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They don’t use a condom the first time they have sex.
It’s not an intentional decision – she honestly didn’t even think of it. They were both so wrapped up in each other, in the moment, in the fact that this was finally, finally happening, that protection was the furthest thing from their minds.
Plus, neither of them had slept with anyone for awhile; he revealed that it’d been nearly a year and a half since he’d had sex with Abby, even though they’d only separated nine months ago. (One of the many signs our marriage was dead in the water, he’d told her, with a wry smile on his face.)
And Mel? Well, Mel had never slept with anyone. Technically.
(“Technically?” he asks curiously, when she tells him that when they’re tangled up on her bed, her pants already around her ankles and his shirt halfway off.
“Well,” she said, darting her eyes from his and starting to blush from embarrassment rather than arousal suddenly. “There was this one guy at the beginning of med school who kind of…stuck his hand down the front of my pants when we were kissing, but…”
She doesn’t miss the way his body tenses above her just the slightest bit at her words, and honestly? It’s slightly amusing, the concept of Frank being jealous of an awkward boy in med school whose name she can barely even remember now, especially with her current boyfriend’s tongue on her skin as he presses open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, who has her on the brink of an orgasm even though her underwear isn’t even off yet.
Frank pulls back, so he can move his head slightly and catch her gaze again. And then, he asks her, very seriously.
“Did he make you come?”
“God, no,” she assures him, cringing slightly. “He gave up after about…ten minutes? And then left my apartment. I think he was kind of upset with me, actually.”
“What a fucking asshole,” he mutters, and she can tell that there’s a hint of actual anger in his voice. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Don’t be,” she says quickly. “I’m…I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad…”
She trails off, unable to finish her sentence. She makes a mental note to practice dirty talk.
“You’re glad I’m the first person who gets to make you come?” he finishes for her, placing his lips back on her jaw, moving his mouth down her neck.
“Mhmm,” she manages, her eyes rolling back in her head slightly as his hand slips into her underwear.
And, oh, she can feel him smile against her skin. She immediately decides it’s one of her favorite sensations in the world.
“I’m glad, too,” he whispers. “That I’m the first one who gets to take care of you.”)
So, yeah. No chance of STIs or a more serious problem.
Accordingly, she only panics for a moment when she realizes they’ve forgotten a condom, moments after her third climax of the night. She honestly can’t find it in herself to care that much. Not when she can still feel his come between her legs, his naked cock softening inside her. She wants him, has wanted him for months, probably since that first day, if she’s being candid. That means she, selfishly and a little recklessly, is glad she got to have him – all of him, every atom of him – for their first time together. For her first time ever. They’ll have to be more responsible going forward, of course. At least until she starts on some sort of birth control.
When she tells him about their mistake (if you can even call it that), she can tell he bites back a grin. She had thought he might be upset; she certainly didn’t think he would smile. Her anxiety over his reaction quickly fades, even as she looks at him with a curious expression.
“Yeah,” he says, almost shyly. “I thought of that about half a second before I came. Sorry. I should’ve pulled out.”
He sighs, drops his head, resting in the crook between her shoulder and neck.
“Are you upset?” he murmurs cautiously.
“No. I mean, we know there’s no chance of an STD, and I’m ninety-eight percent sure I’m not ovulating. It was honestly…kind of hot?”
She can feel the corners of his lips turn up again. Yeah. She’s felt a lot of amazing things tonight, but him smiling against her is definitely one of her favorites.
“Kind of? Baby, it was really hot.”
She smiles now, running her fingers through his hair before dropping a kiss there.
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Always are.”
And it’s true. They’re constantly in sync, intellectually, emotionally, and now physically.
“We should probably clean up now, though,” she tells him, and he hums, pressing his lips and tongue against her collarbone in another open-mouthed kiss.
“How about you let me take care of that?” he whispers.
Before she can answer, he pulls out, moving down her body and disappearing under the covers. Her legs fall open, and she closes her eyes, her breath hitching at the press of his tongue against her.
She checks her period tracker on her phone the next morning, after he goes back to his apartment to retrieve clothes for work. She’s tracked her periods meticulously since medical school. It was one thing she could control – one thing she could always be prepared for – in the midst of her life that was becoming more and more hectic seemingly by the day.
Her eyes widen just slightly, though, when the app loads. A smiling, animated uterus onscreen tells her she finished ovulating the day before yesterday.
Still, she isn’t too concerned. What are the chances they conceived their first time ever having sex? She knows it’s far from impossible, but the probability has to be low, right? She tries to remember her old med school textbooks and high school health class, and immediately opens Google to search the likelihood of getting pregnant the day after ovulation, and lets out a slow breath before smiling. The odds are less than 10%.
She’ll make a quick stop at CVS on her way home from work to buy condoms. They’ll use protection from here on out. Everything will be fine.
The CVS trip does, admittedly, take a little longer than she had thought, and makes her very aware of how much she doesn’t know about what men like during sex. What could possibly be the reason that are so many different types of condoms? More pressingly – how does she know what to choose?
(She ends up at the checkout counter with five different boxes and two packs of pretzel M&Ms, and refuses to make eye contact with the elderly cashier the entire time.)
He’s waiting inside her apartment when she gets back – they’d exchanged keys to each other’s homes before they were even officially together – and laughs at the three bags she has in her hands.
“Did you buy the pharmacy out of condoms?”
She frowns, blushing again; she feels like she’s blushing for the past two days straight. Ever since they first kissed a week and a half ago, really.
“I didn’t know what you liked!” she defends. “There are so many types. Why are there so many types?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” he says, as he dumps the bags out onto the kitchen counter. “Abby was always on birth control when we weren’t trying to have a kid. I haven’t used these in a – “
He pauses suddenly, another smile trying to crack onto his face.
“What?”
“Mel. You bought warming and ribbed condoms.”
“I don’t know!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. “I don’t know what you like. And I didn’t buy just those.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says, pulling her into him. She rests her head against his chest. “It’s just…those sound like sensory nightmares for you. It’s not all about me. You should be enjoying this, too.”
She hums, nodding.
“I know. But if you want to try them – “
“I don’t want to try them, trust me. Honestly, warming condoms sound kind of uncomfortable. And scary.”
“Thank God,” she exhales in relief.
He laughs lightly, dropping a kiss on top of her head before moving to sort through the boxes.
“You’re cute, you know that? Do ultra-thins sound safe enough to you?”
She smiles playfully, turning her face up towards him, resting her chin over his heart.
“We won’t know until we try.”
He grins back, picking up the box and grabbing her hand, tugging her out of the kitchen and starting down the hall to her bedroom.
“You’re so smart, Melissa King. I love the way you think.”
The ultra-thins aren’t bad, necessarily. They’re perfectly fine, actually. The sex is amazing. In fact, the sex has gotten even better since that first time. Practice makes perfect, after all.
Still, she can’t get thoughts of that first night out of her head, the feeling of him pulsing and spilling inside of her, the way he cleaned her up from his come with his mouth afterwards. She would really like that to happen again. Sooner rather than later, preferably.
She schedules an appointment with her gynecologist to talk about an IUD. And, when she gets a message at work two days later saying that they can’t see her until next month, she manages her annoyance when rather well, in her opinion, even if Samira points out her frown and Trinity calls her Melancholia instead of Melanoma or Melpractice or Melodrama or…actually, now that she thinks about it, Melancholia might be the best of her Santos nicknames.
So. Three more weeks of condoms it is.
The time passes more quickly than she thought it would. They’re doing it a lot, admittedly. She goes back to CVS and buys three more boxes of ultra-thins to tide them over. She makes eye contact with the clerk this time, because she can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed; the sex is that good.
Most of her evenings consist of her and Frank going back to one of their apartments (mostly hers – his still looks slightly too much recently divorced, even though the growing amount of Tanner’s artwork on the walls and the crate of Penny’s Barbie dolls in the corner of the living room are helping immensely), ordering takeout and binge-watching Hell’s Kitchen until one of them gets handsy. Then, Frank makes her breakfast in the morning and they try to beat each other at Wordle before they leave for work.
This particular morning is a little different, for two reasons. For one, it’s the day of her gynecologist appointment, so only he is headed to the hospital while she goes to an outpatient office in Shadyside.
Secondly, in the middle of their Wordle race, she has to run to the bathroom and throw up the pancakes Frank made her.
“Mel?” he says gently, as he knocks on the slightly ajar bathroom door. “You okay?”
She finishes brushing her teeth for the second time that day before opening the door to find him leaning against the wall just outside the bathroom, arms crossed and a pronounced frown on his face.
“I’m fine,” she tells him. “I must just be a little nervous. I think I ate a little too fast, too.”
He narrows his eyes just a bit as he looks her over, like he’s trying to make a differential diagnosis.
“You want to take the whole day?” he asks. “I could tell Robby you – “
“No, thank you,” she says, cutting him off. “I’m sure Robby would not appreciate that, especially if it comes from you. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
He smirks at her, then.
“Well, if you promise.”
He steps towards her, gives her a kiss and then tells her that he’ll see her around 1:00.
“Text me if you need me for any reason.”
“I will. I lo – love that color on you,” she says, stumbling over her words. She points at his blue t-shirt as she flushes, mortified that she just told almost told him she loves him for the first time in the hall outside the bathroom right after she’d finished puking her guts out.
Plus, they’ve only been together for about two and a half months. Even if she feels that way, surely it’s too early to be throwing the phrase out casually like that. Again, especially post-throw up.
(She does feel that way, though. She feels it so much that sometimes she feels like she’s going to burst from the overwhelming enormity of it.)
He sends her a wide smile, and then walks back to her, kisses her long and slow and deep. When he pulls away, she’s sure she looks dazed and completely lovestruck. She’s not too embarrassed about it though, since she sees the same expression on his face when she gazes up at him.
“I really love that color on you, too,” he murmurs, motioning to the purple shirt she has on under her scrub jacket.
And before she can respond properly, he’s down the hall and by the door, shrugging on his coat and backpack.
“Bye, honey,” he calls to her, and then he’s gone, pulling the door shut behind him gently.
“Bye,” she whispers after him.
She can’t stop thinking about his last statement on the entire drive across the city, or in the waiting room in the clinic, or even when she’s taken back into the exam room. It rings around in her brain as she changes into her gown and sits on the exam table, her hands in her lap.
I really love that color on you, too.
She lays back on the exam table, the thin paper crinkling under her as she moves, and stares up at the ceiling, the bright lights in the room make her squint slightly.
Did that mean what she think it might mean? Sure, she’d tried to divert his attention away from her almost-love confession by complimenting his shirt, but she was ninety-six percent sure that the way she’d stammered and stumbled with her words must’ve made him at least suspicious that she meant to say something else. She’s always known him to be fairly intuitive when it came to reading other people, especially when it came to reading her. He’s fluent in Melspeak in a way she never dreamed would happen outside of Becca.
I really love that color on you, too.
And if he did understand what she really meant, did his response mean what she thought it might mean? She thinks of the way he kissed her, the smile on his face. While she isn’t always the most adept at reading social cues, she likes to think she’s become fairly fluent in Frank over the course of their relationship. So, did that mean he lo –
Her thoughts are abruptly cut short when the door to the exam room opens, and an older woman with gray hair pulled back into a neat bun walks into the room who is not her gynecologist. She smiles at Mel as she sits up.
“Knock, knock. You must be Dr. King.”
She nods, returning the woman’s smile softly, even if she is a bit confused why this woman is standing in front of her rather than Dr. Russo.
“Yes. Call me Mel, please.”
“Mel, then. I’m Dr. Miller. I see in your chart that you typically see Dr. Russo.”
“Yes,” she confirms, shifting a bit. The paper on the table crinkles again. “Um. Where is Dr. Russo, if I may ask?”
“Oh,” Dr. Miller says. “She didn’t have an available appointment until next week. Since you indicated you wanted to be seen as soon as possible, you were scheduled with me. I hope that’s okay. They should’ve told you that on the phone.”
“Oh.”
She frowns slightly. She must’ve missed that piece of information; maybe she was too distracted by the prospect of no condoms. She blushes slightly.
“If you’re not comfortable with that,” Dr. Miller begins, misreading her expression, “we can certainly get you scheduled with Dr. Russo as soon as possible.”
“No!” she says quickly. While she isn’t exactly pleased with the idea of someone unfamiliar sticking their fingers up her vagina, she’ll put up with it this time. “I’d rather get this process started sooner rather than later.”
“Yes. I see you’re interested in getting an IUD,” Dr. Miller tells her. At Mel’s nod, she continues. “Great. We’ll go over some health history, take some blood, and then do the pelvic exam. As long as everything is normal, we should be able to schedule you for the insertion sometime next week.”
Dr. Miller dives right in after that, and Mel answers every question dutifully and honestly. No, no family history of cervical, uterine, or ovarian cancer. No, she’s never had any STIs. Yes, she is sexually active. (That’s new; she has to look away briefly when she gives that answer, to hide both the way her cheeks flush and the small smirk that appears on her face.) Yes, they are using protection.
“I assume there’s a negligible chance you could be pregnant, then?” the doctor asks.
Mel opens her mouth to answer, and then stops. She thinks of that first night, of the reason she’s so eager to get an IUD in the first place.
Dr. Miller quirks an eyebrow at her lack of response as she prepares to draw some of her blood.
“Oh, um. There was…one instance of unprotected sex. But only one.”
“About how long ago was this?”
“Um.” Mel fidgets on the table as the needle goes into her arm. The thin paper under her is suddenly driving her nuts with the way it keeps shifting. “A little over two months ago?”
Dr. Miller hums as she fills up two vials with blood before removing the rubber torniquet from her upper arm. She squirms slightly. More crinkling paper.
“Uh,” she starts, biting her bottom lip and sighing. “It’s not very probable that I got pregnant from that one time, right? I mean, what are the chances?”
Dr. Miller smiles wryly.
“The age-old adage is true – it does only take one time. But, don’t worry. We’ll run your bloodwork just to be sure.”
She wasn’t worried about it, until now. In fact – maybe rather stupidly – pregnancy was the last thing on her mind. All she could think about was getting rid of the stupid condoms. She suddenly feels like the very irresponsible, very horny teenager she never was.
You had already ovulated, she reminds herself. The chances are less than ten percent.
“Okay, Mel. If you lay back for me and put your feet in the stirrups, we can get started on your pelvic exam.”
Great.
She frowns as she lays back, the fluorescents shining in her eyes again. She exhales slowly, and then starts some positive self-talk.
It’s going to be fine. The chances are so low. Everything will be normal, and then you can ditch the ultra-thins. You can all of Frank again.
All of Frank, she thinks, and finally, another smile breaks out onto her face. Every bit of him. That’s the point. Everything will be even more perfect than it already is after this.
Everything is going to be fine, she tells herself. Everything is going to be absolutely, amazingly fine.
She’s nauseous when she wakes up the next morning.
She doesn’t throw up, though. Not even after she eats her Greek yogurt with granola for breakfast. She takes that as a good sign, even if Frank eyes her warily the whole ride to the hospital.
“You okay?” he asks, looking over at her as they approach a red light.
“Yep!” she says, but her answer is just a little too quick and enthusiastic, and he frowns. “Yeah. I’m good. Great, even.”
Frank hums skeptically.
“You said everything went fine at your appointment yesterday, right?”
She nods.
“Yep. Everything looked good. They’re supposed to call me today with the results of the STI panel and then I can get the IUD insertion scheduled.”
“Perfect,” he says, and he reaches over and squeezes her thigh as the light turns green.
She hasn’t told him about the pregnancy aspect of the bloodwork. She tells herself it’s just because she doesn’t want to get him worked up over it. She’s not pregnant. The chances – the chances are so low.
She tells herself it’s not because she’s worried that if she is pregnant, she’ll have already blown up their entire relationship when it’s barely had a chance to begin. She’s not even worried about it. Because she isn’t pregnant.
She doesn’t need to stress him out over something that isn’t even real.
The first few hours of shift are mostly uneventful. She has a few patients who need stitches, a broken tibia, an older gentleman with chest pains. In fact, she’s even getting a little bored, when suddenly, her phone vibrates in her pocket. When she pulls it out, she sees it’s the clinic.
She swipes and puts the phone up to her ear as she walks into the break room, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Melissa King, please?”
“This is she.”
“Mel,” the voice on the other end of the line says warmly. “This is Dr. Miller. I have the results of your bloodwork if you have a few minutes to discuss.”
“Sure,” she says, glancing out the window of the door and seeing that no one is in the immediate vicinity. “Everything is okay, right?”
“Everything is fine,” Dr. Miller confirms, and Mel relaxes just the tiniest bit. “You don’t have any STIs and, like I said yesterday, your pelvic exam was completely normal.”
“Oh, good,” she says, exhaling. “That’s good. Is the appointment for the IUD insertion still available for next week, then?”
“Unfortunately,” Dr. Miller begins cautiously, “we will not be able to move forward with the IUD. You are pregnant, Mel.”
She almost drops her phone. She does drop it a little, actually, the device falling to her shoulder before she manages to catch it and put it back to her ear.
“Mel?” Dr. Miller asks. “Are you still there?”
“Oh, um. Yes, I’m here,” she mutters, taking her glasses off with her free hand and rubbing across her forehead. “I mean…are you sure?”
“Blood results don’t produce a false positive.”
And she knows that. She’s a doctor – she knows that. But her brain feels a little fuzzy all the sudden and everything sounds muffled, like her ears are full of water, and the nausea she’s been fighting all morning is suddenly starting to win and oh, she’s going to be sick.
She hangs up quickly, as Dr. Miller is asking her if she wants to take that empty time slot next week for her first OB appointment, telling her that a trauma just rolled in, sorry. She tosses her phone onto the table and promptly throws up in the trash can.
Embarrassingly – so, so embarrassingly – the door opens somewhere in that sequence of events.
“Melanoma, why are you hiding – oh, Christ.”
She hears the grimace in Trinity’s voice.
“Are you okay? Wait, hold on. Langdon!” she shouts suddenly. “Get over here! Your girlfriend is puking her guts out.”
Great. Now the whole ED knows what’s going on, too.
Not even three seconds later, Frank rushes into the room.
“Oh, baby.”
She can’t look at him right now – she’s still heaving into the garbage – but she can picture the frown on his face in her mind. Suddenly, he’s there, crouching down next to her, taking her braid and placing it back over her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she chokes out, before proceeding to throw up some more.
Frank talks her through it, rubbing gentle circles on her back and whispering words she can’t currently make out in a soothing voice. It takes a full minute for her to feel comfortable leaving the trash can behind. He helps her stand up and make her way over to the sink so she can rinse out her mouth. Then, he directs her over to the table, and she slumps down in a seat. He pulls over another chair, and sits down beside her.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching over and placing his hand on her knee. “Are you okay? Tell me the truth, please.”
She doesn’t say anything. He eyes the phone on the table in front of them.
“Did the doctor’s office call?”
And she can’t help it – she lies to him. She feels awful about it, but she doesn’t know what else to do.
“No, not yet,” she says, looking down at the floor.
She can feel his gaze on her, examining her. She’s almost positive he can tell she’s hiding something from him, but he doesn’t push her.
“Okay. Do you need to go home?”
She nods, and she can feel tears beginning to build up behind her eyes. He leans toward her, presses his lips to her temple.
“Go get your things and get out of here. I’ll tell Robby that you have to leave and meet you in the parking garage to drive you home.”
“I can take the bus. I can talk to Robby, too. He’ll be more upset if you tell him.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mel,” he assures her. “I’ll talk to Robby. He’ll be fine, because it’s you. Are you sure you’re good enough to take the bus, though? The motion won’t make you even more sick?”
“Yes, the bus is fine. I’ll be fine,” she promises.
The truth is, the thought of being alone in a confined space with him at the moment makes her so nervous that she could puke again. Plus, she has to make a stop at CVS.
She hears him sigh briefly.
“Okay. Text me once you’re home?”
“Of course.”
He helps her up again, holds her hand as they traverse the three steps it takes to reach the door to the break room. He tugs on her fingers before she can open it, though.
“Hey, Mel?”
She turns to him, finally looks at his face, and her heart skips a beat at the expression on his face, the way his eyes are shining.
He’s looking at her like she’s the most precious person in the world. Like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever encountered, even though her eyes are puffy and her braid is messy and her mouth still tastes vaguely like vomit.
“I love you,” he tells her, the corner of his mouth lifting as he says it.
And she can’t help it. A sob rips from her chest, and she throws her arms around him. His hands come up to hug her back, one cradling the back of her head while the other arm wraps around her waist.
“I love you, too,” she says into his scrubs, her tears wetting the black fabric.
He steps back from her so he can press his lips to her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and finally, her lips. She scrunches her nose up as he does – again, she’s sure she still tastes like throw up – but it doesn’t seem to bother him, and after a few moments, she melts into him.
He pulls back far too soon; to be fair, she always thinks he pulls back too soon, but only because she’d like to spend the rest of her life just kissing him.
“Like I said, text me when you make it home. And let me know if you want me to pick you up anything after work.”
“I will,” she tells him, and he smiles as he presses one, two, three kisses to the corner of her mouth in quick succession.
It makes her smile, too. Despite everything, it makes her smile, too.
* * *
She doesn’t know what she expected, as she sits on the edge of the tub in her apartment, staring down at the positive pregnancy test in her hand.
She knew she was pregnant; like Dr. Miller said, blood tests don’t produce a false positive. Still, she took one anyway, like maybe she could change the result if she wished hard enough.
Now, she just feels a little stupid and sad all over again.
Or maybe sad is the wrong. She’s more worried than sad. She’s so anxious that she wants to crawl out of her skin, in fact.
It’s not that she’s never thought about having a baby. She loves babies, even. And when she was younger, she definitely dreamed about having a family of her own. A husband who loved her and a child or two that looked just like him.
But after her parents died, and she started taking care of Becca full-time and going to school, she kind of stopped wishing for it. It’s not that she didn’t want it anymore – she just figured it wasn’t in the cards for her. How was she ever supposed to find someone for herself when she was so busy taking care of everything else?
She’s only just started to let herself dream of those things again. After Frank got divorced (and even before that, if she’s being honest with herself), she’d allowed herself to think what it would be like if he wanted her. If he decided to love her. For a long time, she didn’t think it would happen, that someone like him would never want someone like her.
But it had. He wanted her, he chose her. And he loves her. He loves her! She can’t stop a smile from taking over her face when she remembers his words.
She even admits that she’d dreamed about her and Frank being a family. Of him proposing. Of a wedding and, someday, a child that looks just like him.
She just didn’t think she would be faced with those scenarios so soon. Before she was married. Before she finished residency. Two months into their relationship.
It’s all making her a little dizzy.
Suddenly, she hears the front door unlocking. A moment later, it opens, and she hears his voice.
“Mel? I thought I’d come home a little early, make sure you’re okay.”
Her eyes widen, and she freezes for a second as she tries to determine what to do. Her brain starts working in overdrive as she hears his footsteps start down the hall. She stares down at the pregnancy test in her hands. She doesn’t really want to throw it in the trash can. But she can hear he’s getting closer, so she panics, and tosses it over her shoulder into the bathtub.
“Mel?” he says a moment later, knocking gently on the door with his knuckle before pushing it open. He stands in the doorway with a frown on his face. “Everything okay? Do you feel sick again?”
“I’m fine,” she tells him. “No vomit since the break room.”
He smirks softly, and then clears his throat.
“Can I come in?”
She nods, and he walks over to the toilet, putting down the lid and sitting.
“What are you doing home?” she asks him. “Is Robby mad?”
“No, he’s fine,” he assures her, sticking his leg out and bumping her ankle with his. “I told you that he has a soft spot for you, which, at times, extends to me.”
She lets a small smile creep onto her face.
“Plus,” he continues. “I just told my girlfriend that I love her for the first time this morning, and I’d really like to spend some time with her.”
Her smile widens at that. She can’t help it. When she lifts her head to look at him, he has a brilliant smile on his face. It warms her from head to toe – he’s so handsome and kind and beautiful and hers.
She loves him so much.
He blinks at her after a moment, swallowing once.
“Baby, I’m going to ask you a question. Will you tell me the truth when you answer me?”
She nods.
“Are you pregnant?” he asks her gently.
And she bursts into tears.
“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, moving so he’s sitting on the tub next to her. He pulls her into his side, smoothing her hair. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”
She cries into his chest for the second time that day, clenching his shirt in tight fists.
“How did you know?” she mumbles.
“Well,” he starts, moving back so he can look at her. He cups her face between his palms, wiping at her wet cheeks with his thumbs. “You’ve been nauseous the past two mornings. You’ve been acting weird since you went to the gynecologist. And we had unprotected sex two months ago.”
“Oh,” she breathes.
“Combine all that with the pregnancy test in the tub behind us, I had a pretty good guess.”
She stares at him, and then, they both burst out laughing simultaneously. He slings an arm around her, tugging her back against him, and she lays her head down on his shoulder.
“I guess when you put it like that, it does seem pretty obvious,” she admits.
He hums, and holds her tighter. They sit in silence for a few minutes. She moves her head so she can listen to his heartbeat, and he trails his thumb along the bare skin beneath the short sleeve of her scrubs.
“What do you want to do?” he asks softly. She can feel his deep voice rumble in his chest. “It’s early enough that you still have options.”
She thinks, but isn’t quite sure what to say. She lifts her face to look at him, reaches her hand up so she can brush away a few strands of hair that have fallen onto his forehead.
“What do you want to do?”
He shakes his head.
“Nope. None of that. You go first, and then I’ll give my input.”
“That’s the thing, though. I don’t know what I want. I can barely decipher anything that’s going through my brain, to be honest.”
“Try talking it out to me,” he says. “Sometimes that helps you.”
She lets out a long, slow exhale.
“I think,” she begins, “that everything is moving so fast. And I used to dream of having kids, and a family. Just like a lot of little girls do, I think. But after my parents died, and I started taking care of Becca and going to school, I kind of…I don’t know. I stopped thinking it would ever happen. That I had too much other stuff on my plate to even think about taking on something else. But then…”
“Then what?” he prompts, after she trails off.
“Then I met you,” she admits, resting her head down on his shoulder again. “And I started to think about it again. Just vaguely, though. I thought about what it might be like, to have that someday. With you. To let myself want it again.”
“You’re allowed to want things, Mel,” he tells her earnestly, pressing his lips into her hair. “You’re allowed to want things for yourself.”
“I know. At least, I’m getting better at knowing that. I’m just a little afraid of…”
She pauses again, taking a deep breath, trying to steel herself for her next words. He kisses her head in encouragement.
“I’m afraid,” she breathes, “that if I start wanting it, I won’t be able to stop wanting it. I’ll want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
She moves her head back to his chest, can hear that his heartbeat has picked up its pace the tiniest bit. His arm tightens around her.
“Then let yourself want it, Mel,” he murmurs.
Tears begin to well in her eyes. She maneuvers herself so she can look him in the eye, tries to find the slightest hint of hesitancy, of deception.
She doesn’t find it.
“Really?” she asks, her voice a little shaky.
“Really, honey.”
She half laughs, half sobs, rests her forehead against his. She glances down and sees the grin turning up his lips, and she knows that no matter what the future has in store for her, she’ll remember this moment for the rest of her life.
“It’s so soon, though,” she says. “We’re not married. We don’t live together. I’ve only hung out with Tanner and Penny three times. I mean, I haven’t even met your parents yet. I’m not done with residency.”
He reaches around her head, tugs on her braid gently.
“People have babies during residency pretty often. If they can do it, you can definitely do it. We can go over to my parents’ house for dinner soon, and we’ll tell them together. I talk about you all the time to my mom, and she already loves you. You’re so good with Tanner and Penny, and I promise you, they are going to be so excited. Honestly, Penny might explode. And, Mel, I’d marry you and move in with you tomorrow if you let me.”
Her heart skips a beat at that.
“Wait. Seriously?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says confidently, even if she can see a light blush color his cheeks as he does. “I’d do anything for you. I want everything with you. Every little bit of it.”
She throws her arms around his neck, hugs him so fiercely that he almost falls backwards into the tub.
“I love you so much,” she says, kissing his forehead, the tip of his nose, his eyebrows and eyelids. “I love you so much, Frank.”
“I love you, too, baby,” he tells her, giggling as she peppers more kisses across his face.
She pulls back suddenly.
“I want to tell Becca about the baby and everything before we get married, though,” she says, her mind moving at one million miles per hour once again. “And I need a dress – not something really fancy, but something new and white. Oh, do we need to invite people? Or can we just have a party with everyone after? Sorry, I know I’m getting ahead of myself. My brain is just in overdrive right now.”
“And I love your brain,” he says, placing a kiss on her hairline to prove his point. “We can start planning first thing tomorrow, I promise. You know what I’m thinking right now, though?”
“What?” she asks breathlessly, and a mischievous smile appears on his face.
“I’m thinking that we don’t need to use the condoms anymore.”
Her eyes brighten, and she hops up, grabbing his hand to help him stand and then nearly dragging him down the hall to her – their, even if they’ll need to get a new place that fits the entire family, her entire family – bedroom.
He’s licking up her slit with his tongue when he stops suddenly, pulling back. She whines as the loss of him, and opens her eyes to find him staring at her, mouth and chin wet with her arousal.
“What?”
“I just realized something,” he says, a goofy grin on his face.
“What?”
“You got pregnant the first time we slept together.”
Her brow furrows.
“Yes. I know that.”
“But you know what that means, right?” he asks excitedly.
“Um. That we didn’t use protection?”
“No, Mel,” he tells her. “It means that we’re really good at sex. Like, objectively good.”
“Oh my God, Frank,” she says. She rolls her eyes, but she can’t help the grin that works its way onto her face.
“What?!” he exclaims. “It’s true, baby. Like, by evolutionary standards, we’re batting a thousand.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she tells him. He opens his mouth to tell her, but she speaks before he can get the words out. “You can explain it to me later. Get down here.”
“So bossy,” he mutters as he crawls back on top of her, and she smacks him on the back playfully. “Fine, fine. I’m getting there, Mel.”
She leans up, sinks her tongue into his mouth just to shut him up, relishes in the long moan that she draws out of him. He reaches down to position himself as she hitches her legs up around his hips, and then, he’s pressing into her.
“Yeah,” he says roughly. “I’m definitely getting there.”
And as he begins to thrust into her, there are no ultra-thins to be found.