Chapter Text
Trinity taps her foot as she looks up at the corkboard in front of her. It’s covered with flyers for random bands, unpaid volunteering opportunities, and several badly-disguised advertisements for the church close to her apartment. She pushes up the corner of one of them, sighing at what it’s covering. Yet another tutoring opportunity, but this time dated back to 2018. Great.
She’s about to give up, sighing dramatically and letting go of the paper, when something flutters down. Trinity ducks down and picks up the powder blue flyer. It doesn’t have tabs to pull off at the bottom like all of the other ones she’s seen. Instead there’s just a carefully typed message on thick A5 stock. It reads:
PERMANENT BABYSITTER WANTED
Pitt professor/doctor looking for regular babysitter for four-year old son. I work 12h shifts 3-4 times a week so can’t always drop off and collect him from preschool. Previous experience with children needed.
Competitive rate!
For more information contact Dr. B. Al-Hashimi at the number below.
Trinity rubs her thumb over the name. Al-Hashimi. It’s not one that she’s familiar with, but Pitt has so many professors and she’s barely an MS2.
She could be a babysitter, she thinks. Trinity’s had a lot of jobs. It’s not like her parents support her anymore, financially or otherwise. This way she won’t have to deal with as many drunk and leering customers as when she worked as a bartender one summer, and hopefully the parents aren’t quite as annoying as the ones she used to encounter in the coffee shop just off campus. She’s worked as a babysitter before too, and she basically raised her brothers from the time she was eight. One kid would definitely be easier than two.
Before she can think through the probable downsides of the job–early mornings, late nights, the possibility that the kid is annoying–she’s pulled out her phone and texted the number.
August 2022
Monday, 10:49
Trinity Santos
Good morning! I saw your advertisement for the babysitter position and I was wondering whether it’s still available? My name’s Trinity Santos - I’m an MS2, and I’ve worked with children a lot before. I would be happy to send references too.
She receives a reply an hour later, feeling her phone vibrate in her back pocket as she’s walking back to her dingy off-campus apartment.
Al-Hashimi (babysitting)
Hi Trinity, good morning. The position is still available! You’re actually the first person I’ve heard back from.
If it’s not too forward of me, I’m on campus tomorrow if you would like to hear a bit more about it? It might be quicker to explain in person.
Trinity Santos
That would be great!
Al-Hashimi (babysitting)
Would 11am work?
Trinity Santos
I have a class until 11:30, but I can come after that?
Al-Hashimi (babysitting)
Perfect. I’ll be in my office if that works
[Al-Hashimi (babysitting) shared a link to an address]
[Al-Hashimi (babysitting) shared a link to a document - Babysitter Proposed Salary and Details]
Trinity Santos
That sounds great, thank you.
Al-Hashimi (babysitting)
See you tomorrow 😊
“So who is she?”
Trinity looks up from her phone at Dennis, where he’s leaning over the back of the couch with his head tilted at her.
“Who?”
“Your new boss. She’s a professor?”
“Not my new boss yet. But yeah, she is. In emergency med apparently,” Trinity sighs. She brings up the page she had found earlier from the faculty directory, holding it up so that her roommate can see.
Dennis squints at it, scrolling down. “Oh, there’s no picture?”
“Nope. Apparently she just started here over summer, so I guess they haven’t updated it. I’ve never heard of her, but she sounds… intense.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently she worked with MSF during COVID. In Afghanistan.”
Dennis whistles through his teeth. “Woah.”
“Right?” Trinity flops her hand back down, her arm starting to burn from the odd angle she was holding it at. She stares at the page again.
Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi. Board certified in EM. Med school at Stanford. Graduated in 2012. Residency at UCLA. Research in maternal health outcomes in low resource areas. Two different MSF trips, but she hasn’t gone back since the one Trinity mentioned to Dennis.
Trinity’s intrigued.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a babysitter,” Dennis muses.
“I’m a baby whisperer,” she retorts.
“Didn’t you say the kid’s four?”
“Basically the same,” Trinity says, waving her hand at him. “Preschool, baby, kindergarten. What’s the real difference?”
“Please don’t say that in your interview tomorrow.”
Trinity grins at him, not bothering to answer. She likes Dennis, but they aren’t exactly touchy feely. She doesn’t want to tell him that she does in fact have a lot of experience with children. Her brothers, all of her cousins, the little kids at her gymnastics studio back home. It’s dangerous territory. She shuts her phone off and pulls out her laptop to get back to studying.
The next morning, class ends early. Trinity steps out of the building into the humid August weather, double checking the building she needs to get to.
Ten minutes later, after a trek across campus, she feels very glad about what she chose to wear. Her hair’s sticking slightly to her forehead, but the loose blue cotton shirt she’s wearing over a pair of linen pants means that she isn’t completely overheating.
She ducks into the shade of the building, fanning her face with one hand while she digs out her phone. Uses the dark screen as a mirror to help her correct her hair and wets her lips, chapped as always, with her tongue.
The professor’s office is on the second floor, thankfully, so Trinity doesn’t have to try her luck in the rickety elevator. This building’s old, a corner of campus that she never really spends time in, and it mostly seems home to the offices of people who either don’t spend much time in them or belong to very underfunded departments.
The address said that Al-Hashimi’s office was number 208, but Trinity notices as she walks down the corridor that none of the doors are actually numbered, instead just having peoples’ names written on the front. Some of them have actual brass plaques, but most are just laminated name tags. Definitely underfunded, she thinks, reading how half of the names have ‘Department of Anthropology’ written below them.
After walking past about fifteen doors, she comes to a stop. The door at the end of the corridor has faded red paint, chipping at the bottom where it meets the uneven wood floor. A plasticky tag reading ‘Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi, Department of Medicine’ is stuck over a much bigger brass plaque. Trinity can’t make out what the full name is, but it ends in “-amson”. She wonders why they didn’t bother to take it down before Al-Hashimi arrived.
Trinity lets out a shaky breath, unsure why she’s suddenly nervous, and raises one hand to knock on the door. Two sharp raps, as always.
There’s a response immediately.
“Come in!” A honeyed voice calls out from inside. Trinity turns the brassy knob and pushes the door open.
The room in front of her is small, barely wider than the door itself, with a large window making up most of the back wall. A dark wooden desk sits in front of it, bright golden light spilling through the partially drawn shades onto the woman in front of her.
The woman–Dr. Al-Hashimi, Trinity’s brain fills in–is looking at the computer in front of her. She’s pretty, with dark curly hair pulled up loosely on top of her head, a few strands loose and skimming the collar of her white shirt.
She looks up at Trinity where she’s hovering in the doorway. “Come in, please. It’s Trinity, right?”
Trinity nods. “Yes, um. Nice to meet you, Dr. Al-Hashimi.”
“Call me Baran, please. Take a seat.”
Trinity steps forwards, sliding awkwardly into the leather chair opposite the professor. Her bag catches against the corner of desk as she tries to set it down gently and she grimaces.
“So, you’re interested in the job?” Dr. Al-Hashimi’s eyes are fixed on Trinity. They’re dark and liquidy, and Trinity feels oddly afraid of her for a second, caught in her gaze. Intimidated, even though Al-Hashimi–no, Baran–is probably only ten years older than her, fifteen at most.
Trinity blinks a few times. “Yes, I am. I used to babysit a lot in undergrad, and I have quite a flexible schedule at the moment so it felt like I might be a good fit.”
Baran nods, smiling. “I hope it’s alright, but I did look into you on the college’s system. Background check, you understand.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” Trinity hadn’t thought about that before, but she can’t blame Baran. Even if she knows all too well how easy it can be for people to get around that type of search.
“I would like your references too, but that can wait until later.”
“Of course. So, your son’s four?”
Baran smiles again, picking up a picture frame from the desk in front of her and turning it to face Trinity. It shows a little boy with curly hair and big eyes, grinning wildly as he holds a small brown kitten in his arms. “Yes. His name’s Azar.” Her voice rolls the ‘R’ on his name prettily.
“That’s a nice name.”
“Thank you. It means fire, which is accurate. He’s quite spirited.”
“My brothers were too, at that age,” Trinity says quietly.
“Ah, you understand then. Anyway, I just started as an attending at the VA hospital. So, I’m working a few shifts a week there, mostly days and not usually on the weekend, but they usually go from 7am to 7pm. Some days I can drop him off at preschool in the mornings, but not always, and I need someone who can collect him when it ends and get him ready for bed, that kind of thing.”
“That makes sense. Do you live nearby?” Trinity winces slightly. “Sorry, that sounded weird.”
“I understood what you meant, don’t worry. We live around ten minutes’ walk from his preschool, so I usually try to walk with him there.”
“Oh, great.”
“There probably would be some weekends and nights, though. I would pay you extra for that, of course–I get to pick my shifts but sometimes I might have to cover for someone else.”
Trinity won’t say no to extra money. The information Baran had sent her yesterday already listed a rate much higher than she had expected. “That sounds great, don’t worry.”
Baran smiles easily at this, relieved. “Great. Do you have any more questions for me?
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay then. I’ll message you later to get your references, but if they all check out then I’d love for you to start as soon as possible.”
“That sounds great. Thank you.”
Baran gets up to open the door for Trinity, shaking her head. She’s around Trinity’s height, maybe slightly taller in the woven sandals she’s wearing. “Please, I should be the one thanking you. I wasn’t sure if anyone would even respond, let alone there be someone interested who actually had experience.”
Trinity picks up her bag and goes to leave. “Okay then. Um, it was nice to meet you,” she says, holding out a hand to shake Baran’s in goodbye. She’s taken aback when, instead of taking her proffered hand, Baran clucks her tongue and pulls her in for a hug.
Her arms are strong as one circles around Trinity’s waist, the other reaching over her shoulder. She smells of jasmine and something fruity, maybe… pomegranate? It’s nice, and definitely above Trinity’s budget.
“It was nice to meet you too,” she says in Trinity’s ear before letting her go. “I hope to see you soon, I think Azar will like you.”
“Really?” Trinity asks without thinking.
Baran nods, her expression peaceful. “Yes. There’s just something about you, I have a good feeling.”
“Oh. Well, thank you then,” Trinity says, uncomfortable with the seemingly-earnest complement. She walks out of the door, turning back as she does. “Bye, have a good day!”
“You too. Goodbye, Trinity.”