Chapter Text
10:00 p.m.
“Wooow.. Wow. I don’t know what to say.” Whitaker had the sense that his whole life was, once again, about to change. “Thank you.”
“Well, you can move in tonight if you want..." Santos said at last.
“Really?”
"Yeah but quick before I change my mind," her eyes squeezed shut.
“Yeah no, I mean this.. This is all I really have.” Dennis gestured around him to the sparse room.
“Oh God, you’re not like, some nudist, or religious freak are you?” Trinity seemed trepidatious all of a sudden, as though she just realized the weight of inviting a guy she just met into her home. Dennis could only try to guess what that felt like for a girl.
“No.. no! I like to remain fully dressed at all times.. Except bathing.. I–,” he rushed to explain.
“I know Krav Maga,” Trinity said, suddenly stiff in the doorway, gone was the confident girl who seconds ago offered him a place in her apartment.
“Cool… I don’t know who that is.. But he sounds very protective of you.” Santos seemed to melt a little and gave him a tiny smile.
“The chances of this working are diminishing by the second.” Dennis made an indignant gesture and Trinity snorted. “I’m juuust fucking with you Whitaker. You’re such a huckleberry.”
Trinity stepped out into the hall, and Dennis wondered if she was giving him some privacy or simply didn’t want to be asked to help as he hurriedly took account of his belongings.
“Yeah okay– hold on!”
He didn’t bring much to his new assignment in Pittsburgh– some changes in clothes, his laptop, and a toiletry bag. He tossed it all into his worn down Jansport backpack that had seen him all the way through his schooling, held together in one place with safety pins.
He stepped out into the hallway, half expecting to see it empty, for this whole thing to have been a prank from Santos, to see her again the next morning, you really fell for that, Huckleberry?
But no, Santos was there in the darkened hall, leaning against the wall with one foot pressed behind her, playing on her phone, eyes slightly glazed over. The excitement and fear of this new development gripped Dennis– what the hell was going to happen next?-- but it gratefully distracted his body from the past 15 hours of labor and trauma.
Santos glanced up at him, looking impatient. “All set?”
“Y-yeah, I’m ready. I’ve got all my stuff.”
Santos glanced at his backpack and shook her head. “You really rode into town on a wagon, huh?”
Dennis followed her silently down the dark hall. He wouldn’t be returning to this spot that had become his refuge over the past month. He had the feeling like he was being thrust into some new adventure– a feeling he got when he opened the letter accepting him into medical school, when his path began to diverge from his family, from Nebraska, from theology and an intent on a religious profession….
He wondered how Santos could inspire such awe and fear even as they came up to her humble, slightly old looking Honda CR-V. She unlocked the doors with her keychain and hopped in the front seat as Whitaker tossed his backpack in the back and climbed in. Although the car was older, it had a new car smell that suddenly threw his own into stark contrast- he smelled like sweat, like someone who hadn’t had a proper shower in ages, like hospital. He had been taking a shower in the sink using bar soap and was suddenly aware of all the spots that probably needed more scrubbing.
“Let’s stop at CVS…” Santos suggested, but if she was bothered by the smell she didn’t say. “Your room has a bed and there’s linens in the closet but you might need, yknow. Stuff to help muck your stall.” She said it dryly, matter of fact, and Dennis was starting to wonder if he could begin to understand her tone, the humor of it, was she trying to shame him? Was this just her way of dealing with an uncomfortable subject?
“Yeah, sure.. Thanks.” They pulled into a nearby CVS parking lot.
“Are you hungry?” Santos asked, “I’m suddenly.. Seriously starving.”
Whitaker pulled out a smushed Hospital-issued egg salad sandwich from his scrubs and smiled at Santos, the kind of drunk-with-tired hysterical smile that day warranted. Dennis felt like he was in a dream, like he was a crab that had no shell, his patheticness laid bare before Santos– but also in some place inside he knew that the exposure was safe.
“Oh my god.” Santos rested her head on the steering wheel and he could see her shoulders shake from laughter. She lifted her head again. “You really are broke huh? Okay, that’s fine, that’s fine. How do you feel about Indian food?”
“I’ve … never had it?” Whitaker replied, bracing himself for the mocking.
“Huckleberry,” Santos muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “Okay, let’s start off nice and easy– butter chicken for you.”
Santos called in their order, identifying a bunch of different dishes to the take out spot that Dennis Whitaker had never heard of. It wasn’t that he was uncurious– he mostly stuck to cheap ramen to get through college, sometimes McDonald’s, the school food pantry, going to any event on campus that promised a meal….
He had a desire to defend himself, to explain, but was so bone tired, and Santos didn’t seem like she needed it, nor expected it.
They departed the car and went into CVS, where Trinity grabbed a basket and headed with Terminator-like determination to the bodywash section. She pointed wordlessly at bottles with her eyebrows raised, and Dennis indicated, sure that’s fine, and she grabbed a loofah as well. Then they went to the razor aisle and grabbed some shaving cream, some lotion. Then came some 13 in 1 shampoo. Santos snapped her fingers and redirected them down the deodorant aisle as well, and Dennis grabbed a bar that looked respectable, avoiding the Axe and Old Spice.
CVS felt like another planet compared to the Pitt, as though the last few hours of bloodshed and trauma and screaming had occurred in some far off land and not 5 minutes down the road. He walked around feeling light as a balloon, and more than once almost tripped over his own feet.
Santos swung through the liquor aisle and grabbed some White Claw. They headed to checkout.
Shit, Whitaker thought of his empty bank account once again, but Trinity pulled out her debit card without so much as looking back at him. Whitaker scrambled forward to pick up the bag and the White Claw and carry it to the car.
They jumped back into the car and made one last stop at Subba’s Asian Cuisine to pick up dinner.
“You can stay here,” Trinity hopped out of the car and emerged moments later with two very large bags of food, which she handed over to Dennis in the passenger seat.
“Wow.. this stuff smells amazing,” Dennis had never been so hungry in his life. The months of not having enough, scraping by, eating hospital sandwiches and dollar menu items– it was all rushing back to him.
“You’re gonna love it. I’ll tell you if something’s really spicy so you don’t hurt yourself, Nebraska,” Trinity drove north and turned onto Arch Street. “We’re home already.”
Home.