Dr. Mel King enthusiast

Charlie appeared in his apartment the evening of the 23rd— having decided to take the train from New York to Pittsburgh and hitch a ride with him and the kids up to Erie without telling anyone, what the fuck—took one unimpressed look around the pile of dishes by his sink and the sweatshirt he hadn’t taken off in five days and the not-cute stubble he hadn’t been bothered enough to deal with, and made him “get his life together.”

After that, he had to at least pretend to think about things other than why Mel wasn’t texting him and what she was doing and whether she was also thinking about him and what her Christmas traditions were and what she’s like when she interacts with four- and six-year-old kids, for no particular reason, of course.

Becca King’s Instagram is public, thank God, so he at least got to see a few glimpses of Mel: feet up on a coffee table in front of the opening titles for Elf, a blurry hand beside a collection of journaling supplies, a thumbs up behind a pile of fantasy books. It made Frank wonder if she doesn’t like having her photo taken or if Becca just doesn’t think to take pictures of her, and he whiles away some of the time he spends staring at the ceiling and failing to sleep by trying to come up with subtle ways he can ask her about it.

But having Tanner and Penny is always a balm for the soul, and it was almost impossible to mope around too much with them bouncing off the freaking walls in their excitement for second Christmas!!! His mom loved getting to dote on them, cooking more food than any child could conceivably eat and proposing more outings than made any sense to attempt the week between Christmas and New Years and somehow producing extra presents every time she left the house. His dad was on his best behavior, which generally meant avoiding everyone and staying in his den/office to watch World Juniors, since the group stage started on December 26th. He grudgingly joined the ice skating outing and only made three comments about what a shame it is that Frank didn’t "have what it takes" to make it in hockey and had to “settle” for soccer, which actually wasn’t that bad, when you grade on a curve.

(And who, exactly, was going to shell out for me to play hockey? Frank didn’t ask, unable to ignore the memories that popped up of his mom crunching the budget at their kitchen table while his dad was out at the bar with some buddies, her tearful eyes when she told Frank that he wouldn’t be able to get new cleats or shinguards for the season, the art program Charlie dropped out of when they found out she needed to bring her own supplies. With what fucking money, Dad?)

Frank took it as an excuse to brag about his soccer boys, anyway, and Charlie and Mom cooed over the picture he showed them, taken on the field right before their last game of the season. He pointed out Rui and told them about his Duolingo Portuguese streak, and the pride in his mom’s eyes while she listened settled deep in his chest. 

It was a huge relief to get a break from being the only one in charge and responsible for cleaning up messes. He got to enthusiastically join the impromptu art projects Penny and Charlie dreamt up instead of saving his energy for the inevitable drawn-out clean up. He didn’t have to decide what to eat and feed everyone. He actually sat and watched his kids play without feeling guilty about the million other things he should be doing instead of resting. 

And yet, despite all the things that were genuinely heartwarming and wonderful and overwhelmingly nice about the time with his family, he couldn’t shake the undercurrent of anxiety and angst that flared up every time he checked his phone and didn’t have any new notifications from Mel.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone, let alone that they dumped you,” Charlie commented on their last night in Erie. The kids had been asleep (or at least in bed) for a couple of hours and their parents headed up a few minutes earlier, but he and Charlie remained embedded deep in the couch. It felt outside his capacity to even imagine going upstairs. (The kids were staying in Charlie’s old room, him in his old room, and Charlie was on the pull out couch in the basement. Frank loves and hates how easily his family accommodates his stupid fucking back without even talking about it.)

“I’m lowkey offended to be out of the loop.”

“I’m not,” Frank said, confused. “And I wasn’t. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your whole—” Charlie swept a hand along the length of Frank’s body. “—post-break-up not chic thing! You even agreed with me!”

Frank squinted at her. “I mean, I got what you mean as a vibe, but I didn’t think you were being literal.”

“Why do you keep staring at your phone like you’re hoping against hope for a notification that hasn’t come, then?” 

Charlie accompanied the question by kicking him in the side as she lay all the way down, no apology in sight. Sisters.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Charlie kicked him with intent this time. Sisters.

“Fine,” Frank sighed, confident he would regret this but also eager to have the chance to talk about Mel to somebody who wasn’t already sick of it. “I guess I’m kind of into my co-teacher, Mel?”

Kind of into. Understatement of the fucking century.

“Oh God,” Charlie sighed. “You’re probably actually in fucking love with her already if you’re telling me about it this willingly. Is Yolanda that sick of listening to you talk about her?”

Jesus Christ. He hates how well the people around him know him...or maybe he hates how they exclusively seem to use that knowledge to fucking roast him. 

“Yes,” Frank mumbled. It’s pointless to lie to Charlie. She’s too good at seeing through him and too skilled at snake bites, which still hurt like a motherfucker. Friction burns aren’t something that you build immunity to with age, apparently.

“Well, lay it on me.” Charlie poked him with her sock-clad toes. “Pics?”

Frank felt like the River Isen bursting free when the Ents attacked Isengard, finally getting to talk about Mel after trying to be normal for so long. He pulled up the intro slide she made all the way back in August to show Charlie the pictures she included of her and Becca, since he doesn’t have any of his own pictures of her or them. He almost had a heart attack when Charlie frowned down at his phone with a calm, “Oh shit.”

“What?” Frank sat up faster than he knew was possible at this level of sleepy coziness. “I swear to God, Charlie, if you texted her—”

“No, I accidentally edited the slide,” Charlie said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I don’t even know how, but all the text is gone?”

Frank grabbed the phone back and quickly hit the undo button, but the damage was done. The file would show that he edited it at 10:28pm on January 1st for no fucking reason, and Mel’s the kind of person who would notice and ask about it, when they’re duplicating their slides for next year. Maybe he can set a reminder to edit it in, like, June and then claim he was just getting a head start on things? That was probably dumb.

“Wow, I just watched your face go through the five stages of grief in, like, real time.”

Frank glared at Charlie and flopped back against the couch. He could say he wanted to show Charlie the picture of Penny and Bunny? Aren’t the best lies closest to the truth?

“She’s the kind of person who will both notice that the slides say I edited them on January 1st and ask about why I did that.”

Charlie whistled, then looked apologetically up at the ceiling. When it didn’t immediately become apparent that she’d woken anyone up, she looked back at him.

“It’s insane how fond you sound, dude. Tell me more.”

So Frank did, telling her about how amazing Mel is as a teacher and how well they get along and how confusing she is outside the classroom. He petered out at some point, after mentioning the lanyard but before he described in too much detail the time she took her fucking hair down, holy shit, because Charlie is generally sympathetic but also devious, and he’s trying to learn something from his failure to play his Mel cards close to his chest with Yo.

“And you said she’s an orphan who’s been the primary caretaker of her sister since college?” Charlie checked after a moment of contemplative silence. Frank nodded, his heart panging. It’s so unfair that an asshole like him has a (mostly) amazing family who still love him after all of his fuckups, and the nicest person in the universe is left so alone. “And she’s never, like, actively shot you down?”

Frank scrunched up his face in thought. “I mean. Besides right before break, I guess not?”

“For once in her life, the beautiful and brilliant Yolanda Garcia is wrong,” Charlie said. Frank had to work to ignore the first half of that sentence—he’s pretty sure Yoyo and Charlie are messing with him by constantly calling each other hot...right?—but perked up hopefully at the second half.

“Really?”

“I think it sounds like she’s just used to being alone and doesn’t really think that other people want to be her friend, let alone anything else. And if she’s so literal, she probably doesn’t trust that she’s picking up vibes or whatever and needs other people to spell things out, like saying that you’re real friends. But people don’t usually play Mario Kart during their free time with people they only tolerate, let alone actually dislike. But hey, that’s only my take, and I don’t know her.” 

Charlie shrugged, like she hadn’t just pushed him off an emotional cliff, and asked if they should watch an episode of South Park to complete the high school vibe. Frank asked about her love life instead, and she spent the rest of the evening explaining to him how she’s accidentally ended up in situationships with multiple members of a polycule who don’t seem to have told each other about her and isn’t sure what the ethical move is, especially when all of the sex is “mindblowing.” 

(The lesbian dating scene in Brooklyn sounds unbelievably confusing, but maybe that’s just because Frank can barely handle fumbling one amazing woman at a time.)

Frank hasn’t been able to shake Charlie’s read of the situation off, though, even though it’s been three days. He’s sure Leanne will have something to say about it, although his sessions over break ended up being more about his one year sober-versary (and the associated risk of relapse) and his Daddy Issues (which almost made Leanne laugh. He’s going to get her to crack anytime now), so he hasn’t had a chance to run it by her. 

He lied when Yo came over to watch the Pens game last night and said he didn’t text at all, which is, like, basically true, since texting on Christmas or New Years is a freebie. (He knows there’s very little logic here. He’s comfortable with it.)

So here he is, thirty fucking minutes early to school on a day when he doesn’t even have meetings because he’s that fucking desperate to get as much time with her as he can. He’s shocked that she’s not already in the room when he bursts in, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s not like he’s going to start lesson planning at 7:30 in the morning his first day back from break, especially when he’s acutely aware that she can walk in at any minute. Maybe he should sit by her favorite spot with the pothos? Or is that weird? He ends up wandering around, turning lights on and absently straightening the piles of paper that he lets accumulate for no clear reason but feels bad throwing out. He’s sure that he’s already ruined his hair, even though he spent extra time trying to tame it this morning, and he wishes he could just fast forward to her arrival instead of this nonsense. He finally has the inspiration to write the unit objectives on the board after twenty minutes of being well and truly useless. 

The door opens just as he uncaps the Expo marker, and he almost falls over from the speed of his spin towards the noise. Mel looks the same, which...why would she look different? She’s not one of their students who seem to grow entire inches over breaks. Her hair is neatly braided, her lanyard lies smoothly over her crewneck sweater, and her sensible sneakers are tied with a neat, perfect bow.

He feels like can breathe for the first time since she walked out that door before break.