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DECEMBER 2
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this is officially the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.” Dennis remarks from the front door. They’d backed up, hoping that viewing it from a distance would’ve been any sort of forgiving.
“It’s cozy!”
“It’s depressing.”
“It’s a Christmas tree.” He splutters at Trinity’s words, neither of them able to contain the snickers that bubble up.
“That- that, is not a-” Dennis cuts himself off with a laugh as he stares at the monstrosity in their living room.
“It’s inspiring! It’s- Den, you can’t tell me you’re not at least a little bit impressed.”
“It inspires me to never let you on Pinterest again.” He decides, taking a few more steps forward to twiddle with the star atop their ‘tree’. To their credit, they have produced some sort of art piece, all inspired by Trinity finding a picture of an ‘upside down Christmas tree’ and becoming entirely obsessed with it. She had dragged Dennis out after a shift with only two hours until the store closed, finding the smallest and cheapest tree possible and grabbing two rolls of packing tape on their way to the register.
One frozen pizza and three episodes of Supernanny later, they’ve arrived at… this. A tree eager to show why it was on clearance for a mere $7- half the branches broken, most of the others stripped, the entire trunk sort of lopsided from the base- hangs shoddily from the ceiling of their living room.
There was one holdup, however. In their haste to get out of Walmart they had entirely forgotten ornaments. As such, a variety of odds and ends have been assembled and taped, tied, or otherwise attached to the sorry excuse of a branch. A ziptie here, a hospital bracelet there. It is, undoubtedly, the most horrendous sight either of them have ever laid their eyes upon, and it takes up far too much space in the living area to be practical.
Trinity collapses onto her preferred half of the loveseat, immediately laying her feet across his lap as Dennis assumes his side. Only a bit of their field of vision is obscured by the tree-like chandelier monstrosity they’ve just dedicated far too much of their precious off time to. Neither one speaks. They don’t need to- simply knowing that they can is enough. One of Dennis’ hands finds itself at rest on her shin, the other on the armrest, comfortable and content with their usual arrangement.
“It’s so ugly.”
Trinity’s voice carries a tone that's equal parts concession and amusement, with a dash of awe-inspired. Dennis just snorts, looking over at her to finally bear witness to her more or less admitting he was right.
“Yep. Fits right in, though.”
“Yeah,” Her voice softens, a smile rounding her typically sharp features. “It’s the tree we deserve.”
“What’s that ornament?” He asks after looking it over again, pointing to the one actual decoration hanging from the tip of the tree.
Letting her eyes fall once more to her lap, before lifting to quickly look at the ornament and then back at her roommate.
“My best friend made it for me freshman year. 4 months before she-” Her mouth grows suddenly dry, but she wills herself to continue.
“She killed herself.”
Blue eyes widen from the other end of the couch, focusing on her with laser precision. As expected, he stammers in response, but Trinity is quick to cut him off.
“It’s fine, Huckleberry. I knew you’d ask if I put it on there. Can’t change the fact that it happened.” She shrugged, adding, “Besides, I like watching you be this mortified.”
Dennis doesn’t press any further. She sort of hates it- hates the familiar feeling of ‘I know they want to ask questions but don’t want to be rude’. Then again, this is Huckleberry, she reminds herself. If anyone was ever going to shut their mouth for fear of offense, it was her self-effacing roommate.
Neither of them touch the last piece of pizza for 14 minutes. It’s the closest she’ll ever get to a wild-west standoff, waiting for him to stake his claim since there’s no way he doesn’t want it. Finally, waving the white flag, Trinity reaches for the slice. In an instant, he shoots up to grab the empty plate, asking if she’d like it microwaved and with a side of ranch.
Dick.
DECEMBER 13
Three bad Christmas movies in one off day warranted some kind of celebration, they figure. It’s how Dennis and Trinity find themselves in a Mexican restaurant that doesn’t give you free chips and salsa unless, apparently, your roommate once made out with the waitress at a lesbian club.
“This changes everything, Dennis, don’t you get it? If you got off your ass and hooked up with some gay waiters, we could be getting so much more free shit! You have to pull your weight, Huckleberry.” Trinity smacked him between him pawing off his winter coat and shoving chips in her own mouth, half the bowl of salsa already long gone by the time he gets to it. It’s alright, though, because it’s a bit jalapeno heavy, and he’s never been one for too much spice.
“I can get you free bread at The Cheesecake Factory,” He tries, getting a tortilla chip to the face in response. The banter continues casually, comfortably, until Trinity insists on ordering them both margaritas as a special treat, and it just goes pretty downhill from there- for all involved. For Trinity, it stems from the fact that if she’s decided to have one margarita, it usually means more margaritas, chased with a shot or two. For Dennis? He didn’t really drink at all (was there even enough alcohol in this slushy to be alcoholic, he wondered?) and it loosened him up just enough to ask questions. Questions like:
“Trin, since when did you have a dead friend?”
The words are pouring out of his mouth before his mind can catch up to what they are. Predictably, she tenses, setting the margarita down on the table. Dennis doesn’t stumble to apologize like he tends to, doesn’t immediately scramble to make up for the faux pas. He’s torn between being speechless at his own tactless question, being sorry- and being thankful he’d finally asked it after two weeks of wondering.
“Since freshman year. Well, it was a few weeks before the start of sophomore year, actually, so whatever you consider it.” And then she just grabs another chip, lobbing salsa onto it and letting the crunch be the only noise between them except for a sharply added,
“And don’t apologize. Unless you secretly murdered her, but I doubt it.” His jaw is slightly opened, unable to produce a proper response to anything she’s said. Of course, Trinity is using sarcasm and joking as a way to skirt around the conversation. He doesn’t blame her. Dennis isn’t sure how anyone could.
“That… sucks.” He finally tells her, ever so eloquently. Her eyes are hyperfocused on the remnants of her enchiladas, fork pushing refried beans around on her plate.
“You actually remind me of her, sometimes.” For some reason, his heart flutters.
“In a universe where she’s a lot lamer. And probably way worse at volleyball.”
“I’ve- what? I’ve never even tried to play volleyball.”
“I rest my case.” She bows dramatically from atop her hi-rise stool, scooping up the last of the beans onto her fork as she accepts their check.
DECEMBER 14
Hours have passed. It’s 3am and neither Dennis nor Trinity seem the slightest bit tired. They’re too busy trying to wrap Princess’ Christmas gift, as she was Dennis’ secret Santa recipient.
“You're a terrible elf.” Trinity notes helpfully, adding, “And what is this monstrosity of a wrapping paper?”
“I made it myself.” He grunts between failed attempts at taping down a corner. It’s several A4 sheets of paper with the Backstreet Boys repeatedly printed on it, taped together to make something resembling a usable roll of wrapping paper. It is, in fact, a monstrosity.
“Princess loves Nsync.” Dennis says this like it’s going to provide an explanation. Silently, Trinity looks between the “wrapping paper” and the present inside, finally clicking her tongue.
“Right.”
“Just shut up!” The corners previously taped up all come undone. A fancy chocolate bar from the Philippines that Trinity had suggested, a package of dried mango, and some wildly millennial slippers that were so fuzzy and disgusting, Princess would no doubt love them.
“I used to love when we’d be warming up for volleyball and they’d play Bye Bye Bye. Maggie and I tried to learn the dance in seventh grade.”
“Maggie?” Trinity snorts when he says this, dropping any focus he’d had on the gift.
“Yes, Whitaker. If you’re wondering, Maggie is that friend.” She leaned in with an overdramatic gulp, whispering as if she’d seen a ghost, “The… the… dead one.”
Finishing with a deadpan expression, she snatches the box, going to work with double sided tape that (for her own entertainment) she’d been hiding up until this moment.
“You said I remind you of her?” Dennis hates, for some reason, that his voice sounds almost hopeful. Evidently she doesn’t, and actually seems to soften at it. Maybe Trinity is just as desperate for a best friend as he is, both of them having been starved of it for so long.
“Yeah. You make me laugh, and you’re quieter than me. The yin and yang. Plus, your religious trauma is, like, pretty spot on.” Again, a warm feeling bubbles up from deep inside of Dennis. The mention of religion dampens said feeling, but doesn’t do away with it completely.
“Religion didn’t traumatize me,” He argued, meeting her eyes. They’re full of disbelief.
“Seriously! It’s the people who say they’re religious that kinda messed me up.”
“Basically the same thing, then?”
“No,” Dennis scoffed, voice growing quiet. “God is good. God is always good. Some of the people who pretend to listen to him- less so.”
“You still defend the guy like that, huh?”
“The guy?”
“God.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, I mean…” He trailed off, giving a weak shrug to nobody in particular. Especially not Trinity, who was focused on finishing off a pretty damn well wrapped gift.
“I guess. Things have changed, yeah, but… but I really do believe people really are good deep down, and-”
“Every person? All people?” Dennis nods. Immediately, he senses this was the wrong response.
“Dennis,” She doesn’t use his real name that often, and his gaze snaps up to meet hers, “There are some people born bad. Trust me, and thank the stars- or God- that you’re not one of them. Don’t you think that… I dunno, your family. Dumping you because you happen to like other dudes- you don’t think that’s been in them forever, at least a little-”
“Trinity, don’t.” He cuts her off with a sternness rarely displayed even on the floor of the ER, much less in front of (or under) Christmas trees,
“You aren’t angry at them?” They’re talking over each other now.
“Of course I’m-”
“You’d forgive them?” This does shut the pair up successfully. Trinity seems almost shaken when he replies with a shrug, with the implication that there’d be even a possibility he’d forgive the people that did that to him.
“That’s insane.” Trinity hops up and hands him the neatly wrapped present, scurrying off to bed, leaving Dennis to spiral in the wake of what they’d brought up in each other.
DECEMBER 23
The tip of Trinity’s nose feels about ready to fall off, even when wrapped so tightly with a scarf that it might be cutting off a bit of circulation to her brain. Maybe that’s why she had come up with the bright idea to come out here in the first place. Each steeple draped in Christmas lights seems a dagger to her heart, each carol and childish giggle filling her with the instinct to run, as fast as she can through the slush and ice and dirty snowdrifts. Filling her with the habitual need to pull her coat tighter, arms around her body, crouch in a corner-
But there’s no need for that. Logically, Trinity is aware of this fact. She’s all about logic. All facts and figures and realities. So why, still, does her mind conjure up the bizarre fantasy of that bearded face on the other half of the bench, cracking open a book and inching toward her, hand on her knee by the time he arrives? Why can she hear her childhood favorite movie playing on the roll-in TV, and feel the zipper of her Barbie sweater being undone, tooth by tooth?
“Trinity?”
She jumped out of her skin, screaming and shooting up from the bench. Without any control on the slush that had been beneath her feet, she slips. It all happens so quickly that she doesn’t register it being Dennis that’s throwing his arms around her, pulling her back to the bench before a possible concussion.
“Get away!” Trinity gasps for air and movies as far away from the man as possible. Once the blonde hair comes into view and those exhausted eyes, she relaxes just the slightest bit, suddenly wracked with guilt that makes her want to tear her hair from her head.
“Dennis, fuck! You scared the shit out of me, asshole!” She’s not joking, either. There’s no fondness in her tone. Dennis doesn’t know her to be genuinely angry at him in this way, to actually, really cuss him out. She’s out of character, and he knows he’s responsible for it in some way.
“Sorry, sorry. I was just…” A gloved hand lifted itself to gesture vaguely across the churchyard. A church choir is singing carols, a nativity scene glowing on the adjacent yard.
“Hard time of year.” She finished while draping her head in her hands and taking a deep breath. Still shaking. Dennis wonders what has her trembling because, the way she’s doing, it’s more than just the cold.
“Yeah. No kidding.” A gentle thud. She pulls two fingers apart to see a cup set next to her hip, taking it without question and sipping. Hot chocolate- definitely the shitty powdered kind mixed with water being sold for 50 cents down the sidewalk. For now, it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted, and definitely ever held.
“They have cathedrals in Brokeback Mountain?”
“Broken Bow,” He corrects, tone unamused even though she’s willing to bet he cracked a smile. “And no. Just about… 10 to 15 plain old churches. Protestants don’t really do stained glass and all that. One church is brick, though, so that’s nice. The Presbyterian, I think. The Mennonite church is nice, too, because they have real Amish furniture. Amish and Mennonites aren’t the same, but, like… cousins, kind of.”
“Are you Mennonite?”
“Me? Oh, uh,” He lets out an almost laugh, “No, but… I went to all the churches here and there, whenever my parents would let me as a kid. Satiated me until I was able to drive myself and start going to synagogues and- and mosques, and all that.”
Trinity sat up, finally casting a keen look over Dennis. His eyes glitter with the reflection of the Christmas lights strung on the church and in the trees. She wonders if people really are born good, like he said, or if he was just born so good that he’s doomed to believe it.
“You’ve been to a mosque?” Against her willpower, a smile begins to break through. He returned the smile, just as small.
“I’ve been to all sorts of religious houses. Every flavor of Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Freemason. Comes with being a theology major.”
“Did you have a favorite?” Dennis focused back on his lap, playing with the hem of his puffer coat. It’s intimate to watch someone clearly reliving pleasant memories, and she finds herself wishing she could tie a string to his and slowly pull them up like a magician’s handkerchief, just so that she might be able to make him feel like this without stopping.
“No, but… the Quakers sit in silence until someone, anyone, feels compelled by God to stand up and start the meeting. One time it was 13 minutes, another time it was almost 4 hours.”
“I’d go crazy.”
“You’d think. But it’s kind of like… so many people who say they believe in God are focused on talking, not listening. If they just listened, at all, the world would be a lot better off. I- yeah, I guess I think the Quakers realized that a long time ago.”
“Right. Like people saying love thy neighbor while they beat up a gay person. Talking, but not listening.” Maybe not the best example, because in the corner of her eye, she sees Dennis shrink. The magician has reached the end of the handkerchief.
“You’re quoting the Bible.” He points out after a sustained silence. With a defeated sigh, Trinity turns to him, ignoring how freezing the bench was on her jeans.
“A time to tear and a time to sew-”
“A time to keep silent, and a time to speak.” Dennis joins her recitation and they finish the verse in unison.
“One of my favorites,” He muses at the exact same time she laughs and says, “Fuck that load of crap.”
It’s he who whips his head to view the other with a look of astonishment.
“Why learn it by heart if it’s a load of crap?”
“Didn't have a choice, D. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a certified Bible bar, but it doesn’t change that it’s complete and utter bullshit.”
It’s personal. That much was well and obvious by her tone. It was different than the wistfulness that overtook her words when talking about Maggie- this was anger. Pure grit and nails and claws on display, hackles raised.
“You know, you don't have to act so badass all the time,” Dennis finally said, almost laughing at the start of his sentence.
“I don’t think you’re weak, you know. Neither does anyone who's met you for more than 2 seconds.”
It’s impossible not to think back to the time of her life where that could not be any further from the truth. And think, she does, the toe of her boots squishing the slushy snow beneath them all the while. The carolers have been thinning out for the last few minutes, and by the time she speaks again their numbers are seriously dwindling, re-doling out the four part harmonies for Silent Night.
“I don’t think you’re dumb for believing in God. Or liking him. Wish I still could, but, I dunno.” She dumps out the last of the hot chocolate once it runs all chalky and cold, watching it splatter onto the gray below.
“Everyone used to think I was weak. Or dramatic, or a liar- take your pick. And I had to deal with it all alone because Maggie-” Trinity cuts herself off, cursing under her breath and looking to the side while whipping the cup into the nearest garbage bin.
“Killed herself.” Finishing her sentence feels like the least Dennis can do. It takes him a moment of debate to decide whether or not it’s appropriate but then, without apology, he gets up and moves right next to her. The bench is cold under him, the last spot having just started to get cozy, but it’s a welcome discomfort. For some reason, he needs to be by Trinity. Warmth is easier achieved shoulder to shoulder, anyways, he thinks.
“Yep. Bitch.” She glances to the sky. “Kidding, Mags.”
Dennis cringed at her joke-slash-clarification to the great beyond. Now the silence is uncomfortable, for reasons he can’t pinpoint. Maybe it’s because the choir has lost two more members because the leader said that no, actually, they couldn’t just hop onto the soprano part for the last few songs because Jill was pitchy last week. Maybe it’s because he now felt compelled to share his own Maggie.
“My family was Amish when I was a kid. I don’t really remember too much, because we left by the time I was 3 or 4, but I have a few aunt and uncles and cousins and stuff who I couldn’t talk to. Or, they couldn’t talk to us, I guess, except for the times when one of our cousins would be in their rumspringa and sneak over to visit my older brothers, since they remembered each other. Our house wasn’t finished when my parents decided to leave- they’d been finishing up some tongue and groove panelling in the horse barn and were building an extension for my nursery, because we had four boys and two bedrooms by the time I was born. It was too much for my mom and dad to do themselves once we got shunned, and I lived in an unfinished room my whole life.
“But when I was 9, I stepped on a nail that had been hiding away all 5 years, and I had to go to the doctor’s office and get a tetanus shot. It was the first time I’d gotten to go to the doctor’s office in my whole life- my parents might’ve left the Country, but modern medicine was still for emergencies only. And on the way out I grabbed one of each pamphlet by the desk, and I got a popsicle and a sucker, and I read those brochures nonstop that summer.” Despite the sense that Dennis was clearly talking about something important to him, Trinity couldn’t help but glare over.
“You know, I was doubtful at first, but that really is as bad as having a dead best friend.” She deadpanned.
“That’s not- I got distracted, okay? Besides, he gave me a rootbeer sucker, which is literally the most disgusting flavor. Anyways, one day, I’m 13. Mom finally let me start going to public school, she homeschooled me a bit longer than my brothers. I think she was scared of being an empty nester- or scared that I, like, sort of wanted to get a flu shot. And I’m 13, and I’ve been obsessed with this old medical textbook from the 80s that my science teacher had in her classroom.
“Suddenly, a buggy comes up from the distance, and we have a long driveway, and I’m home alone because mom’s out getting chicken feed, so I go to grab the home phone and call mom, or some cash to buy some bread or whatever they’re selling. And it’s one of the uncles I hadn’t seen since I was a kid, one of the ones who was really nasty to my mom and dad, and I’m like, trying to remember my German, trying to remember what his name even is. But he gets out of the buggy yelling for my parents, says they need a car to get to the hospital. My cousins get out and they’re crying, and they lift out a body- and I thought it was a dead body, for real. I run up to it and I’m a mess. I dial 911, start giving my address, but then I see that the guy is one of my grandfathers and his chest isn’t moving. I don’t know why, but-” Dennis fumbles for his words here.
“I dropped the phone and told them to get away, and I remembered that textbook, and I had been doing fake CPR on a pillow a few days prior and I was freaking out and everyone was yelling and then I just… started compressions.”
For several minutes now, he’s admittedly stolen Trinity’s attention. She sits, rapt, as he told this story. Told it like he still refused to understand it.
“You saved him?” She asked, on the proverbial edge of her seat.
“No. He died later that night in the hospital.” Trinity took this news with slumped shoulders. She couldn’t help but picture Dennis as this big hometown hero with a miraculously saved life to his name- she wants that to be true, as if it will unwrite the way they treated him later down the line. But this is real life, she knows, and in real life, old people die, compressions be damned.
“But my compressions helped get him to the hospital alive, at least. Or with some sort of brain activity. And you know what’s crazy? A few days later my relatives came by while we were at school, and finished up the extension so that we had a proper third room. They left a card thanking me for what I did for Grandpa Dennis, and said that God made me a healer.” Dennis played with the zipper of his coat.
“My hands were bruised for two weeks, I think. Probably did it all wrong-”
“Grandpa Dennis?” She repeated, ignoring the way he talked himself down, as usual.
“Uh- yeah. Turns out it’s the guy I was named after. I never met him or anything, though, didn't get to. Not that I remember.” Stunned, Trinity shook her head, her turn to search for words.
“You slept in an unfinished room for,” She counted backwards on her hands, “Ten years, basically, and it took them just a few hours to do it?”
“Probably 2 or 3 max. The Country can put a whole farm up in a few hours-”
“That’s bullshit!” Trinity exclaimed, throwing her hands towards Dennis as if begging him to understand.
“That- you’re telling me that’s Godly? It’s bullshit! You nearly got tetanus because people are so petty and so dumb that they’d rather deny a child a proper room to sleep in, or interact with someone they’ve decided God doesn’t like. It’s a load of crap. They didn’t care about you until they needed your family for something, then it’s all good and dandy to pull up asking for it. It’s a fucking- mental illness, virus, whatever. It’s pure evil.”
In her frustration, Trinity stood from the bench with every intent of heading to the nearby apartment building they called home. However, in such haste to do so, she lost her footing entirely. Slipping almost comically, arms flailing as she flew backwards, she felt a surprisingly strong pair of arms pull her back to reality. And while it’s far from elegant, and there’s many places she’d rather be than here, pulling onto Dennis’ lap, it’s not lost on her that this is much preferred to being soaked in the slush of Pittsburgh sidewalks.
“Thanks. Get off of me.” She said, huffing and getting off of his lap.
“Did you even get my point?”
“Your story had a point? I was too focused on hearing you pronounce rumspringa correctly. Do you play the accordion, too? I mean-”
“My dad does.”
“It’s j- oh shit, seriously? That’s actually kind of-”
“Trinity, the guy I was named after might as well have died in my arms. I never got to know him because my parents decided to try and follow what they thought God really wanted for them, which was to leave the settlement. I never lost a best friend because, well, I’ve never really had one, but that messed me up, and it made me question God. Everything about it. If I had lost someone I’d actually known, let alone a best friend? Yeah, I get why you don’t like him. And trust me, I know what it’s like for everyone to call you dramatic and think you’re useless. Any time I brought it up, my brothers would make fun of me, or say I was making it sound worse than it was, or flat out deny I’d done CPR at all and call me a liar. It sucked.”
“So you’re trying to relate to me, right?”
“I…” Dennis faltered. “I guess I’m not sure. It just felt like the right thing to say. I can’t really relate to you. You’re the first really good friend I’ve ever had. You’re like a mix of all three of my brothers, if they liked me.”
It’s completely pitch black now. There are no carolers, there’s no more hot chocolate being sold and theirs have both been tossed long ago. The cathedral is still lit up and putting the street lights to shame, and Trinity allows herself to trail the strung up lights all the way to where they come to circle around a statue of Jesus above the front door. Even laid in stone, there’s a warmness about him that she hates. A ‘do-no-wrong’ness that makes her want to tear the lights from each ledge and pile them up until they inevitably burst and set fire to the churchyard.
It’s so like him, she thinks, to be the only person in the world who doesn’t directly try and relate to her situation (or what he knows of it). It’s so like Dennis to be upfront and say he’s never lost anyone that close to him, not really, not in the way that she has. Not in the way that leaves her curled in a ball on top of a child’s grave, counting with each passing year how the grass seems to grow in thicker, how it’s been long enough for wildflowers and weeds to take root above Maggie’s carcass. Above a child’s carcass.
“Dennis,” Trinity stands slower this time, still facing the church, making a futile attempt to shove that familiar lump in her pharynx down into the esophagus, at least.
“Am I a bad person for wanting someone to die? Do you think I’d go to Hell?”
The leftover salt from that morning crunched as Dennis rose off the bench to stand with her.
“I… know that God is merciful, and he knows and sees everything. I think that most people who feel like you do have a reason, and if he understands everything then all rational logic says he should understand where you’re coming from.”
“I mean, it’s not like I’m talking about a barista messing up an order or anything. I’m talking, if this person did some insanely, seriously fucked up shit. To kids. To,” Again, the lump in her throat just won’t go down, words coming out choked, “To two young girls for, like, ten years, starting with when he was a parent chaperone on a Pre-K Vacation Bible School trip. If I wished for someone like that to die, what then?”
The weight of her words and their implication sit on his stomach. Dennis is standing, but it certainly feels his chest is collapsing, bile rising at the thought. Rising as he considers the photo on their fridge of a 6 year old Trinity Santos, an assortment of missing teeth and eyes crinkled with laughter as an ice cream cone drips onto her hand.
“Yeah, I,” He sucked in a sharp breath, squinting as he looked over the gargoyles, sat upon the church to protect. What they were protecting, he wasn’t so sure these days. Especially not tonight.
“I think you need to stop thinking about God. Do you ever talk to Maggie?” No response, which tells Dennis everything he needs to know.
“All the time. Mostly in my head. Sometimes not.”
“Well, that’s the same thing, right? Talking to the great beyond, someone you know and don’t know all at the same time? Stop worrying so much about God. Trust me, he’d understand. He sees how much people talk him up, but he’s really just a guy- or, in your case, a Maggie.”
“Praise be, Whitaker. You speak very highly of him.”
“I’m serious, Trinity. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he wants you to be a murderer, but I also know he doesn’t want people to be pedophiles, and only one of you actually acted on it, so this isn’t even a conversation.”
The clock settled amongst the spires began to chime. It makes both Dennis and Trinity jump out of their skin which, they notice at the same time, is risen with goosebumps despite their many layers. Snow has begun to fall once again, and she’s not sure if it feels more like suffocation or forgiveness from the skies above.
Hypothermia doesn’t feel like the best way to end the night. They don’t have to speak to agree on that and as such they both take a few steps in the direction of their home. Which it is- theirs. Home. Dennis might not pay rent, and Trinity might still not be able to open up to him the way they both know she needs to, but in fairness, neither can he- only he’s saddled with the added misfortune of generally wearing his heart on his sleeve- but Pittsburgh hasn’t made any more sense to Trinity than when he came to live with her.
Undergrad had been 4 years of vowing never to have a roommate again, and pre-med had been several more years of realizing she couldn’t afford to live in a one bedroom and wishing for the days she only had one shitty roommate instead of 3 (4, counting the shitty boyfriends that always hung around but were ‘just sleeping over’ for the 72nd night in a row). She’d finally broken from the chokehold of roommate-life, even made out like a bandit with an extra bedroom thanks to having some distant uncle own the complex. And she’d managed to fill that room, ending up with her first ever sibling in the process.
Sharing, as an only child, has been one of many learning curveballs thrown her way. Dennis is accustomed to taking what he’s given, giving everything away, and pleasing people- she’s grown to instinctively challenge those around her, forge her own path. Learned to take what’s hers and not apologize to anyone, lest they jump at the opportunity to agree that she doesn’t deserve anything she’s worked for. Tonight is one more stepping stone, or maybe quite a few, towards a life together. Trinity’s lost a best friend before. In response, she’d forged a path as a lone wolf- now, she’d grab a shovel and dig for the rest of her life if it meant making room for him to walk alongside her.
There’s no bow neatly wrapped in regards to their conversation. Trinity wonders, not unhappily, if they’re going to pretend this never happened. But they have a way of getting the other to open up, especially where margaritas or churchyards are involved, so she knows it’s wishful thinking. Besides, it’s nice to say things out loud. To make something known.
A steaming hot shower cleansed Trinity of the memories and general feeling that tonight uprooted. For now, it’s enough to at least get to bed. As she combed her hair there was a gentle knock at her door. Dennis doesn’t actually wait before coming in.
“So eager to see me naked,” She mumbled while working out a particularly tough knot, “Buy me some dinner first. Or pay rent.”
“Ha, ha.” Dennis collapsed onto her bed face-first, turning on his side to face her.
“I wanted to tell you something.”
“Really? Figured you just wanted to try being the big spoon for once. Tough luck, because I’m still detangling.”
“No- I do not want to spoon you! Stop telling people that.”
“Right, you want to be spooned.” Dennis rolled his eyes and cut her off.
“That guy you were talking about earlier?” He can see the way she stopped combing for a moment, and knows she’s listening.
“If you did murder a guy like that, I’d help you bury the body. Just promise me to cover it up a little bit and not tell me anything, so that I don’t know any incriminating information and can be honest to the police.”
Trinity turned to him with a raised brow.
“Right. You would help me cover up a murder?”
“What?! No, did you even- no! I’m just saying, if you called me any time of the day and said you really, really needed help filling in a secret… gardening plot, and handed me a shovel? I would do it.”
He barely dodged the bottle of detangler in time.
“You are really, really weird, Huckleberry.” Trinity laughed. As she stood from the vanity to go over and torture him some more, her hairbrush knocks a few of the photos loose that are stuck to the mirror. She catches from the corner of her eye, fluttering down onto the dresser, an old newspaper clipping of two young girls from back home who won the middle school science fair. Maggie smiles up at her, laughing and dressed in a cheap white coat, as the photo settles on top of her residency badge.