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“You know you can ask to reschedule, right? I can write you a doctor’s note and everything.”
Dennis groans. His eyes are hollow and bloodshot, with deep grey shadows underneath. She can hear the thick congestion in his voice. She can see it in his face, too. It’s puffy with inflammation, and his nose is a genuinely stunning shade of red.
“It’s the last week of interviews. If I back out now, I’ll only have one sub-internship and I’ll lose my chance at Northern entirely. And then what happens if I don’t match at PTMC or Presby? What happens if I don’t match anywhere? I’ll have nowhere to go and by the time I earn enough money to move out, we’ll have probably killed each other.”
He’s spiralling. Trinity puts a firm hand on his shoulder.
“And if I give a mouse a cookie, he’ll grow up into a rat,” she teases, as gently as she knows how, “But that’s okay, because I have you.”
“Mice aren’t baby rats,” he retorts, indignant.
“That’s not the point, Farm Boy.”
“There was a point?”
“The point is we’re roomies,” she says, “We are beholden to apply our unique skills to help each other out.”
He sniffles, pawing around his laptop for a crumpled tissue. “Can your unique skills help me ace this stupid interview?”
Trinity grins fiercely. “Mission objective is locked in,” she promises with a wink. “What time is it?”
“Almost 10.”
“No, the interview, tomorrow.”
“Oh, 9 in the morning,” he says, “They’re doing them on Zoom.”
“Perfect. We can work with that. You’re going to need at least eight hours to sleep, and two in the morning to shower and get dosed up and caffeinated and pretty.”
Dennis shakes his head dazedly. “I need to be prepared.”
He sniffles again. It’s getting annoying.
“Blow your nose. You’re sick. You need to sleep. If you show up only to pass out and not answer any questions, that’s a critical mission failure.”
“I should never have let you play that game,” he mutters, but he does blow his nose. Trinity nudges the tissue box in his direction so he can pull out a dry one. He needs it.
“So, we hold off until 11 to load you up on Nyquil and then you can pass out. You researched the program when you applied, right?”
“Yeah, but –”
“You’ve got notes?”
“Yeah, but –”
“So, read through your notes. That’s 20 minutes. Then add ten to review your application. Who’s interviewing you?”
“Um – a Dr. Hazel and a Dr. McNamara.” He clears his throat. It sounds painful.
“Northern, right. I guess I knew you were a class climber. Okay, 20 minutes each. Start with their bios on the hospital website and then pull their three most recent publications. Just read the abstracts. And then whichever article jumps out most from those, you can skim that one. That’s 20 minutes, and you’re done. But you’re going to have to eat and read at the same time.”
“What?”
God, he’s such a lost little lamb. She rubs her hand in wide circles down his back. His eyelids flutter.
“Stay with me here, Huckleberry. I’m making you dinner. Ten-minute timer starts now. Review your notes on the program first, then your application. Get the webpage loaded and leave it open for tomorrow. That way you can cheat if you have to.”
“I don’t know if you’re trying to help me, or sabotage me,” he grumbles.
“I’m feeding you. I’m going to wake you up at 7am on my day off to make sure you take your meds. I’m even going help you cover up that freaking clown nose on your face so you’ll look pretty on your Zoom call. This is true love, Farm Boy, so get reading. Don’t make me tell you again.”
Trinity waits until he’s dutifully pulled up the website for Northern before she goes to rummage in the kitchen.
She’s going to have to make a run to the 24-hour drug store after she’s put Dennis to bed. Her skin might be pale, but his pasty white ass takes the cake, and his undertone is decidedly pinker than hers.
She should probably stock up on tissues while she’s at it. And tea.
Do farm boys drink tea?