Chapter Text
Dear reader, I welcome you on a funny journey. At times, it might be funny in the way an inside joke has you sputtering, nose running and cheeks tight with pain from laughter. Other times, it might feel funny like the way it feels to be trapped in between the arms of a complete stranger claiming to be your friend because you just have one of those faces. Because funny, like most words, can mean something and its opposite all at once, much like human beings, especially the tiniest of us. As a certain Trinity Santos, M.D., B.W. (the B.W stands for Baby Whisperer) is about to find out.
Apartment sixty-seven B, on the sixth floor of Liberty View Complexes, half an hour’s walk from the penultimate stop on the T, was perfectly ordinary. Inside, there were two bedrooms, one with plain white sheets and devoid of personality save for a cup of instant ramen right next to the bedside lamp and a drawer heavy with gold and silver medals that stayed tightly shut; the other was as close to a pig sty as a room could be with flashcards sandwiched in between dirty laundry, as well as several microbiomes growing out of a empty containers and what looked to be the husk of a skinned clean avocado.
There was a small kitchen too with just enough space for a few spices, a bottle of soy sauce and left over Chinese takeaway boxes, two bathrooms naturally, and at the centre of it all, a semi spacious living room with a twenty four inch television that was currently blaring out the end of an old game show.
HOST: Martha, you’ve already won five thousand dollars!
AUDIENCE: [cheers and applause]
HOST: Now here’s the deal. You can keep that five thousand dollars, or you can trade it for what’s inside this box.
AUDIENCE: [oohs]
HOST: It could be something amazing… or it could be a zonk.
AUDIENCE: [laughter]
HOST: So, Martha, what’s it going to be? Keep the cash, or take the box?
The sound stopped suddenly, the outside traffic and the crying baby in the apartment next door, rushing hurriedly to fill it.
“Huckleberry, when I agreed to watch your shitty midwestern day time television, I distinctly remember a promise not to pause it being made.”
“Yeah but Trin, I have to explain the concept to you.”
“I understand the concept,” she said, not looking up from where she sat cross-legged on the couch, idly peeling the label off the bottle of kombucha Yolanda had recommended, it needed a lot more caffeine to be considered drinkable. “It’s capitalism dressed up as suspense,” she continued, turning to face Dennis, “like playing the lottery or gambling, stupid people trying their best to convince themselves there’s a way out. There isn’t.”
“Uhh okaaaay,” he drew out the word, “super melancholic for a Friday night, what’s up?” he added as he furrowed his brows in confusion, the television show he’d been begging Trinity to watch for weeks, quickly abandoned.
“Nothing,” she grumbled, “it’s none of your business Whitaker, trust a white man to involve himself in lesbian business.”
“Is it Garcia?” Dennis continued unperturbed, “did you actually ask her on a date and she said no?”
“Oh my god, I swear I can’t tell you anything,” Trinity exclaimed, “remind me to never get drunk around you and Crash again.”
“Or wait, she said yes?”
“Mind your business,” Trinity got up, tossing one of the tasteful pillows her mother had insisted was a necessary purchase when she first moved in, right in Dennis’ bowl of popcorn; she had been aiming for his head, “I’m going to take a piss, don’t follow me, med student.”
“Haha, you missed,” Dennis mocked, sing-song and childlike, “and that was one time Santos! One time; Samira said she’s forgiven me!”
Trinity shook her head fondly, laughing softly at his indignant look and the memory of Samira Mohan’s mouth hanging open in surprise. It was easier to think about things like that, small, funny, distracting things, anything that kept her from the dull, persistent ache in her chest she would rather die than acknowledge. A dull ache that grew even more persistent in the presence of a particular surgical resident. Just then the door bell rang, saving her from her ill fated trip through her fantasies.
“Can you get it Dennis? It’s probably my doordash,” she shouted down the hallway as she settled on the cold porcelain seat.
“Yeah, yeah,” she heard Dennis say, accompanied by the sound of feet shuffling in the new slippers she had had to buy for him, because apparently the benefits of a no shoe household were not universally acknowledged.
“If it’s Mr Branfield again, tell him that our wifi is not going to give him cancer,” she wiped and got up, letting the tap run a little too hot over her soapy hands, “and that if he wants medical advice, he should really speak to his PCP and not us!”
There was no response from Dennis, Branfield it is then, Trinity thought to herself, he did have such a talent of monopolising all of one’s attention. She headed back to the front room, prepared to turn the old man away, yet again, but as she looked at Dennis, stiff as a board, looking solidly at the ground, she paused.
There was a tiny sound, almost like a cry- a baby’s cry and it sounded much closer than the neighbour’s baby. “Who is it?” Trinity called out, walking slowly towards the door.
“Well I’m not sure,” Dennis replied without a look back at her, “but I’m pretty certain it’s not Mr Branfield.”
Trinity stepped fully into the doorway now, drying her hands on the back of her shirt, already halfway into an eye roll. She followed Dennis’s line of sight and stopped because right on their empty doorstep, empty because Trinity had never managed to find the time to get a door mat, and Dennis’ taste could not be trusted, was a baby. An actual human baby. Wrapped in a soft, aggressively yellow blanket like the fucking sun baby on Teletubbies.
For a moment, none of them spoke, even the baby had quietened, likely from the shock of the new faces. It stared up at them,blue eyes wide and glassy, before it gave them one long blink, turned its head up towards the ceiling and let out a sharp cry as though it was Trinity and Dennis’ fault it had ended up on their doorstep in just a blanket and thin onesie.
“Uhh,” Trinity stuttered, “please tell me this is some social media prank from Dr J?”
“I don’t think so,” Dennis shook his head as the baby continued wailing, it was a little red in the face now from all the effort, “she didn’t mention anything and doesn’t seem like her type of content.”
“Okay didn’t know you were a super fan,” Trinity muttered, her arms stretched inwards and outwards as though she was confused on whether to pick up the baby or leave it there, cut the wire of the bomb or flee whilst you still had the chance.
Dennis seemed to make the decision for her as he bent down and scooped the baby up into his arms, its little face moving immediately to nuzzle his chest.
“Okay,” she continued as the baby stared at her from Dennis’ arms, “is this some convoluted way your farm wife is trying to tell you that the kids miss you? You didn’t go last week.”
“Rufus’ first birthday was last month Trinity,” Dennis said like it was supposed to mean something to her.
“Sure,” she nodded, swinging back and forth slightly on her heels, “happy birthday Rufus,” she said to the baby, “sorry it’s a little late, we can’t all be the daddy that stepped up like your uncle Huckleberry.”
“Trinity, this baby is probably a month or a bit older and Rufus looks nothing like this, I’ve shown you pictures! You’ve met him.”
“I meet a lot of babies, Dennis,” she shot back automatically, though her eyes hadn’t left the one currently occupying his arms, “they’re all… small, and loud, not to mention vaguely judgemental, it’s like interacting with my mother .”
As if on cue, the baby’s face scrunched further, its cry ramping up into something properly offended.
“Okay, great,” Trinity said quickly, hands coming up to press flat against her own cheeks for a second before dropping again, “so not Amy’s baby, not a prank, not Mr Branfield, who, for the record, I would still put money on somehow being involved,so what, someone just,” she paused as the words grew quieter, “dropped off a baby?”
Dennis looked down at it, then back at her, “seems that way,” he shrugged.
“Seems that way,” she echoed, voice pitching slightly higher, “like it’s an Amazon package, Dennis, why aren’t you freaking out?”
“I mean we definitely didn’t order it, don't think Bezos has conquered that sector quite yet,” he said, shifting the baby slightly as it began rooting insistently into his hoodie, “and I think freaking out would just make her more cranky.”
Trinity’s eyes narrowed,“why is it doing that?” she pointed to the saliva coated bit of fabric from where the baby had drooled.
“I think,” Dennis said slowly, “it might be hungry.”
“Well I’m not breastfeeding it,” she snapped immediately.
“I didn’t say you were-”
“You implied it.”
“I absolutely did not imply it, I just- Trinity you don’t even have like um milk?”
The baby let out a sharp, escalating wail that cut clean through whatever Trinity was about to say in argument. They both froze as it continued to wail, and for a long, terrible second, the only sound in the apartment was the baby crying, loud, relentless, very real.
Trinity dragged a hand down her face, “this is why I didn’t go into paeds,” she groaned into her hands,“okay,okay, think,” she muttered, pacing once, twice, then stopping dead in front of Dennis again,“we call someone.”
“Who?” he asked.
“The police.”
Dennis hesitated.
The baby cried louder.
“Or-” Trinity amended quickly, “or not the police, maybe not the police, I don’t know, is this a police situation? Is this a CPS situation? Is this a we get arrested situation?”
“I don’t think we’d get arrested for erm receiving a baby,” Dennis said carefully.
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m fairly confident-”
“You once microwaved a metal spoon, I don’t trust your confidence.”
“That was one time.”
“It sparked, Dennis. It sparked.”
The baby hiccupped mid-cry, then burrowed further into his chest with a distressed little sound. Trinity watched as Dennis’s expression shifted, something softer slipping in despite the chaos.“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured instinctively, rocking slightly.
Trinity stared at him,“you cannot get attached,” she said immediately, “you’re already step-daddy to one infant, what if they have t-ball games on the same day?”
“I’m not getting attached,” he protested, “and I’m not attached to Amy and Rufus either, Amy just needs some help getting back on her feet, as a healthcare professional, I’m simply committed to helping my patients and their families.”
“Oh fuck off Florence Nightingale,” Trinity swore jokily, the harsh words startling the baby who let out an outright shout. “Wow, it really is just like my mother,” she continued, quieter this time, “I see why it got abandoned on a stranger’s doorstep.”
Dennis winced slightly at that,“okay, well don’t say it like that.”
“How else would you like me to say it? Gently relocated?”
Before Dennis could respond, Trinity’s gaze snagged on something tucked just beneath the edge of the yellow blanket.She stepped closer, fingers hovering for a moment like the baby might explode, before carefully tugging at the corner of fabric.There, half-hidden and slightly crumpled, was a piece of paper.
“Oh, fantastic,” she said flatly, pulling it free, “it comes with instructions.”
Dennis leaned in automatically, “what does it say?”
Trinity unfolded it, eyes scanning quickly, and then slowing as the words settled in.They didn’t hit all at once, as her mind wrapped carefully around each word’s meaning, zeroing in on a few that jumped out with painful familiarity. It started to feel more like sinking, drowning, than a simple, peaceful, settling.
“What?” Dennis pressed, but Trinity didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer.
The apartment seemed to shrink in size, too small to fit even the baby as it sniffled, quieter now, its tiny fist curled stubbornly into the front of Dennis’ hoodie. It turned its head, eyes landing on Trinity again, wide, searching, like it expected something from her. Something tight and familiar pulled low in her chest as their eyes met, it wasn’t sharp like the panic she had felt at first, nor loud like anger she knew rationally, she was supposed to feel. It was instead much quieter than that, a memory of a time gone by that nudged painfully now, free from its usual position resting just below the surface.
The baby was about a month old, six weeks according to the letter. It seemed ludicrous to imagine that that could be a person’s lifetime, just six weeks old and it had been left somewhere it wasn’t meant to stay, passed over like a problem someone else would deal with.Like it would be fine. Like it would just… figure itself out. It was a shit hand to be dealt in life and Trinity knew that as much so she swallowed, her grip tightening slightly on the paper before she forced her hand to loosen.
She looked at the baby again: at the flushed cheeks, the damp lashes, heavy with the salt of pain. The way it had gone from screaming to silent in the space of a minute, like it had already learnt there wasn’t much point in protest. Her voice, when it came, was more broken than she intended,“it’s a girl,”she muttered as she handed the note to Dennis without looking at him, his free hand coming up automatically to take it.“About six weeks old,” she added, eyes still fixed on the baby, “and-” her throat tightened, just briefly,“ and it looks like she needs somewhere to stay, at least for tonight.”
Dennis nodded at her grimly, his eyes doing a once over of the note as well, “should we still call the cops?” he asked
“Yeah,” Trinity nodded absently, “and you were right, she’s probably hungry, I’m going to swing by the Fumeras at sixty six A and ask to borrow some formula and a um bottle, just for tonight.”
“Good idea,” Dennis agreed easily, “cops probably won’t do anything until tomorrow anyway, good thing you’re off.”
“Yep,” Trinity nodded, stepping over the threshold and into the narrow corridor, the note still ghosting along the edges of her thoughts as the lights flickered and cracked overhead. She had barely made it a couple of feet away from their door, before a figure rounded the corner at the far end.
“Trinity? Oh thank god.”
She looked up. Yolanda Garcia, also known as the woman she was seeing, thought that even felt too serious a word to describe their relationship, perhaps fucking worked better, or unwilling sharing her instant ramen with a woman who could really afford better (and Trinity wasn’t just thinking about food), was standing right in front of her. Trinity noticed her face first, she always did, even on the odd times she managed to persuade Robby to let her go upstairs to assist in surgeries, her eyes always sought out the smooth brown skin of Yolanda’s cheeks and the gentle curve of her lips, places she longed to kiss and mark and love. She would burrow desperately through the disposable mask and visor, under the scrub cap hiding away her curls, through the gown, through the gloves, like she wanted all of Yolanda on show for her to consume.
Today, she looked- Trinity settled on the word damp. Her deep brown curls clung to her face and neck, slicked there with water, and with every step she took coming closer to Trinity, a faint dripping echoed, as water travelled through her soaked scrubs, stopping at the hems of her trousers before finally making its escape.
For a second, Trinity just stared.
“You weren’t replying to my messages,” Yolanda said, slightly breathless, as though she’d run up the five flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator.
“Something came up,” Trinity replied automatically, an understatement certainly.
Yolanda let out a short laugh, pushing a wet strand of hair out of her face, “yeah? Well, unless something exploded, I think I’ve got you beat. My water pipe burst, like, actually burst, and now my entire apartment is basically an indoor pool. I’ve got the plumbers coming in tomorrow, but tonight?” she gestured vaguely behind her, “unlivable.”
Trinity blinked once as she took in the words,“I think I’ve still got you beat,” she said, trying to joke but her tone turned serious before she could stop it.
Yolanda paused, “that bad?”
Trinity hesitated, then jerked her head back toward her apartment, “come see.”
When they stepped back inside, Yolanda’s hand clenched around a small overnight bag; Trinity’s around the bulk of upper arm until the pain grounded her, the crying had quieted to soft, uneven hiccups. Dennis was standing in the middle of the living room like he’d been rooted there, the baby tucked carefully against his chest, one large hand supporting her head.
He looked up as they entered,“oh, Dr Garcia?” he turned a confused look on Trinity, that quickly morphed into one that leaned more suggestive, he really was getting too comfortable around her, “you look erm?”
“Like a drowned cat?” Yolanda supplied with a shrug, “and you look like America’s most wanted baby kidnapper.”
Trinity bit down a laugh whilst Dennis looked confused again for a moment.
“No, no,” he corrected hurriedly, “we didn’t kidnap it, I mean her, she was left here. On our doorstep.”
The words landed heavily and Yolanda turned immediately to face Trinity with question in her eyes.
“Yep,” Trinity nodded in agreement, “when we asked for housewarming gifts, this isn’t exactly what we meant, more of the houseplant variety than screaming babies, but you should always be grateful, isn’t that what people say?” her humour did have a bad habit of rearing its head at very serious situations.
The baby made a small offended sound and looked like it was about to start crying again.
“What?” Yolanda gasped, “is this a trick? A prank of some kind?”
“No trick Dr Garcia,” Dennis shook his head, “and I don’t mean to complain but like does someone else want to hold her? My arms are getting kind of tired.”
“Wow you’re a shit co-parent Huck, already complaining,” Trinity teased but she did allow Dennis to carefully deposit the bundle in her arms. The baby jostled a little, kicking out her tiny limbs as she attempted to get settled in Trinity’s awkward arms. Trinity tried to think back to her time on the paediatric wards during medical school, but she’d stuck solidly to the dolls and children who could talk so her knowledge was rather useless.
“Trin, you have to make a cradle with your arms, she’s not comfortable like that,” Dennis said, watching as both her and the baby stood in the corner awkwardly.
“Take her back then,” was Trinity's reply, coupled with a scowl, “she’s going to bruise something if she keeps kicking.”
“Oh for g- give her here,” Yolanda said, stepping in before Dennis could move. She didn’t take the baby, instead, she reached for Trinity, “your arm,” she murmured, already guiding it upward, her fingers warm and firm where they wrapped around Trinity’s wrist. “Here, support her head. No, properly.”
Trinity went still, she wasn’t sure what was more overwhelming, Yolanda pressed tightly against her or the hellion in her arms,“I am supporting,” she argued.
“Nope, you’re not,” Yolanda cut in gently, shifting closer, one hand sliding behind the baby’s neck, the other pressing lightly against Trinity’s forearm to adjust the angle, “there. Now tuck her in, like this.” She guided Trinity’s other arm in, folding it inwards until the baby was cradled properly against her chest.The baby settled almost immediately, her small body relaxing into the new position, one tiny fist curling loosely against the fabric of Trinity’s shirt.
“Oh,” Trinity said, very quietly.
“Yeah,” Yolanda replied, just as softly, she hadn’t stepped away yet.
They were close, Trinity could feel the dampness of Yolanda’s scrubs, the faint chill of it through the thin fabric of her own shirt and the steady, grounding pressure of her hands still lingering where she’d adjusted her.
“See?” Yolanda added, a little more lightly now, “not so hard is it.”
Trinity didn’t answer. She was looking down at the baby, at the way her breathing had evened out, the way her face had softened now that she wasn’t crying. Carefully, like she expected the whole thing to fall apart if she moved too fast, Trinity adjusted her grip just slightly, the baby didn’t protest.“Okay,” Trinity said after a moment, almost to herself. “Okay, that’s… that’s not terrible.”
Behind them, there was a very deliberate clicking sound. Both of them turned to see Dennis standing a few feet away, iPhone 11 held up, entirely unrepentant.
“Oh my god,” Trinity groaned, “delete that.”
“Absolutely not,” he said, lowering the phone but already grinning,“this is blackmail for life.”
“I will actually kill you.”
“Worth it.”
Yolanda huffed out a quiet laugh, finally stepping back, though her eyes lingered for a second longer on Trinity, and the baby in her arms. Trinity watched her, like she always did, trying to interpret what the look might be but just as quickly, it shifted. Dr Garcia was back, professional and focused.
“Okay,” Yolanda said, tone sharpening slightly as she straightened, “have you called anyone?”
Trinity blinked, “what?”
“The police. CPS. Anyone,” Yolanda clarified, glancing between the two of them, “do you know who her mother is? Was there a note? How long has she been here?”
Dennis held up the piece of paper slightly, “there was a note. Trinity read it.”
Yolanda’s gaze snapped back to her,“and?”
Trinity hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, her eyes dropping briefly to the baby again before she forced herself to look up.“She’s about six weeks,” she said, “no name, there was just a prayer, I guess.”
“Prayer?” Yolanda repeated.
“Hope that we feed her, keep her warm, protect her soul, that kind of thing,” Trinity said, her voice flattening slightly.
Yolanda frowned, “that’s it?”
Trinity nodded once as Yolanda exhaled slowly, running a hand back through her damp hair. “Okay. Right. So, we have an unidentified infant, approximately six weeks old, abandoned outside your apartment, with minimal information and no clear guardian.”
“Yep,” Dennis said, “that about sums it up, Dr Garcia.”
“And you haven’t called the police yet.”
“We were getting there,” Trinity said defensively. “She was screaming, we were prioritising not letting her starve to death in our primary assessment.”
“Which is fair,” Yolanda conceded quickly, holding up a hand in surrender, “I’m not saying you did anything wrong, I’m just saying we need to call them. Like, now. Maybe it was a mistake and the parents are looking for her right now.”
The baby shifted slightly in Trinity’s arms, letting out a small, sleepy sound.
All three of them looked down at her.
“After we feed her,” Dennis added.
Yolanda nodded, “after we feed her.”
Trinity adjusted her hold again, a little more confidently this time, “yeah,” she said quietly, “after we feed her.”
“Hey Google, how do you change a baby?”
Yolanda, like the control freak surgeon she was (entirely complimentary, Trinity liked being controlled by her specifically) assigned them each individual tasks. Dennis was on police duty, they were more likely to listen to him, Yolanda said (which was accurate) and Trinity could hear him explaining as the cops trampled over her furniture, “investigating.” Yolanda had given herself the job of doing a quick grocery run, just for the essentials: more formula, a few clothes, a pack of diapers, and a soft toy or two because the sheep keychain Dennis had produced from his farm bag was more than a little pathetic. Somehow, Trinity had got stuck on the hardest job of all, looking after the baby.
“That is an excellent question,” the computer generated voice rang out, “but there is much debate about nature vs nurture when it comes to determining the characteristics of a baby. Most modern parenting advice advocates for listening to your baby and meeting them where they are, all babies are unique and loveable in their own way, there is never any need to change them.”
“What the actual-,” Trinity scowled, as the baby giggled up at her, bare legs still wet from the impromptu hose down in Dennis’ shower she had to give it, moving a mile a minute, “obviously I meant how to change a diaper, you AI fuck.”
“I sense you are distressed,” the voice continued, “I can supply you with instructions on the care for newborns but please contact the following helplines if you are struggling with your mental health in the post partum period eight-five-three-“
“Oh fuck off,” Trinity growled, reaching over to unplug the stupid google home device, “okay baby, this isn’t going to be pretty,” she began as unfolded one of the spare diapers the Fumeras’ had been kind enough to gift them, “but I promise I’ll try my hardest. This would be the best diaper change Whitaker’s bathroom had ever seen.”
It was not.
There had been resistance. There had been betrayal. At one point, Trinity was fairly certain the baby had made direct eye contact with her before committing what could only be described as a war crime, her hand still felt uncomfortably warm. But now, finally, the worst of it was over, the baby, clean, dry, and wrapped in a fresh diaper that sat slightly crooked, lay bundled in one of Dennis’ old hoodies on the bed, blinking up at Trinity with something that felt suspiciously like smugness.
“Don’t,” Trinity warned, pointing a finger at her, “don’t you dare start again.”
The baby’s lip wobbled.
“Oh no. No, no, no-”
Too late.
The cry started small, like a warning, before building rapidly into something loud, insistent, and entirely unreasonable, it was like a fire alarm, except this one, you couldn’t run from.Trinity froze for half a second, then sprang into motion, scooping her up with a confidence she absolutely did not possess.
“Okay, okay, I’ve got you,” she said quickly, bouncing her slightly in her arms, “you’re clean, you’re fed, you’re… still loud, apparently.”
The crying didn’t stop.
Trinity shifted her grip, trying to remember what Yolanda had shown her earlier, adjusting her arms into something resembling a cradle, “right, cradle. We like the cradle.”
The baby continued to wail.
“Jesus Christ,” Trinity muttered, beginning to pace, “what do you want from me? I’ve done everything. This is why people outsource this.”
The crying hit a new pitch.
Trinity stopped and stood there, staring down at the tiny, furious face in her arms, “hey, little Miss Sunshine,” she tried for a compliment this time, ”isn’t time for you to take a little nap? That would be so fucking nice.”
The baby at last stopped, but her bottom lip trembled like she was about to start up again once she got a few breaths in. That wouldn’t do, so Trinity thought back, diving through every recess in her brain for any sort of information that might be useful.And that was when the memory sprang up.
It came not as a full picture at first, but in fragments. The sticky heat pressed thick against her skin, the low hum of a fan that did little more than move the warmth around and the faint scent of something sweet and unfamiliar lingering in the air. A place that didn’t feel like hers, no matter how many times she had been told it was.
Because before that, there had been the hallway with boxes lined up in careful, deliberate rows, taped shut with a finality that felt too neat for what it meant. She remembered standing there, backpack still slung over one shoulder, staring at the labels written in her mother’s handwriting, tight and controlled; painfully precise like most things involving Christine Santos were.
Nimuel, Dad.
It had been written over and over again, on box after box, as though repetition might make it easier to separate a life into pieces. Books. Shoes. Kitchen. Misc. Dad.
Her mother had stood behind her, one hand resting too lightly on her shoulder,“it’s just for a little while,” she had said, hand fiddling with Trinity’s expressed posted passport, “you’ll go stay with your Lola. It’ll be nice. You’ll love it there.”
Trinity hadn’t turned around. There had been something in the air, thick and sour, something that told her this wasn’t just “a little while.” Even then, she had known better than to ask questions she wouldn’t get answers to.
“It’s for your own good,” her mother had added, softer now,“you don’t need to see all of this. It’s… complicated.”
For your own good, the same words they had used when they told her about the divorce.Trinity had nodded, because that was what you did when adults decided things for you. You nodded, and you went along with it, and you tried not to notice how easily you could be moved from one place to another.Later, much later, she would decide it hadn’t been about sparing her at all, it had been about not having to look at her.About not being reminded what exactly they were fighting over, or perhaps, what they weren’t.
The memory shifted, now it was the Philippines. The air heavier, thicker, alive with sound in a way Rocklin never was. The house smaller, older, but warmer too, in ways that had nothing to do with the heat. She remembered lying on a thin mattress, staring up at a ceiling she didn’t recognise, the distance between herself and everything she knew stretching wider with each passing day. Home had felt very far away then, or maybe with Dad gone, it had stopped feeling like home at all.
She must have been crying, she couldn’t remember starting, only the quiet aftermath of it, the way her chest had ached with each uneven breath.And then her Lola had been there, with no questions, just the soft dip of the mattress as she sat beside her, the familiar rustle of fabric, and then her gentle, steady, voice.
“Ili-ili, tulog anay…”
The words had meant nothing to Trinity at the time, not really. She hadn’t understood them, not properly. But the melody had wrapped around her all the same, soft and repetitive, something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was slipping. Her Lola’s hand had moved slowly through her hair, over and over again, until the tightness in her chest had loosened; until the distance didn’t feel quite so unbearable. Until she had slept.
Trinity blinked, the present settling back around her, the dim light of Dennis’ bathroom, the faint hum of the refrigerator and the small, fragile weight in her arms.The baby’s lip trembled again.
“Hey,” Trinity murmured, softer now. Almost without thinking, she shifted her slightly, settling her more securely against her chest.
“Ili-ili, tulog anay…”
The words felt strange in her mouth at first, unfamiliar in their shape, but the melody came easily, like it had been waiting.
“Wala diri imong nanay…”
Her voice was quieter than before, rough at the edges, but steady.
The baby stilled, a thumb coming to her mouth as she gently sucked.
“Kadto tienda bakal papay…”
Trinity’s hand moved instinctively, slow and rhythmic against the baby’s back, the same motion she barely remembered, the same one that had once steadied her.
“ili-ili, tulog anay…”
The baby’s breathing evened out, her small body going slack with sleep, her tiny fingers of her other hand uncurling where they had gripped Trinity’s shirt.
Trinity let the last note linger, her throat tightening just slightly as the silence returned. It was a strange feeling, holding something small and warm and entirely dependent on her, but not an unpleasant one.“…yeah,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
“Show-off.”
She startled slightly, turning her head, to see Yolanda leaning against the doorframe, Walmart bags in hand. Yolanda smiled, something softer than her usual smirk, “I’m jealous,” she said.
Trinity blinked, “of what?”
“You never sing for me,” Yolanda said lightly, “your voice is angelic.”
Trinity huffed out a quiet breath, looking back down at the baby as she attempted to hide her blush, she didn’t like when Yolanda complimented her, it always felt too much like Yoli and Trin and not enough like Santos and Garcia. “Didn’t know you wanted that,” she muttered.
Yolanda’s gaze lingered on her, “there’s a lot I want that you don’t know.”
The words sat there for a second longer than either of them seemed prepared for.Trinity shifted her weight slightly, suddenly very aware of how close Yolanda was standing, “oh,” she said, eloquent as ever.
Yolanda’s lips twitched, something in between a smile and regret, “yeah,” she said.
Before Trinity could say anything else, the door swung open wider, Dennis appeared, looking faintly frazzled. “Okay, so,” he began, before pausing as he took in the scene, “oh, baby’s asleep, nice.”
“What did they say?” Trinity asked quickly.
Dennis ran a hand through his hair, “cops were not massively helpful. They’ll check CCTV, they said, see if they can identify who dropped her off, but apparently the cameras on our block are out.”
“Of course they are,” Trinity muttered.
“So, low expectations,” Dennis continued, “they said they’ll keep us updated.”
“What about the baby?” Yolanda asked.
Dennis hesitated, Trinity knew that look, he was hiding something. “Oh,” he began haltingly, “yeah. So. All the licensed foster carers are kind of unavailable tonight.”
“What?” Trinity said.
“What?” Yolanda echoed.
“What?” Dennis added, a beat late. “So,” Dennis went on, like he hadn’t just said something insane, “I may have mentioned that we’re all doctors. And that we could, you know, look after her. Just for the night.”
Trinity stared at him.“Oh, Huckleberry,” she said slowly to help the words sink in better, “this is an actual human baby. It’s not one of the creatures you bring in and keep in a jar.”
“First of all, Mr Geckles had an injured tail-”
“You mean Miss Lizbian,” Trinity cut in automatically.
“-and you said it too,” Dennis continued, ignoring her. “She needs somewhere to stay. Otherwise they take her to a hospital, and you know it’s RSV season.”
Trinity grimaced, turning to Yolanda, “what do you think?”
Yolanda shrugged slightly. “I mean, I’m happy to watch you two fight it out, but White Chocolate’s right. It’s just one night. I’m off tomorrow, I can help sort things with the cops.”
Trinity looked at her, “really? You’d do that for us?”
Yolanda smiled, a little crooked, “I mean, even a crying baby is better than sleeping underwater. You don’t mind if I crash?”
“No,” Trinity said immediately, “I’d never mind. You’re welcome to stay-with me, I mean, or- wherever, as long as you want, or as short as you want, I just-”
“Okay,” Dennis cut in, “we are all still in my bathroom, and I kind of need to use it.”
Trinity flushed, her ears burning, “god, you’re such a Huckleberry. Just for that, Baby Jane Doe is sleeping in your room.”
Yolanda raised an eyebrow,“Baby Jane Doe? You’ve named her?”
Trinity shrugged, suddenly very interested in adjusting the baby’s blanket aka Dennis’ hoodie, “felt weird to keep calling her ‘the baby.’ Besides, that’s what the cops would call her, right?”
“Right,” Yolanda said, though her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced, “anyway, I’m going to grab a quick shower. I’ll leave you guys to figure out sleeping arrangements.”
She paused, glancing around Dennis’ messy room, “though I don’t think the pack and play I bought is going to survive this place.”
“Great!” Dennis said, “Baby Jane Doe stays in your room.”
“Perils of being a Good Samaritan,” Trinity muttered, already shifting her grip slightly as the baby stirred in her arms.
And despite herself, she didn’t hand her back.