Chapter Text
Grief is an old friend of Mel’s.
It sits, perched on her shoulder, as she goes through the motions of each day. Sometimes it’s an observer, always there, but merely a facet of her, buried far enough that it's practically under lock and key.
Other days, it’s loud and unavoidable, a pair of shackles locked around her ankles and weighing down her every move. It’s cruel, and yet, she welcomes it into her home, because grief is at least a reminder that the people she loves and misses were real, that they aren’t a figment of her overactive imagination.
She remembers sitting around the kitchen table as a child, her next to Mom, Becca beside Dad. Meals were spent there, tucked into the corner of the kitchen where it was somehow never moved from. No matter the time of day or the food being shared, conversation was always flowing between them, laughter echoing through the room.
Above all, there was love. She and Becca were particularly picky eaters, Becca more than she, although she had her own preferences as well. Their parents always made extra food to substitute for any they didn’t like, never a question asked. It’s easy for Mel to feel that she’s difficult; she’s been told as much by childhood friends, her great aunt, even her ex-boyfriend.
Within the walls of her childhood home, tucked at the end of a cul-de-sac in their little Ohio suburb, Mel was never made to feel like too much.
The night her father died of his second heart attack, only a year after the first, Mel sat in her usual spot at the kitchen table and stared blankly at the beige wall until well after the sun went down.
A rooster-themed clock on the wall ticked with each passing second, its monotonous rhythm humming throughout her mind as her fingers traced the familiar scuffs on the mahogany wood, over and over. There were dots from a permanent marker Becca didn’t realize would bleed through the notebook paper she was drawing on when they were in second grade. Their mom had scrubbed relentlessly, but no amount of Dawn dishwashing liquid would fully remove the marks left behind.
“Little duck,” her mom cooed, a gentle hand brushing her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s time for bed.”
“Oh,” she said, not realizing how late it had gotten.
“We have to be up to meet with the funeral director tomorrow.” Her mom’s words caught in her throat. “C’mon, I’ll tuck you in.”
Mel was fifteen, her mom was tucking her in for bed, and her dad was likely resting in a morgue awaiting his funeral arrangements, blissfully unaware of how her life had just changed.
There was an adjustment period after that.
The morning of her high school graduation, she used her fingers to press a kiss against her father’s headstone, settled the previous spring after they finally had the funds to buy one deserving of the man he was, and walked across the stage a few hours later.
It was halfway through winter break, her first semester of college, that she received a call from her mom’s boss. She was lounging in bed, reading a book she’d been attempting to work her way through for the past month, and sat up immediately upon seeing the number.
“Hello?”
“Mel, sweetie, it’s Christine.”
Heart palpitations can have a number of causes, Mel now knows, some easier to understand and diagnose than others.
In her mother’s case, she didn’t receive an official diagnosis for another long, excruciating month. Mel returned to school with an impending sense of doom, but started to convince herself that maybe she was overthinking, her mother insisting that she was okay, the issue must have been due to her forgetting to take her hypertension medication that morning.
She and Becca celebrated their 19th birthday on February 4th and attended their mother’s funeral a month later.
Their kitchen was full of meals and desserts brought to their doorstep by neighbors, their mother’s coworkers, relatives, and even acquaintances. She had enough food to last for the next week, at least, if not longer.
When she was sure Becca had gone to bed, Mel laid her head on the table and cried until she was certain she would pass out. This time, she didn’t have her mom to calm her, to put her to bed with a kiss on her forehead and a whispered, “My little duck.”
She only had herself and the deep, unrelenting ache in her chest.
Mel knows grief well, but since her move to Pittsburgh, she’s also become reacquainted with happiness, and of course, she’s also come to know love, though this time in a different form.
“Mel,” Frank murmurs against the shell of her ear, his hand running along the length of her side, down her hip. His fingertips dip beneath the hem of her shirt, warmth blooming wherever he touches in the way it always does. “We need to get up.”
“You say that,” she starts, rubbing at her eyes, still bleary with the remnants of sleep, “but you’ve yet to move.”
“How am I supposed to move if you haven’t?”
“Well, one of us has to get up first, and I’m not volunteering.”
He pouts, digging his chin into her shoulder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make her laugh and try to push him away.
“I guess I’ll make the sacrifice this morning, then,” he says, mouth wet when he presses a sloppy kiss against her cheek. She scrunches her face, wiping at the trail left behind. “You owe me.”
“Whatever you say.”
They go about their usual morning routine, Frank heading down the hall to wake Tanner and Penny, Mel sending Becca a good morning text since she stayed with a friend last night. She’s popping a Keurig pod into the coffee machine when a pair of tiny arms wrap around her leg, squeezing as hard as a child her age can.
“Mel, I missed you,” Penny exclaims, already wide awake and tightening her grip on Mel’s pajama pants. Mel smiles, dropping the hand she’d pressed to her chest in shock at being ambushed so early.
“You were asleep all night, silly, you haven’t had time to miss me.”
“My eyes opened and I was already missing you.”
Nearly five years old, ‘wild’ is the first adjective that comes to mind when describing Penny. Her preschool teachers brag about her intellect, but they can’t seem to make her sit still long enough to participate in the ways they would like. Despite the fact that she runs laps around the room during story time and has a behavior card on file regarding the time she bit a boy in her class, she’s as sweet as can be. Mel thinks she gets it from Frank — both traits.
“Well, in that case, I missed you, too.” She runs a hand over Penny’s unruly hair, unable to crouch to her level considering their position.
“I see how it is, Penny,” Frank says, opening the refrigerator to grab the half empty gallon of milk. “You missed Mel, but not Dad?”
“I missed you I guess, but I missed Mel more.”
Frank tickles Penny as he passes by, pulling a chair out to sit at the table in the kitchenette with Tanner, who still appears half asleep, leaning against one arm. Mel manages to detach Penny from her leg so she can walk, although the girl still insists on holding Mel’s hand as they relocate to the table.
Once seated, Mel sits a box of cereal and the plate of toast against the sleek wood. Frank bought the dining set shortly after he moved into the townhouse following his divorce being finalized, a little over a year ago. The night it was delivered, she came over with takeout and they ate sitting across from each other, knocking their feet against one another as they laughed at his commentary on a patient who refused to call him anything but Dr. Handsome earlier in the day.
Tanner and Penny argue over who gets to pour their cereal first, Frank running a hand through his hair as he attempts to mediate as much as he can manage this early in the morning, and though Mel hasn’t moved in officially yet, she feels like she’s right at home.
It takes longer than usual to get ready, Tanner upset when he can’t find the shirt he thought Abby packed for him, but they quickly remedy it with a shirt from Christmas he’s yet to wear. Once Mel’s hair is tied back and braided in its usual style and Penny’s baby doll is secured in its own miniature car seat sat in the middle of Frank’s backseat, they’re ready to go.
Frank’s the last to get in the car, having to run back inside for his wallet first, and sighs when he sees one of the kids’ usual songs queued up on his phone.
“This one again?” he asks, looking over at Mel. He’s attempting to look annoyed, but she can see the smile playing on his lips, and reaches over to place her hand in his after he shifts the car into drive. “We know you have veto power, Mel. For me?”
Mel grins, shaking her head with an attempt to look sorry.
“No can do, sorry. I’m under strict orders this time.”
“You traitor,” he sneers, unable to keep from laughing as he lifts her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it.
They drop Penny off at daycare with Frank asking that she be on her best behavior. She quirks an eyebrow, the same one he so often does, and asks what he means. Though he tries to explain, it may be a lost cause. Tanner, on the other hand, is mostly well behaved, though he does have a rebellious streak at times. Frank walks him inside for his morning daycare program, though he’ll transition to his regular classes in about an hour, and asks that he at least heed their request to behave. Through the front doors, Mel can see him bend down to give the boy a fist bump and a hug, and can’t help but smile.
Frank’s a good doctor, Mel knew from that first shift they worked together, steady, and a good mentor even in the most difficult situations. Later, after his return from rehab, she came to learn that he was a pretty great friend, and as their relationship grew, a caring, supportive partner. After seeing him with his kids, she decides that he may be an even better dad than all of the above.
He has a tendency to be self-loathing, though Mel tries to combat it, and would probably shrug it off if she were to tell him this, but she truly believes he was meant to be a father. Then again, she’s probably biased, since she thinks he’s pretty great overall. He told her once, as they stood in the ambulance bay only a few months after his return, that he thought she might be his biggest fan.
Mel told him, then, that she planned on being the president of his fan club, and she still thinks he may have blushed at that, just a little.
They make it to work right on time, pulling into a parking spot with roughly ten minutes to spare, most of which are spent walking from the parking garage to their department. Mel has to meet with the coordinator of her fellowship program to discuss her progress at eight o’clock, which gives her enough time to do rounds and check any outstanding messages in the charting program they use.
“There’s the happy couple,” Dana calls from her spot at the charge desk, and though their coworkers are well aware of their relationship status, Mel can’t help but shrink into herself.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank says, frowning, though he can’t hold it for very long. “What couple?”
“Joke?” Mel asks, looking up at him. It never hurts to clarify.
“A lame one, by most accounts.”
“I won’t disown you for it,” she says, squeezing his hand once before letting go to walk in the opposite direction. “This time.”
Frank narrows his eyes at her. “Even joking, that’s cruel.”
“Get to work, Dr. Langdon.”
His hand lands dramatically on his chest, over his heart, as he tells her, “Miss you already, Dr. King.”
She ducks her head when she looks up to find both Dana and Lena smiling at her.
Rounds go as well as expected. It’s nearing the end of flu season, but there are still a number of suspected cases presented during handoff. They’ve struggled the past several weeks due to low staffing ratios, many of their own coming down with it. Samira was out several days last week, Whitaker and Santos the week before.
Mel’s been keeping her fingers crossed, hoping she doesn’t pick it up between the ER and being around Frank’s notoriously germy kids. Penny had hand, foot, and mouth only last month, Abby calling Frank in the middle of the night halfway to having a meltdown over not knowing what was wrong. Tanner had norovirus only a few weeks prior to that, Mel managing to miss it between a handful of night shifts and the court ordered visitation schedule Frank and Abby do their best to adhere to.
She’s sitting at one of the charting stations, iPad in hand while she reviews the test results of a ten year old in South 16. Samira’s sitting across from her, frowning at the computer, a divot in her brow. Mel starts to ask her what’s wrong, but stops, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden, followed by a familiar, dreadful turning of her stomach.
Her iPad drops against the desk with a thud, quickly forgotten as she walks in the direction of the restroom, attempting to make haste without drawing too much attention to herself. Once the door shuts behind her, she leans against the sink.
“Not today, please,” she says, unsure who exactly she’s bargaining with. It’s a tossup between herself, God, and her immune system, probably. She’s had her flu shot and ensures that she washes and sanitizes her hands frequently, although she knows it isn’t always enough to avoid the illnesses going around. Plus, she and Frank both have tomorrow off. Today isn’t the day to get sick.
Breathing becomes a conscious effort as she grips the porcelain sink, deep breaths in followed by slow breaths out, a familiar pattern she uses when trying to ground herself that she hopes will also work for nausea.
Mel stays still for a moment longer once her throat no longer burns with the threat of bile. She looks at herself in the mirror, then, her cheeks red and splotchy, and removes her glasses to set them aside. The faucet spurts a stream of water with the turn of a knob, and she cups her hands, catching enough of it to splash her face with. When she’s done, skin patted dry and glasses once again perched on her nose, she nods, feeling better than she did before.
When she steps out of the restroom, she finds Frank sitting at the hub across from its doorway, talking to one of the new med students. Mel isn’t sure of the man's name, but he’s been kind each time she’s interacted with him, and he seems genuinely interested in the work they do here, which is always a good thing.
Frank turns in her direction and smiles, raising a hand to gesture her over after the med student turns to ask Dr. Robby a question near one of the patient rooms.
“You okay?”
"I’m— Yeah,” she says, coming to a stop. Maybe she dropped the iPad harder than she thought, but surely he wouldn’t come to the conclusion that she didn’t feel well based on that? He does seem to have a weird sort of sixth sense when it comes to her, but even that seems to be a bit much for them. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Of course you’re fine, Mel, I just— I meant about your meeting.” He pauses with a frown, and she manages to flinch only slightly when the back of his hand comes to rest against her forehead. “Although you do look a little flushed, actually, are you feeling sick?”
“No,” she shakes her head, leaning away from his touch. Maybe the sixth sense extends further than she thought. “I’m fine. I’m, um, not sick, just nervous. About the meeting.”
“Hm,” Frank muses, touch lingering against the curve of her jaw as he drops his hand. “It’s just a progress report, sweetheart, it’ll be okay. You’re doing great.”
“Of course you think so.”
“I’ll have you know, Mel, I’m an attending now. I don’t play favorites.”
Dana scoffs as she passes by, turning briefly to retort, “You are so full of shit.”
“You’re just jealous,” he calls, though she continues walking, likely out of earshot. “Maybe I am biased, but even if I weren’t, I’d have the same opinion. You’re good at what you do, Mel. I’ve known it since the day we met.”
He's told her as much too many times to count, but Mel finds herself blinking back tears, unsure what’s gotten into her.
It’s easy, then, to tell him, “You’re kind of my favorite person, you know that?”
He smiles and playfully shoos her along. “You should probably go to your meeting before I do something stupid and extremely frowned upon by human resources.”
“Later?”
"Definitely later.”
Thankfully, he was right, and her meeting does go well, by all accounts. Natalia, the fellowship coordinator, is kind and though she takes her job seriously, she also loves to make people laugh, so it isn’t too difficult to feel at ease with her. The topic of conversation is what fills her with dread, one on ones always a source of anxiety for Mel, but she’s making progress as expected and leaves feeling much lighter than she did beforehand.
She comes to the conclusion that the nausea she felt earlier was likely due to nerves and doesn’t give it much further thought. Frank doesn’t ask her about it again, either, not even when the two of them are on break, chairs pulled closed together and legs intertwined beneath the table in the break room as they pass a bottle of Gatorade back and forth. Mel usually packs a light lunch, keeping in mind that they aren’t always able to take a full break, and Frank usually doesn’t bring anything more than a granola bar. She’s tried to talk him into bringing more, going as far as attempting to pack a lunch for him, but he argues that he has all the sustenance he needs.
(It doesn’t stop her from slipping him bits and pieces of her own lunch instead).
“Tanner says hi, by the way,” Frank says, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth to get rid of any leftover crumbs. “He called from his iPad earlier. I think Abby’s officially caved on the whole ‘no screen time’ thing. She says she’s limiting the amount of time they get, though. I’ll have to talk to her about it so we can make sure we’re on the same page when the kids are with us.”
“Right,” Mel agrees, ignoring the way her heart picks up at his use of ‘us.’ “Obviously too much screen time’s a bad thing, but moderation is key. I guess that’s sort of the case with everything, though, really.”
There’s a lull in the conversation, but it isn’t uncomfortable. With him, it never is.
He leans over to show her a video on his phone, laughing under his breath. She offers the last of her string cheese to him and he opens his mouth, allowing her to feed him, nipping at the end of her finger as she does. It frightens her, sometimes, how comfortable she is with him. There’s a part of her, nagging at the back of her mind, that insists this— them, the shared life they’re working towards— can’t possibly last.
After losing her mom and being forced to face the fact that both of her parents were gone, the family she always knew disappearing with them, Mel wasn’t sure she and Becca would ever have anyone other than each other again. She’s glad she was wrong.
"Any interesting cases today?”
“Oh yeah, actually, I’ve been meaning to mention,” he starts, reaching for the Gatorade. “Elderly woman was brought in from a nursing home. You know, the one over in Squirrel Hill?”
Mel nods.
“You can probably guess where this is going, but it was a stage 4 decubitus ulcer. Wound tunneling through all layers of the skin, bone exposed, it was-” he shudders. “It was rough. The poor woman was miserable.”
She hums in acknowledgment, listening as he details the patient’s treatment plan. Mel’s never known herself to have a weak stomach, but as he talks about wound debridement and the amount of drainage, she shifts uncomfortably, stomach churning more dangerously with each word.
He offers her the half empty Gatorade and she takes it, nodding along where necessary, positioning and repositioning in her seat in an attempt to get comfortable.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he insists, leaning back and crossing his legs. He reaches for her hand and she lets him take it, his touch warm, grounding her.
“Right. Sounds, um, pretty bad.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” he laughs.
The lights are too bright, her vision going fuzzy at the edges as she attempts to focus, zeroing her gaze on the point where his skin meets hers. It’s hard to swallow, a metallic taste filling her mouth, the pooling of saliva.
Frank frowns. “Mel?”
Dazed, she asks, “Yes?”
“Are you-”
She’s out of her seat, bottle clattering to the table in her haste, and racing to the trashcan before he can finish his sentence. He’s behind her by the time she’s bent over, releasing the contents of her stomach in a choked gasp.
Frank’s there, moving her braid out of the way and rubbing circles against her back, and she doesn’t know which she hates more: the act of throwing up, or him bearing witness to it.
She stays there, hunched over the bin with a white-knuckled grip on the edges of it, until all she can do is dry heave. When her stomach seems to be settled and she determines she’s done for the time being, she straightens, wincing at the taste in her mouth.
Her fingers are shaky when they push her glasses up and press against her eyes, finding her face wet with tears. She shudders, taking a deep breath as she turns to face him.
“I’m sorry, that was gross.”
His hands are firm and warm, kneading soothingly at her shoulders. “I’ve been thrown up on more times than I can count. You know, with the whole dad and doctor thing.”
“I know, but it’s different when it’s— You know.”
“Mel, nothing you do could ever gross me out. In fact, you look beautiful right now.”
“Flattery gets you nowhere.” She half-smiles, wincing when she swallows.
“Let’s get you cleaned up. I think I have a toothbrush in my locker,” he offers, brushing a piece of hair away from her forehead. His eyes narrow before asking, “You feel okay now?”
“Much better.” She nods, but the hand he presses against her forehead tells her he doesn’t quite believe her.
He hums, considering. “No muscle aches, sore throat, headache?”
"No, no, and no.” She wraps her hands around his wrists. “I feel better, really. I think, um, I think it may have just been something I ate. Or maybe just a one-off sort of thing.”
“Right.” He doesn’t seem privy to the idea. Then, almost hesitantly, he begins to ask, “Mel, when was-”
“I just need to clean up and get something to drink, and then I’ll be good to go. Okay?”
He gives her a tight smile, worry still marring his brow, but she leans up to give him a hug, brief and work-appropriate, before heading out of the break room and towards their lockers.
She’s fine, really. There’s nothing to worry about.
When evening comes, they finish handoff at about the same time, Frank stopping briefly to speak to Dr. Shen about a case while Mel changes out of her scrubs. Exhaustion plagues every move, but she’s used to it by now, at least. He meets her near the doors roughly fifteen minutes after seven, both able to leave on time for once, and she calls Becca as they head to his car, one of Mel’s hands slipping into his as they walk.
“How was work?” Becca asks, as she usually does in the evenings.
“It was good,” she says. “Nothing too crazy happened today.”
“Yeah,” Frank agrees. “No MCIs, criminals on the run, or furries, at least. Although there was a domestic spat Mohan had to break up this morning.”
“Right.” Mel shakes her head, smiling over at him. “We’ll be there to pick you up soon, okay?”
“I’ll be ready. Love you both, bye.”
“We love you, too.”
Once they’re settled inside the car, she looks over to find Frank smiling, shaking his head slightly as he shifts into drive.
“What?” she asks, confused.
“Nothing, just— I remember when I first met Becca outside of work and she refused to acknowledge me. She wouldn’t even say my name, Mel.”
It took Becca a while to grow used to the concept of them being a unit of three rather than the twosome she and Mel had been for so many years. Despite the platonic status of Mel’s relationship with Frank for several months after his and Becca’s first meeting, they were together every chance they had. He came to movie and game nights, dinners and breakfasts, outings and days spent inside. It didn’t matter what they were doing, really, it was typically the three of them after that.
The first morning Becca came downstairs to him asleep on their couch, she launched a throw pillow at him and then claimed it was an accident. Mel, of course, apologized profusely, but all Frank did was laugh.
It took some time, to say the least.
Now, as Becca climbs into the car, she greets Frank with a grin on her face, and launches into a story about her friend Ashley, who apparently has a huge crush on a new guy at the center that’s roughly their age. Mel listens, head pressed against the window, and thinks about how wonderful and strange life can be, her sister and the unexpected love of her life bonding and laughing, Mel’s heart nearly aching with joy as she bears witness.
They pick up dinner on the way home, but Mel only picks at it before putting the rest away for tomorrow. She’s in the bathroom, washing her face when Frank comes in, leaning back against the doorframe and crossing his arms as he watches her.
“You sure you’re okay?”
"I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”
“Sure,” he says, but again, he prods, “You’re sure you aren’t coming down with something? Or that there isn’t something…else going on?”
“I’m fine. You’re being a mother hen, Frank,” she deadpans, drying her face and walking around him. Grabbing hold of one hand, she pulls him in the direction of her room.
Mel falls asleep pressed to his side, her head tucked into the crook of his neck, and doesn’t wake until the sun’s shining through the blinds and coating her room in a soft glow. His side of the bed’s cold, long since abandoned, and when she opens the door it’s to the smell of breakfast being made.
It’s not until a particularly strong whiff of it hits her and causes a bout of nausea that has her running to the bathroom, bent over the toilet that she wonders if maybe he’s right. A knock on the other side of the door reverberates through the enclosed room as she wipes a hand against the back of her mouth, the taste of bile heavy on her tongue. There are few things she hates more than being sick.
“Mel?” he asks. She closes her eyes, leaning back on her knees, and attempts to think of an explanation. When she takes too long to answer, he supplies, “I’m coming in,” no sooner than the knob turns.
She pivots to sit against the bathtub, arms wrapped loosely around her knees and tucking them against her chest. The door closes behind him and he immediately crouches in front of her, thumb brushing against her chin as he tilts her head up.
“Oh, honey,” he says, moving to cradle her jaw. “Again?”
“I think you’re right.” She nods, sighing. “I must be coming down with something. I mean, between all of the flu cases we’ve been dealing with and the germs Tanner and Penny pass back and forth, it was only-”
“Mel,” he interrupts, and the look on his face gives her pause. It’s the same face he makes when he’s trying to decide how to deliver difficult news to his patients, which she thinks is a bit dramatic. He doesn't come outright with whatever he's thinking, instead awkwardly claiming, “I have the sneaking suspicion that it could be…something else.”
“What else would it be? I mean, it’s not like I’ve traveled internationally or-”
“Mel." He stops her before she can begin to ramble, his thumb brushing against her cheek in the way that always makes her melt. Ripping the bandaid off, he asks, “Do you think you could be pregnant?”
Her head rears back, the frown on her face immediate. She opens her mouth to explain that surely that isn't the case, but the words don't come.
Instead, she releases a weak, "Oh."
Oh.
Suddenly the last twenty-four hours make sense, the puzzle pieces in her mind seamlessly locking together. Her vision blurs, Frank no longer in focus though he’s right in front of her. Her eyes sting with the threat of tears, and she feels like she’s forgotten how to take a proper breath.
“Hey,” he says, reaching for her. He's frantic as he rushes to explain, “Mel, it’s okay. We don’t even know if you are, I was just saying it’s a possibility.”
When he stands, it's to run a hand through his hair with a nervous breath before helping her up. His touch is warm where his hands run up and down her sides before pulling her into him and resting his chin against her head.
Voice hoarse, she questions, "What if you’re right?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?” His voice is soft, and she nods. “I’m here no matter what.”
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she asks, “Promise?”
“I promise.”
He makes a trip to CVS while she eats breakfast, curled against the corner of the couch. The TV plays, its volume low, but Mel isn’t watching, choosing instead to stare blankly at the wall behind it as she sips lukewarm tea from her mom’s favorite mug. It’s been more than a decade, the muted pink chipped and scratched in a number of places, but she remembers sitting with her mom as she drank coffee out of it each morning, waving it around animatedly as she spoke. Mel tries not to use it very often, only when she’s feeling particularly nostalgic, or worse, upset.
She isn’t sure how much time has passed when she hears the lock turn, and the door opens, Frank hoarding several plastic bags in hand as he nudges it shut behind him.
“Hi,” he says, and Mel thinks he looks almost sheepish. “I might have gone overboard, just a little.”
“A little?”
“A lot, probably.” He runs a hand through his hair, damp from the morning drizzle, and sets the bags on the table by the entryway as he toes off his shoes and sheds his jacket. “You ready?”
Mel sets her plate aside and stands, brushing away any leftover crumbs.
“As ready as I can be.” She takes a shaky breath, then asks quietly, “How do you even get ready for something like this?”
He’s earnest in his response, a simple, “You don’t, but we’re in this together, Mel. I mean that.”
It makes her feel better, at least a little bit.
Once they’re in the bathroom, four different brands of store bought pregnancy tests laid out on the counter in front of them, Mel thinks he probably did go slightly overboard. The tests could be negative, for all they know, and then what was the fuss for?
“Should I— All of them?” she asks, the question half-formed. Her hands shake as she lifts one, slowly flipping open the cardboard.
He rubs affectionately at her side as he tells her, “It’s up to you, baby.”
It could be a waste, if they’re negative, but she turns the idea over and over in her head, deciding that she won’t be able to rest until she knows. So, in true Mel fashion, she takes all of them, lining them up on the counter in place of their boxes as they wait.
The bathroom isn’t particularly big, but as Frank sets the timer on his phone, Mel begins to pace, clenching her hands together in the same soothing motion she usually defaults to, noting that she can only take about four steps in either direction before running into either the wall or the bathtub.
“Mel.”
“Mhm?”
“C’mere,” he gestures, opening his arms for her to step into. To her credit, she doesn’t cry, instead shutting her eyes and breathing in the warm, familiar scent that always clings to him, a combination of his cologne and the body wash he uses, and something else that she's previously concluded is just him. “I’m sorry.”
She pulls back, looking up at him.
“Sorry?”
“Yeah, I mean, this is my fault, at least partially.” He shakes his head. “I know you love Tanner and Penny, but we haven’t even— Mel, we’ve never even talked about whether you want kids of your own. Maybe we should have, but we haven't.”
“Well—”
“Plus, I mean, I could have been better about using protection. We’re doctors, for Christ’s sake.”
She can’t help the laugh that escapes her, muffled against the material of his t-shirt. “Now you’re the one spiraling,” she says. “As if I didn’t play an equal and willing part.”
His hold around her tightens as he pulls her closer. Mel turns her head, one ear pressed against his chest, close enough to hear the rapid beat of his heart. It hits her, then, that she isn’t the only one who’s nervous.
“Hey,” she tells him, her low whisper seeming so much louder in the small space. She presses her chin against his chest, looking up at him to find his mouth pressed into a thin line. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“Even if—”
“Even if,” she interrupts. “We’ll figure it out.”
She only knows it to be true because of Frank, whether or not he realizes, and they allow the certainty of her words to land in the silence left between them, neither one bothering to speak any further. As his phone sounds against the counter, her fist tightens in his shirt, eyes squeezing shut.
“Here, let me shut the alarm—”
“Don’t move yet,” she practically begs, voice small as she clings to him. Though he falters, his arm at first reaching for his phone, he does as she asks, dropping a hand back to her waist, holding her. For the first time, she admits to herself that she’s not just nervous. She’s scared.“Frank?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we look together?”
He nods, and they part slowly, untangling themselves as they turn to face where the tests lay side by side.
Mel can't help but think of how life is so heavily defined by moments that are separated by the before and after. The day her dad passed is the first time that her life split into two, the permanence of his death causing Mel to have the realization that she would never be able to return to what once was. Worse, in many ways, was the day her mom passed away, the world suddenly weighing on her shoulders so heavily at such an important time in her life.
She thinks, oddly, that the other defining moment in her life, separated by its before and after, is when she met Frank.
“One,” she counts, readying herself.
“Two,” he continues.
She disregards the final count, and so does he. As she glances down to see not one, but all of the tests reading different variations of a positive result, she thinks, yeah, this is one of those moments.
Beside her, she hears a sharp inhale, and Frank turns to look at her, eyes wide.
“They’re positive," she manages, voice shrill and unlike her own.
“They are,” he quietly confirms.
He turns to face her, gentle, as though trying not to frighten her. Eyes blurry with the threat of unshed tears, she reaches for one of the tests, looking first down at it, then back up at him — and then she loses it, bursting into tears as she all but launches herself at him, tossing her arms around his neck.
She buries her face against him with a sob and feels him laugh as presses his mouth to the top of her head, her cheek. When he manages to pull her away from his neck, he cradles her face, smiling what she thinks might be the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen.
“We’re having a baby,” he says, nose scrunching as he grins down at her.
“We’re having a baby,” she all but squeals, using one hand to cradle his jaw, wiping away the trail of tears there. Quietly, voice thick, she adds,“Part you and part me.”
He kisses her, their mouths meeting in a clash of teeth, neither one of them able to stop smiling. As far as kisses go, it probably isn’t their best, but she doesn’t care. She presses closer to him, tightening her hold on him as one hand curls into the hair at the nape of his neck.
It’s only when she starts laughing that they pull apart, his forehead falling against hers.
“What’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning, too.
“I just really love you.”
He presses a kiss to her cheek once, then again, closer to the corner of her mouth.
“I love you, too.”
Unable to help herself, she holds the test up, all but jumping up and down as she exclaims, once again, “We’re having a baby, Frank.”
He smiles down at her, thumb rubbing against her waist before he stops, eyes meeting hers as his hand comes to rest against her lower abdomen. She sniffs, throat growing tight again at the sight, and allows her own hand to rest atop his.
The anxiety she felt earlier dissipates entirely, instead replaced by a surmounting love for Frank, and for the baby she now knows they'll have in a number of months.
“This is a good thing?” he asks, eyes searching hers.
Mel looks down at the plastic in her hand, the two lines staring back at her, and can't control the smile that spreads across her face.
“I didn’t know what to think, you know, when you brought it up as a possibility, but I— I want this. It might not be the perfect timing, and we don’t even live together— oh my God, we have to figure that out— but I want this, and I want it with you, and we’ll figure it all out somehow.”
His smile grows, and then he’s pressing a kiss to the top of her head, using a hand to smooth down the bedhead she’s yet to brush.
“We’ll figure it out,” he assures her. “All of it.”
It isn’t until late that evening when they’re laying in bed, Frank curled against her back with one hand pressed to her lower abdomen, where it’s gravitated towards all day, that she finds herself gasping, a sudden realization occurring to her.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, shaking his arm off so she can roll over to face him, his eyes half closed in the dim light. “How am I supposed to tell Becca?”
They spent much of the day going about their usual routines, Mel and Becca running a few errands before going to the park early in the afternoon, though she and Frank spent most of their time together passing knowing glances and quiet smiles to each other, her sister none the wiser.
Frank huffs a laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“For what it’s worth,” he supplies. “I think she’ll be happy about it. She loves Tanner and Penny, and all you have to do is mention that this one will be calling her Aunt Becca officially. She’ll be over the moon.”
Mel hums, shifting her head so it’s laying against his pillow, putting them nose to nose.
“Maybe, but it’s just— She didn’t warm up to Tanner and Penny right away. She said Penny cried too much, Frank. Babies cry a lot more than Penny did at the time.”
He laughs, not unkindly, and playfully nuzzles his nose against hers.
“You get a little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re thinking too hard about something,” he notes, “It’s cute.”
“Stop trying to flirt.”
“Look, it won’t be easy, and Becca might not be all that keen on a fussy, crying baby at first, but it’ll take a while for all of us to adjust. We’ll get used to it eventually.” Mel nods, knowing he’s probably right, but she can’t quiet that nagging part of her brain. “She might take a little while longer to adjust, and we’ll support her however we can, but she’ll love this baby, Mel. I know it.”
"I feel like I tell you that you're right way too often, so I'm not doing that this time."
"You're thinking it, though," he teases.
"No, I'm thinking that I love you and you're the best."
Mel nudges his shoulder so he rolls over, following so she's straddling his waist.
"I'm the best, huh?"
She hums in agreement, pressing her mouth to his neck and trailing upwards. The slight stubble on his jaw is prickly against her skin, making her wrinkle her nose, but she ignores it, moving to kiss him instead.
Before she can, he murmurs, "I'll shave in the morning, promise."
"Mhm," she agrees, frustrated at the interruption. "Less talking, more kissing."