Kingdon Macrofic day 11: Suprise (566/186)
warnings: frank's parental issues, mentions of fertility issues and stillbirth, cant think of anything else
There were four seats at this table. Four corners. And four reasons for their awkward silence. Each person waiting for someone else to speak first.
The first and most important thing was this: Becca King was face blind. If she wasn’t, maybe things would have gone differently.
The second contributing factor was Becca’s refusal to tell Mel about Adam or show her him until Mel had a partner of her own. She had good intentions, for all that it hurt Mel– she didn’t want to rub Mel’s face in it.
The third reason was the 4 months Frank hid his divorce. He couldn’t handle coming back as the divorced loser addict, he needed time to be comfortable being vulnerable with the people who ignored him for the worst ten months of his life. He had also needed time to be comfortable before being vulnerable with Mel, scared of what their friendship could be without the barriers of his marriage. Would she pull back? Be less vulnerable with him? (He hadn’t dared to hope that it would bring them closer together.)
All that together, when Mel and Frank finally sorted things out, after a month of dating Becca was ready to introduce Adam and Mel. Frank would be there for moral support. Even if he wasn’t gone on Mel, even if he wasn’t already sure she was the love of his life, if they were just friends, he’d still want to be there.
Adam was less a person and more an idea to her, a microcosm of her difficulties balancing being Becca’s caretaker and her sister, her fear of being alone, a manifestation of the wound of discovering her sister lied to her for 6 months.
Frank had never pried about Adam with Becca, only having one conversation with her about it, talking to her about how if she was unsure, if she felt unsafe, he’d have her back. She’d smiled at him, patted his hand and asked when he’d finally kiss Mel.
The fourth reason was this– Frank Langdon was a lonely kid. An only child, he’d begged for a sibling, never to be obliged. It was only later, when he had had kids of his own, when he’d gone through med school, that he could contextualize the expression his parents wore whenever he asked. The same face he wore having to deliver news to the bereaved. Fertility issues, he assumed. Stillbirth, he’d found out, after his divorce, after rehab, after a screaming fight with them on the other side of the end table that had claimed his back, his pride and his career. He was supposed to be a twin.
Looking back, Frank regretted not asking for a picture. It was uncanny. Like looking into a mirror, but one that was ambulatory, animate. There were differences, sure, but they were the exceptions that proved the rule. Adam had longer hair– shoulder length, like he’d had it in undergrad; he had a goatee; he looked about an inch and a half taller and 20 pounds lighter. Otherwise, it was like looking at his doppelgänger.
“Mel, are you seeing this?”
“Yes, Frank,” she whispered back. “Do you have something you want to tell me?”
“I’m just as surprised as you.”
He needed to talk to his parents. If they were lucky, if they had a good explanation, he wouldn’t put his fist through that damn end table.
