to walk, their mom would stand in the living room, teaching them simple pliès and tendus. Becca didn’t reallycare for it; she said she didn’t like the way it made her feet hurt, while Mel took to ballet like a fish to water. It was like an ancient language that spoke directly to her, and only she understood it. 

The moment Mel turned three, her mom had her enrolled in ballet classes right here with the School of American Ballet.This place has been a part of Mel's life for as long as she can remember. That’s why she was thankful she was still able to teach here after the accident. Mel would be lost if she didn’t have this place, if she didn’t have ballet. As cliché as it was, ballet was Mel’s entire life; she lived and breathed ballet, and she wanted to be able to do it for the rest of her life.

Even with the quietness of the room, Mel didn’t hear Samira come in. She was still spinning around in her own world when Samira said, “Not to sound like your creepy neighbor, but I could watch you dance for hours.”

Mel let a giggle burst from her lips. She stopped dancing and turned to Samira, who was leaning against the doorframe. “Thanks, creepy neighbor.”

“Wanna go to Barnes and Noble before Trader Joe’s? I’m in the mood to buy a stack of books I won’t read for three years.” Samira’s eyes watched as Mel dropped to the ground to put on shoes. 

“Oh yeah, I can look for something for Becca for her birthday,” Mel nodded, standing up quickly. 

Samira and Mel have been best friends since Samira moved in next door when they were thirteen. After Samira’s dad died, she and her mom wanted a fresh start. But as soon as Samira started at NYU, her mom decided she hated city life. Her mom let Samira stay in the city while she moved back to Poughkeepsie. Samira wouldn’t argue; her and her mom had a rocky relationship at best. 

Looping her arm through Samira’s, they made their way outside. It was finally cooling off now that it was the end of August. “Speaking of birthdays, what do you want for your birthday?” Samira asked Mel. “I know what to get Becca, I already have it saved in my Amazon cart. And if you tell me to just worry about Becca, I will smack the living shit out of you.”

”I don’t know,” Mel threw her head back. “You know I am the worst at figuring out what I want.”

”And somehow, you are the best gift-giver I have ever met. Come on, there has to be something that you want,” Samira nudged Mel, pulling open the bookstore doors.

“I’ll get back to you before the end of September,” Mel offered Samira a too-wide smile. 

They spent over an hour leisurely browsing the books and the dorky collectible section that lined the back walls. Mel liked to read; she mostly read romance books (Regency era romances are her bread and butter). She had been looking for a new one that piqued her interest, but she wasn’t finding what she was looking for. She had two Lego sets tucked under her arm for Becca. Mel was waiting for their birthday in October to give them to her.

“No luck?” Samira asked with her own stack of books in her basket. 

“I mean, a few caught my eye, but like you, I have a stack of unread books I should try to read.” Mel meandered over to the magazine section after putting the Legos in the basket. "We should grab a few Tiger Beat magazines and do the stupid quizzes in them.”

”Love that idea, and then we can watch Sleepover and Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen.”

She almost didn’t notice it at first. Rolling Stone wasn’t a magazine she ever paid attention to. Which was why she did a double take when she saw the red letters plastered right above Frank's head.

“Oh my god, Samira,” Mel picked up the magazine cover with an entire band on the cover, Frank off to the right side leaning his head against Bangs. (Mel wasn’t sure what else to call her.) 

Flipping the magazine over, she held the cover out for Samira to look at. The band was even featured on the back cover. “Holy shit, I knew they looked familiar, but I wasn’t putting two and two together.” Samira snatched the magazine from Mel’s hands. 

“Yeah, I thought that you were just losing your mind,” Mel muttered, walking over to the rack to pick up another cover. There were special editions for each band member, and she had to admit it, he looked good. He was wearing a perfectly styled grunge outfit with a flannel around his waist and black, skintight jeans on. “Read the exclusive interview with six-time Grammy-winning band The Vital Signs,” Mel read aloud. 

“Six?” Samira asked in shock. “This is so crazy. I shouldn’t be shocked, famous people are always crawling around our building.”

“They’re usually older, though, and not so in your face,” Mel commented, scanning the article, still a little shocked. Herand Frank were…civil. He would greet her by nodding his head if they happened to notice one another, and she would always offer a closed-mouth smile in return. The longest conversation they had was when they’d mumble a ‘goodnight’ across the hall if it was late enough in the day. 

Slamming the magazine shut, Samira had a look on her face, one that Mel couldn’t quite read. “Is this invasive of us to read?”

”Maybe?” Mel shrugged, wincing a little. “I wouldn’t like it if he read the articles that are out about me. Not that it’s even the same thing, but still.”

”Then it’s settled,” Samira put the magazine down. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it, because this is the most interesting thing to happen to me since I got accepted into medical school.”

Their grocery run turned into a gossip session amongst the aisles of books. Which then turned into a lunch and coffee date at their favorite cafe that served breakfast until four in the afternoon. By the time the two of them got up from the booth in the corner, the cafe was closing. It was nice, though. Mel and Samira rarely had time off together, and by the time their schedules did line up, they were too tired to do anything. 

“I know this was supposed to be a grocery run, but this was fun,” Samira leaned her head on Mel’s shoulder. “And I reallydon’t want to go grocery shopping now.”

Mel laughed, resting her head on Samira’s for just a second. “I’m so glad you said that. I want to go home. We can order pizza if we get hungry.”

”Mmm,” Samira hummed. “And breadsticks.” 

“We can really splurge and get cinnamon rolls too,” Mel suggested, laughing when Samira let out an overdramatic groan in agreement. 

***

Earnie’s laugh bounced off the walls as soon as they stepped off the elevator. Mel peeked around to see what he was doing. (It was a fifty-fifty shot: Was he talking to an actual person or a ghost?) Frank was leaning against the wall, his eyes carefully trained on Earnie, who was walking around with an EMF meter, his steps unsteady. 

“Hey guys!” Samira said, keeping her eyes off of Mel. If they looked at each other—after gossiping about their hot neighbor on and off all day—they would start laughing. 

Mel was just thankful Samira started the conversation; she couldn’t really look at anyone without laughing. The two of them had the giggles. “What’cha doing, Earnie?” She finally settled on. 

“We heard Gunther,” Frank pushed himself off the wall, keeping his arms crossed over his chest. 

“You both heard him?” Samira asked in slightly sarcastic disbelief. She squinted her eyes at Frank. 

Mel hit Samira’s arm. She has told her a million times not to be so dismissive of Earnie’s ghosts. Mel didn’t necessarily know what she believed in when it came to ghosts in general, but she at least humored the idea. As much as Mel didn’t like Frank, she thought it was sweet that he also talked to Earnie without thinking he was batty. Samira has gotten better about it—especially after her mom left—but sometimes she could be a little blunt about her beliefs.

“Sure did,” Frank confirmed. “Loud thump out here, maybe what, Earn? Eight minutes ago.” 

He didn’t exactly like how Samira acted towards Earnie either, she was never rude or mean—and most of the time she was nice—but her tone had this edge to it that just irritated Frank. He was glad Mel gave her the look. He thought Mel caught his eye for a second too, but she darted her eyes away quickly, like she didn’t mean to look at him.

“Sure did,” Earnie confirmed. “We came out here at the same time,” he explained, never looking up from the little device in his hands. “Frank also watches Ghost Files.”

Mel thought that it was hilarious that her eighty-something-year-old neighbor watched two guys ghost hunting on YouTube. Sometimes she would sit with him too; they were pretty entertaining.

”Oh yeah?” Mel looked to Frank again, a little amused.

“Who am I to say ghosts aren’t real?” Frank shrugged, looking at her with an intense gaze, eyes piercing. 

“So you believe in ghosts, too?” Samira asked, her eyebrows raised. 

“Easier to believe in ghosts than some of the other bullshit I’ve heard,” Frank answered cryptically, leaning over to look at the thing Earnie was holding. Mel tried to make out more of the tattoo on his right arm, but she could still only make out some flowers, and she didn’t want to get caught staring at his arms. Which really was unfair, he had nice arms. 

“Like what?” Mel blurted out. She wasn’t sure what came over her, or why she felt the need to ask, but it was too late to stuff her words back in her mouth, so she looked at Frank for his answer. 

His immediate reply was God, but he thought that was a little too heavy for a hallway ghost hunt with three people he barely knew. Mel was looking at him for an answer; there was no trace of malice on her face. She merely looked curious, and that curiosity had no motive. Frank could tell when people talked to him because they thought they knew him, because he was famous. And then he could tell when people just talked to him like he was a normal, everyday guy.Mel—and the rest of his neighbors—gave off the latter. None of them seemed to care about Frank, the famous guy. 

“Easter Bunny, duh,” Frank answered with a lighter tone, like he was trying to convey he was just kidding. He was glad she let out a giggle at his answer. If he were willing to admit it (he wasn’t), he would say she had a cute laugh. 

“Well, you’ll have to let us know if you find Gunther.” Samira grabbed Mel’s arm. “We’re going to watch early 2000s movies and eat our weight in pizza.”

“Bye, guys,” Mel waved before unlocking her door. The girls tried not to make it obvious that they were rushing inside. 

As soon as the door was shut and locked, Mel and Samira turned towards each other and broke out into wide grins. “I still can’t believe he’s famous, he acts so…” Samira trailed off. 

“Weird?” Mel offered with a laugh. “At least he’s being nice to Earnie.”

“Now we both know I don’t exactly believe in ghosts, but if he was rude to Earnie of all people, I would have to go out there and hit him.”

”Even Mrs. Abernathy was nice to him,” Mel agreed. “And she was mean to everyone.” 

“Also, it’s kind of shocking Becca had no idea who he was; she is so caught up in pop culture,” Samira threw herself on the side of the couch closest to the kitchen. Mel always liked the side closer to the window.

“She still hasn’t seen him!” Mel exclaimed. Samira was right, too, Becca probably would have known right away. "She’s staying at Gilmore Center more.” Mel was trying not to sound too sad about it; she knew Becca needed her own life, her own friends, her own two feet to stand on. But it was hard on Mel; she felt like everyone had slowly left her over the years. Of course, she would never tell Becca; she didn’t want to make her sister feel guilty over her feelings she couldn't work through. 

Samira’s empathetic smile gave it away. Mel was not good at hiding her feelings, even when she was trying to. “I know it’s hard, but she’s only a few blocks away. And I’m always right next door.”

Rationally, Mel didn’t think Samira would be leaving anytime soon; she was so close to being done with her residency. But it still gave Mel that same sinking feeling in her stomach when she thought about when Samira was finally done. She didn’t want to ruin their good day, so she quickly snatched the DVD remote off the coffee table and made her way over to the movie shelf, pulling out a stack of movies they had been talking about all day. 

After A Cinderella Story, Samira held the stack of magazines they got, plopping them down on her lap. “Okay, should we find out if your true color is totally blonde, totally brunette, or totally redhead? Or, oh my god, no way, we are totallydoing this one,” Samira hugged the magazine to her chest, a wide smile on her face. 

“What?” Mel asked, unamused; she could just tell by Samira’s face she was up to something. 

“Which member of The Vital Signs is your soulmate?” Samira asked, her tone scandalous. “Come on, it’ll be funny,” she nudged Mel with her foot. “I’ll take the dumb quiz too.”

Mel shifted around on the couch before agreeing. It wasn’t a big deal; it’s not like he would ever know. “Fine, hit me with the first question.”

“Which personality trait do you find most attractive in a significant other? A. Sense of Humor. B. Loyalty. C. Spontaneity. Or D. Intelligence?”

“B.”

“Which physical trait do you find most attractive in a significant other? A. Nose B. Eyes C. Arms D. Lips.”

“Hmm,” Mel pondered for a moment. “I guess B.”

Samira looked over the magazine’s edge at Mel before asking, “Where are you most likely to meet a new partner? A. Work. B. The grocery store. C. Online. D. Through friends.”

“D.”

“How many previous relationships have you had? A. None-3. B. 4-6. C. 6-9 D. 10+”

Mel laughed out loud, “Over ten, can you imagine? You know it’s A.”

“No shit," Samira agreed. "Next one is: What is your ideal date? A. Going to the cinema. B. Something adventurous like skydiving. Wine-tasting. or D. Having dinner and drinks at a nice restaurant.”

“Shit,” Mel laughed. “Is all of the above an option? I’d like to go on any date right now.”

“Seriously!” Samira giggled with her. “I think A is mostly like you, you love your movies.”

“Alright, go with A.”

“What are your opinions on pet names? A. Don’t ever use a pet name on me. B. They’re cute in any scenario. C. They are okay at home, but not in public. Or D. Rarely, but I don’t hate them.”

“I like pet names, go with B.”

“Where is your dream vacation with your significant other? Is it A. A beautiful island in the Maldives. B. A romantic city like Paris or Rome?”

“That one,” Mel cut her off. She had always wanted to go to Paris. 

“Could you ever do a long-distance relationship? A. I could only do it if it were short-term. B. I would definitely give it a go, but I’d want to be realistic about the future. C. If I were completely in love, we’d make it work. Or D. Absolutely not, those relationships never last.”

Mel thought again for a moment, overanalyzing a stupid Tiger Beat magazine quiz. “I’d say A.”

“Last one. What is your best quality? A. Your sense of humor. B. Your thoughtfulness. C. Your looks. Or D. Your determination.”

“What would you say mine is?” Mel wondered, even though she thought she knew the answer. 

“You’re definitely B. Alright,” Samira couldn’t hold back her smile. “Ready to hear your results?”

“Not really,” Mel mumbled. She could tell by Samira’s reaction who she got. 

“In an ideal world, your significant other would be a funny, good-looking guy dedicated to his family, who also knows how to take a few risks. Luckily for you, you don’t need to dream about finding perfection because it’s right there in front of you in the form of Frank Langdon. He’ll make you cry with laughter, help you through all of the good and bad times, he’ll take you on the best dates, and he will put you above all else. Congratulations on finding ✨the one.✨”

Mel was hiding behind her hands, shaking her head, “That’s how we know these quizzes are terrible.”

“What do you mean? Are you telling me I’m not going to marry my 2007 crush Joe Jonas?” Samira gasped in feigned disappointment, holding the magazine out to Mel. “Find out what my future career is,” Samira held the magazine out. “I picked mostly A and got Trinity by the way.”

“Which one is she? I only know his name.”

”Jesse is the other guy, Cassie has reddish hair and the bangs,” Samira motioned across her forehead, “Trinity is the other girl.”

”Right, okay, let’s find out if you’re actually destined to be a doctor.”