to the lost horizon

“I like yours better, for the record,” he mumbles against her, licking at a mole behind her ear. Mel’s bedroom has enraptured him — her patchwork quilt and stuffed animals, the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. His very first glimpse of it months ago had made him hard. 

“…I think this is fun too.” Mel flushes prettily.

She’s propped herself up on the pillows, looking bashful even as she spreads her legs for him. Frank feels heat pool in his stomach, devouring the sight of her pigtail braids and panties with ladybugs printed on them. He leans down, pushing into her space, his nose brushing against hers as he speaks. 

“You want it right here, baby? Want me to fuck you in my bed?” 

“Mhmm,” she nods, hands twisting in the sheets. “Yes, please.” 

Frank tugs at one of her braids. They’ve got the house until tomorrow. Abby and the kids are at her parents' for the weekend. He wonders how many different rooms he can fuck her in before he has to take her home. 

“Be a good girl and turn around, honey.” 

Abby’s counter in the bathroom looked like an apothecary. She had always cared a lot about the way that she looked, and Frank hadn’t really minded. In college, it was good. Fun, even. He liked that she did “girly” things, like get her hair blown out and her nails done. Facials, peels, glosses. He could slip her a $50 bill if he got a good tip at work and send her to the salon; she’d come back glowing and happy. Blowjob. 

Later, it became a lot less fun. In med school, with the kids, she couldn’t afford to splurge on treatments. She’d fill up a cart at TJ Maxx with strange beauty products, have a resentful spa day by herself with a canned spritzer while Tanner cried in the bouncer. 

After rehab, she cashed out big time. Botox. Collagen shots. Pilates and hot yoga. Of course, they couldn’t afford that, either, but he owed her, so he had to make it happen. 

With all of her potions and jabs and treatments, Abby was beautiful. Well-kept. Of course, Frank had thought she was beautiful without them, too, but that had never been an option for her. 

On the other hand, Mel hardly wore any makeup at all. 

Frank hadn’t noticed it at first, it hadn’t even crossed his mind, until one day when a disgruntled patient had splashed her in the face with some whiskey he’d snuck inside his jacket. She had blinked furiously until Perlah had led her to the eye wash station, where she had gotten thoroughly sprayed. He noted afterwards, when she’d gotten all dried off, that she looked just the same as before. Face fresh, cheeks pink, the little mole under her eye visible. She hadn’t even had mascara on. That night, guiltily, he searched Pornhub for “girl next door”, “blonde”, then (even more shamefully, he added:) “glasses”. Of course, nothing got close to the real thing.

There was something about the way that she needed nothing at all to be the most eye-catching thing in the room that drove him absolutely crazy. Her hair, thick and shiny and beautiful, looked completely untouched. He wondered if she even trimmed it herself. 

When he got her pregnant, it was cranked up by ten. Her face glowed, her hair grew impossibly fast, she was like some kind of forest fairy from one of Penny’s children’s books. 

Leaned up against the doorway, he listened as she spoke with an elderly patient, her braid tossed over her shoulder. 

“What do you do to your hair, honey?” she asked, reaching out like she was going to touch as Mel subtly dodged her hand, “It’s like silk.” 

Mel flushed with pride, looking at the floor, “Oh, um, it’s a little funny, but I actually use shampoo for horses? It’s called Mane and Tail––” 

“Not sure,” he settles on. “You know she’s crafty, and a bit unorganized.”

“You’re right,” Abby sighs, carelessly tossing the ribbon on the table and shifting the hamper of freshly laundered clothes against her hip. “Maybe I need to get her a little box to store everything in. Or snag a few of those Alex cabinets from Ikea. What do you think?”

Frank swallows down a mouthful of coffee, reminiscing on the taste of strawberry that lingered on his tongue the night before. Supple and sinfully sweet. Now tarnished by the bitterness of Folgers dark roast.

“I think she’d love that,” he agrees, a fond, crooked smile on his lips. Abby beams at that, clearly hoping she’ll finally win their daughter’s favor. “Why don’t I take her this weekend? Make a day of it, and all.”

Abby’s smile falters. “We could all go. The three of us.”

Tongue prodding his cheek, he says, “You’ve got that spa thing, remember? The one I booked months ago as a birthday gift,” her confusion is evident, brows pulling together. “Honey, don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I—I didn’t—” Abby’s knuckles whiten on the plastic laundry hamper’s edge. “I guess I did forget. Gosh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s quite alright,” he assures. “We’ll do something next weekend, alright? Scout’s honor.”

Her guilt dissipates. “I’d like that,” she nods primly. “I’m going to get these clothes folded and clean up a little. I’ll see you when you’re back from drop-off.”

With that, Abby slips upstairs. Frank instantly clogs his browser history with misspellings of nice expensive spas in PA and spas in PA quick booking. Pleased with his final selection, he settles into his chair, shoulders no longer coiled up to his ears. The lengths at which he has to go for a little bit of time with his damn daughter, jeez.

As if summoned by his influx of conflicting thoughts, Mel comes barreling into the kitchen.

“Daddy! Have you seen my pink ribbon?”

The smile he sports feels like enough to split his face in two. His sweet girl, eyes shining at the sight of him.

“Got it right here, angel,” she plunks right into his lap and he ties back her honey hair, finishing off with a featherlight kiss to the corner of her mouth. “My perfect girl.”