Chapter Text
Trinity pulls up the graveled driveway in her old green honda, that she spent most of the five hour drive, begging and insulting just to keep the engine running. By the time she pulls up to the Shamsi-Javadi summer home, she can feel the engine overheating in the steering wheel. As she turns the key, and the car finally gets its rest, she's already worried about August, and the high potential that her only way back to Pittsburgh, is going to be crammed into the Shamsi-Javadi family mini-van.
She allows herself a moment to breathe. She's been trying to do that more recently, breathing.
Trinity only manages to take a couple of breaths before Dr. Eileen Shamsi is stepping out on the wide front porch, and waving at Trinity. Trinity swears under her breath, if she doesn't get out of the car now, Shamsi will come knocking on the window, or might just jump straight into calling an ambulance.
Trinity pastes on a smile, and gets out of the car. She waves back. This is for her career, she tell herself, she's going to be surgeon, and that means spending the summer at her mentor's house, and trying to get the fuck over it.
“Trinity.” Shamsi walks down the steps, walking for all it's worth, like the queen of the land. Or at least, queen of this laketown in the middle of nowhere Poconos. “I'm glad you made it safely.”
“Me too. It got a little sketchy there at the end.” Trinity laughs, patting the hood of the car like she's trying to calm down a horse. Shamsi does not return her laughter. Trinity straightens her back. “It was a nice drive.”
“Yes. It's very lovely.” Shamsi inclines her head. Trinity swallows, feeling like she's back in Shamsi's office, receiving stern lectures about responsibility, skill, and a constant stream of medical journal recommendations. One of Shamsi's favorite lines is: “Don't waste your talent.” Trinity knows every little dip, every swerve of Shamsi's voice, in those four words. It was exactly what Shamsi told her, just after everything happened, just after Shamsi invited her to her lakehouse for the summer for some “self-introspection”.
“Do you need any help with your bags?” Shamsi asks.
“No.” Trinity shakes her head. “I don't have much.”
Shamsi hums, observing Trinity the same way Shamsi has seen her observe cadavers. “Alright. Come in when you’re ready.”
Shamsi talk for as soon as possible. Shamsi turns and walks back inside, letting the screen door shut behind her. Trinity clenches her jaw, then works it loose. She grabs her duffle bag from the back of the seat, and almost slams the door closed, but thinks better of it, and shuts it as softly as possible instead. Trinity gives herself a moment to look at the house she's meant to be staying in for three months. It's bleach white, with green trimming. The bushes in front are well trimmed, and there's a porch swing on the wide wooden porch. Trinity scoffs, it looks like a suburban house trying to pretend its way into being a cabin.
It's exactly what Trinity expected.
She can make out bits of sparkling lake behind the house, surrounded by thick pine trees and sycamores. The sky is bright blue, it's idyllic. The closest neighboring house is up the hill, close enough to peek through the windows at night, but far enough away to give the illusion of privacy. It's large and brown.
Trinity shrugs and moves inside. The inside of the house is much the same as the outside, except covered in faux animal parts and family photos. The furniture is all antique, and is obviously meant to give the illusion of well-worn comfort. Trinity adjusts her grip on her duffle bag, and takes a peek at one of the photos hanging in the hallway. It's a photo of the Shamsi-Javadi family, many years ago. Eileen looks softer, less of a pinched face, with her husband's arm around her, and the infamous Victoria Javadi, then only a toddler, and gripping on to her Mother's neck like she never intends to let go.
“Would you like something to drink?” Trinity jumps at Shamsi's voice behind her.
“Oh. No thanks.”
“You could use a shower.”
Trinity swallows down her glare. “Yeah, probably.”
“Please take off your shoes.” Trinity quickly obliges, kicking off her beat up sneakers, and throwing them in the corner with the hiking boots and sandals. Shamsi looks her up and down again, then yells, “Victoria!”
Light footsteps fall down the stairs at Trinity’s side, then Victoria Javadi is standing there, hands behind her back, looking like the princess to Shamsi's queen, or more accurately, a child soldier.
“Yes?”
“Why don't you show Trinity to her room? I have some work to finish before dinner.”
Javadi's eyes go wide like a baby doe. “Okay! C'mon.”
Trinity follows Shamsi junior up the stairs. The second floor is wide, with multiple doors, and a few bits of art work. Javadi leads Trinity to a door in the far back, to the right of the stairs. The door has a I'd Rather Be on the Lake sign carved on some fake birch that swings like a knocker when Javadi opens the door. Trinity steps into the room, and despite herself, is impressed. The room only has a wicker bed, with crisp white sheets, a small desk, and wardrobe. The walls are filled with similar lake signs as the one hanging up on the door, and it's certainly a little cheesy, but the room is filled with light, and has a great view of the lake.
Trinity throws her bag on the bed, crosses her arms, and looks around appreciatively. “Not bad.”
“This was the only room my Dad was allowed to decorate.” Javadi explains, picking at the skin around her thumb nail. “We don't really have guests.”
Trinity raises her eyebrow, taps her fingers on her elbow. Javadi is dressed in a prim pair of slacks and a nice blouse. She hardly looks like she's on vacation, more so like her Mom picked out her outfit this morning. She probably did. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”
Javadi shrugs. “I mostly study, but I usually do it out on the gazebo, so…”
Javadi trails off, Trinity feels a little pity. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“And you don't like– party?”
Javadi jumps and quickly looks at the open door like Shamsi has suddenly materialized. “No! I'm starting my rotations next year!”
Trinity shrugs a shoulder, lets her arm drop. “It might be good for you.”
Javadi mumbles something, but Trinity is already turning her back to look out the window. Her window is wide, and she can see most of the lake. There are a few people out in the water, swerving around on waterskis. The Javadi-Shamsi yard has a small gazebo, screened in, with a nice looking picnic table. Javadi junior isn't wrong, it does look like a nice study spot.
There's a small brick patio, with a shiny bbq, and not much else but green grass, until the Javadi-Shamsi portion of lake, which has a sizable looking dock, and a few pedal boats.
Trinity wheels her eyes up the hill, toward the neighbor’s yard. There's no fence, only a few trees. The lack of cover gives Trinity easy access into the neighbor's backyard, where she can see a dock, and a few lounge chairs, one of which is occupied.
“Who’s that?” Trinity asks, peeking down.
“Who?” Javadi comes up to her shoulder. “Oh. That's Dennis.”
Dennis is shirtless, wearing nothing but blue swim trunks. His hands are on his stomach, and there are sunglasses covering his eyes. He looks relaxed, like a regular sleeping beauty. “He’s your neighbor?”
“Oh. Yeah. He just moved here.” Javadi explains, eager to answer questions. Shamsi has trained her well. “He came over a few weeks ago to introduce himself, which was really nice of him, but we haven't seen him since, not even around town. I guess it makes sense. He's out there a lot though, he sometimes waves at me.”
Trinity hums. Despite herself, her curiosity is peaked. She usually trusts her instinct when it tells her something is interesting. “He lives there alone?”
“No. I think–” Javadi stops herself. “Hey, not to assume, but, you know, he’s totally married–”
Trinity laughs then, a real laugh from the gut. She turns away from the window, and grins at Javadi, whose cheeks have darkened. “Don't worry nepo baby, he's not really my type.”
*
In early June, most of the summer residents haven’t arrived. Shamsi’s own husband won’t be here for a few more weeks. Javadi tells Trinity that the reason she and her mom arrived so early was because Shamsi felt like Javadi was getting "distracted" in Pittsburgh and took them on early summer vacation.
Shamsi’s idea of a “vacation” is much different from Trinity’s. Shamsi keeps them on a rigid schedule. They wake up at eight am (Shamsi calls this sleeping in), then they eat breakfast (usually some type of fruit bowl), before Shamsi sends them off to study before lunch, only to study some more. Once, while studying quietly at the dinner table, Shamsi away in her office, Trinity asked Javadi when they are going to do anything remotely like a summer vacation activity. Javadi shrugged a shoulder, and said, meekly, “Over the weekend.”
But the weekend comes and goes, and then again, and the most that happens is going on “brain strengthening” walks around the neighborhood, overseen by Shamsi, and then Trinity has been trapped in this cycle for almost three weeks. If Trinity thought she actually had the option, she thinks she would have been better off trapped in the thick heat of Pittsburgh, surrounded by her gossiping peers, and slowly receding into a slug in the island of her one-bedroom apartment. At least then, she could have some booze and listen to music louder than a whisper. And fuck, go to bed after nine pm.
Even worse, she’s only allowed to use her phone for an hour each day. Shamsi keeps all their phones in a lockbox in her room. Their house somehow still has a landline that rings occasionally with calls from the missing Javadi patriarch. Trinity had only complained once about this rule, before Shamsi cut her off with a sharp look that read very clearly: You don’t have any ground to stand on, I am doing you a favor.
And Shamsi is right. Shamsi is saving Trinity’s career, her entire future, by letting her stay in her home, but Trinity is slowly starting to go insane. She can’t read one more medical journal. If these few weeks have been Shamsi’s idea of restful, then it explains a lot about her advisor, and even more so about stiff little Victoria Javadi, who hasn’t complained once, and simply comments on the beautiful weather, when they take their study materials out to the gazebo after their lunch break.
“Yeah.” Trinity rolls her eyes, opening an anatomy textbook she must have read three times now. “Might be nice to, I don’t know, do something with it.”
“We are.” Victoria blinks, looking up at her. “We’re studying outside?”
Trinity’s forehead falls to her textbooks with a hard thunk. Trinity enjoys the brief feeling of her brain rattling around in her skull. Any stimuli she can get these days is worth it. Sometimes she missed pain.
“Um–” Victoria starts. “Are you okay?”
“Fucking dandy.” Trinity mumbles into her pages.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, my Mom says we can have ice cream later if–”
Trinity groans loudly, silencing Victoria. Shamsi considers the ice cream a “special treat” like they’re fucking nine. When Trinity tries to buy anything but a small vanilla cone, Shamsi comments on how Trinity’s “physical health directly affects her mental”, which usually puts Trinity out of the whole thing. She hasn’t had much of an appetite anyway.
After a moment, Trinity lifts her head up, rubbing at her forehead. She looks out over the lake first, a yearning spills over her that has become very familiar in the past few weeks. They haven’t been in the lake once, she’s convinced the pedal boats attached to the dock are only for show. Like the Shamsi-Javadi family are desperately trying to hide the fact that they are a bunch of robots. Trinity sighs then moves her eyes over Javadi, past her shoulder, where she spots Dennis making his way to his lawnchair, like he has every afternoon since Trinity arrived.
She tracks his movements as he sits down, then leans back, sunglasses coming over his eyes, and hands resting on his stomach. Sometimes he brings a book, or he’s wearing thick headphones, but always he sits in the same armchair, at the exact same time.
“Don’t you think it’s weird that he always comes out at two on the dot?” Trinity says.
“Who?” Victoria turns her head around to look at Dennis, then turns back to look at Trinity with an eyebrow raised. “No?”
Trinity scoffs. “Of course you wouldn’t.”
Victoria scowls at her. “Well, maybe if you knew how to manage your time better, you wouldn’t have to study all day. You wouldn’t even be here.”
Trinity clenches her jaw, takes a deep breath, lets baby Javadi’s words hit her skin like a pebble, then bounce off. She pastes on a sharp smile and gets up from the picnic table and leaves the gazebo.
“Where are you going?” Victoria grits out to her back.
“To find some better fucking company.” Trinity shouts back, and marches across the yard across the invisible line, and right over to the only interesting thing she’s encountered the whole time she’s been trapped here.
Dennis doesn’t notice Trinity until her shadow looms over him. Blame it on the soft grass, but Trinity laughs when Dennis startles at her presence. His sunglasses, which Trinity is now close enough to see are shaped like hearts, become crooked when he jumps forward.
She crosses her arms as he looks up at her. He reminds her vaguely of a mouse caught in a glue trap.
“So.” she begins. “What’s your deal?”
He straightens his glasses. “What?”
Trinity swipes some hair away from her forehead, “I mean, why do you come out here every day at the same time?”
A blush rises to his ears, probably not caused by the sun considering Trinity’s blocking it. “Uh, have you been, um, watching me every day?”
The answer startles her, and she feels her own blush rise to her face. “What? No!”
“Well, then why–”
“You’re married, I’m not some homewrecker.”
“How do you know I’m married?”
Trinity freezes. Now she feels like she’s in a glue trap. “I mean, duh, right?”
Blue eyes stare at her from over sunglasses. His hair is curly, looks soft enough, and he’s thin and small. There’s a shiny gold ring on his finger. She hopes the obvious gets her out of the hole she randomly fell into.
“Do you know my name too?” he asks.
Trinity huffs, and juts a thumb over her shoulder where she assumes Victoria is watching the whole thing. “Look, I’m spending the summer with Shamsi alright? I’m not some stalker.”
“You just know everything about me.” he says, slowly. “And you randomly jumped me in my own backyard.”
Trinity’s hackles rise. “I did not jump you!”
“I mean, you sort of did.”
“What–” she stops herself when she notices a smile beginning to show on his face. She scowls. “Hey! I’m just trying to be friendly.”
He laughs. “Okay, I’m Dennis Whitaker, but I guess you already knew that.”
“Yeah, well.” Trinity shrugs. “There’s not much to do over there except stare out a fucking window.”
Dennis rubs the back of his neck. “I get it.”
Trinity puts a hand on her hip. “So are you, like, a regular here?”
“No.” Dennis shakes his head. “This is actually our first summer here. What about you?”
“Yeah.” Trinity looks out on his section of lake. There’s no pedal boats, just one canoe. “Mine too.”
“Do you like it?”
“I’ve hardly done anything.”
Dennis sighs. “Me either.”
Trinity turns to look at him. He’s relaxed over the course of their conversation. “So, what, do you have generational wealth or something? Are you a trust fund kid?”
“Um, no.” Dennis picks at the rubber of his lawn chair. “Not exactly.”
Trinity licks her teeth. “Then how–”
“Dennis!” a voice calls. They both twist their heads to look at a man, with grey curling hair, slowly making his way over to them. “What’s going on?”
Trinity watches as Dennis’s face shutters, all the light teasing from before disappears. He turns his back on the man’s approach. Trinity notices how he glares at the ground. “Nothing.”
“Oh?” the man smiles. He’s wearing a tight fitting wife beater, some cargo shorts, tied together with a garish looking bright blue hawaiian shirt. “Whose this then?”
“I’m Trinity Santos.” Trinity's chest rises. She can tell this is a man who clearly thinks he owns the ground he walks on and she refuses to let any man step on her. “I’m staying with Shamsi this summer. I just came to say hello, do you have a problem with that?”
Dennis looks up at her with a sparkle in his eye. The man huffs a laugh, but raises his hands in defence. “Woah, I come in peace.”
Trinity looks him up and down, clicks her tongue, but says nothing else.
“We’re just talking.” Dennis says, still most looking at the ground. “You don’t have to stand guard.”
“Dennis, you know I–” Abbot stops himself, whatever he says, lost to the wind. “It’s nice to meet you, Santos. Why don’t you use the front door next time?”
Trinity smirks. “It was faster this way.”
“I’m sure.” Abbot nods his head over her shoulder. “Shamsi junior looks like she’s wanting you back.”
Trinity turns around to find Victoria staring at them, when Trinity catches her, Victoria quickly looks away, pretending to study.
Trinity waves her hand. “Ignore her.”
“Well,” Dennis starts. “If you want to come visit again, you know, it might not be that much more fun, but if you wanted–”
Trinity breathes a genuine sigh of relief, a bit of tension falls from her shoulders. “You have no idea how much I need to do literally anything else but look at organs on paper all day.”
Dennis perks up. “You’re a Doctor?”
“In training.” Trinity brushes off, but she raises her chin with pride. “I’m hoping one day to go into surgery.”
“Wow, that’s cool.” Dennis says, admiration bleeding through his voice. “Well, if you want to study over here, I wouldn’t mind. And neither would Abbot.”
The last part is said quickly, but with firm authority. Abbot looks between them, but says nothing other than, “That’s alright with me.”
“How does tomorrow sound?” Trinity asks, trying not to sound too eager.
“That’s fine,” Dennis smiles. “I’m pretty much always available.”
*
That night, they’re eating their usual dinner of kale and beans and fish. Trinity respects Shamsi’s hindu roots, but she would kill for a burger, or at least, the freedom to go and buy one herself.
Halfway through the meal, Shamsi says, “I heard you spoke with Dennis today?”
Trinity shoots Victoria a look, but Victoria keeps her eyes on her plate.
“Yeah.” Trinity shoves something green in her mouth. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”
Shamsi hums, takes a sip of water. “Dennis is a very well-mannered young man.”
“Yeah.” Trinity chews, sarcasm bleeding through her voice. “I could learn a lot from him.”
Victoria snorts, but hides her laughter behind a napkin. Shamsi pauses, before settling her arms over the table and lacing her fingers together. “Trinity, I understand this isn’t your ideal version of a–” she pauses, and says the next words like they are strange to her, “–summer vacation, but by August, you might find that this time has done wonders for you and your practice.”
Trinity at least understands when to concede, and she is in Shamsi’s territory, after all. It’s pictures of Shamsi’s family, her awards, and statues of Shiva on the walls. Trinity is a guest, or really, a patient that Shamsi has generously chosen to oversee at home care. Trinity swallows and wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Of course, you’re right.”
Shamsi stares at Trinity a while longer, looking for a crack, a sign of weakness. Trinity is used to the stare, especially after what happened at the end of last semester, so she knows how not to let anything show. When Shamsi inevitably finds nothing, she returns to her food. “It’s not good to be distracted so early in your career, right Victoria?”
Victoria puts her hands in her lap, and nods meekly.
“That being said,” Shamsi continues, “I think Dennis would be a good influence on you Trinity.”
Trinity and Victoria’s heads both pop up.
“What?” Trinity asks.
“I think he would benefit from having a friend.” Shamsi explains. “As long as he doesn’t become a distraction, I see no reason why you shouldn’t maintain a dialogue with him.”
That Shamsi speaks about making a friend with similar language of speaking at a conference, makes Trinity almost as confused as her omniscient categorization of Dennis’s needs.
“You don’t even let me watch documentaries that aren’t about medecine.” Victoria jumps in. “How can you just–”
“Victoria.” Shamsi interrupts sharply. “This will greatly benefit Trinity’s career.”
By hanging out with some random neighbor? Trinity wants to ask, but before she can, Victoria drops her fork on her plate with so much force, Trinity thinks the plate has cracked. She stands up, and storms up to her room without a word. Trinity and Shamsi watch her go.
“Ignore her.” Shamsi says. “She’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
*
The next day brings summer thunderstorms. Victoria doesn’t leave her room. She doesn’t even come out for breakfast. Shamsi doesn’t push her, but as Trinity is getting ready for the day, she hears Shamsi mutter, “at least study” outside of her daughter's door.
Half-paranoid that Shamsi will change her mind about allowing Trinity a “play-date”, Trinity is out of bed as soon as the clock strikes eight. She eats breakfast quickly, then studies diligently through lunch, until the clock moves itself to two. By then, the rain hasn’t let up, Trinity doesn’t have to look out the window to know Dennis won’t be in his usual spot, but Trinity assumes he will at least be available. Anyway, he said he would be.
Trinity finishes off her notes, and takes a long stretch. She takes her time, before heading over to Shamsi’s office. Shamsi’s door is open, but she does not immediately notice Trinity’s arrival. Instead, she is staring at a framed photo on her desk. Victoria as a baby.
Trinity knocks on the open door, Shamsi does not jump. Instead, she calmly turns to Trinity. “Yes?”
“I’m just gonna head over to Dennis’s place, if that’s alright?”
Shamsi wipes a hand over her face. It’s so deeply uncharacteristic, Trinity can’t help but ask, “Are you alright?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.” Shamsi waves her off. “Don’t forget your study materials. Be back in time for dinner.”
Trinity would never admit it out loud, but there’s something comforting about being treated like a teenager. Even when Trinity was fifteen, sixteen, no one cared if she was at the dinner table or not.
“Sure thing.” is all Trinity says, before turning away.
“Wait.” Shamsi stops her. “Take Victoria’s raincoat. It’s the purple one hanging by the door.”
“Okay.” Trinity pauses, surprised at Shamsi’s offer. “Thanks.”
Shamsi returns to whatever work she was doing before, a clear dismissal. Trinity leaves her alone, shaking her head. Victoria’s rain coat is too small on her.
*
It takes Trinity five minutes to walk up to Dennis’s front door. It’s a slight uphill walk. She’s grateful for Javadi’s expensive raincoat that keeps most of her body dry, except for her face and socks.
Dennis’s house has a garage, there are no cars parked out in the driveway. While the Shamsi-Javadi place at least pretends to mimic a cottage, Dennis’s place doesn’t even bother. His is a four story, wooden house bordering on a mansion. Trinity imagines that the fourth floor gives a far wider look at the lake than her own room does. When she rings the doorbell, a twinkling bell echoes throughout the house like a fairy, then Tinkerbell himself appears: Dennis opens the door.
“Hi.” he says, borderline beaming. “You came!”
Dennis is wearing bright fuzzy pink socks, sweat pants, and a blue sweater that’s too big on him. The sweat just has Pitt blazed on it in bright yellow letters. He looks very dry.
“You took forever to open the door.” she says, which they both know isn’t it true. She pushes past him. “I’m fucking melting.”
As soon as she gets inside, she’s dripping puddles onto his shining wooden floors. Dennis closes the door behind her, “Do you want a towel?”
Trinity shakes herself off like a dog, spraying water droplets everywhere, especially on Dennis. She unzips the coat and throws it on the nearest hanger. “No thanks.”
To his credit, Dennis only looks a little annoyed at the sudden water on his face and says nothing. “What’s in your backpack?”
Trinity shrugs a shoulder, already looking around the place. “My medical textbooks.”
“Oh, cool!”
“Yeah…” Trinity trails off, slipping off her waterlogged sneakers. The front door opens directly into the house. Unlike the Shamsi-Javadi residence, there’s no cute entryway to brace Trinity for impact, instead it seems like she’s accidentally fallen into an Architectural Digest video, complete with the fake fruit sitting on the marbled kitchen counter. The kitchen itself is mostly white, without a single stain to be seen, a shiny silver oven (with eight burners), a dishwasher, and microwave. Not to mention an assorted assembly of kitchen equipment Trinity has never seen outside of a kitchenware ad, or a tradewife blog.
“Holy shit.” she gasps. “You said you don’t have a trust fund?”
Beyond the kitchen is a large living room, with a couch that’s probably bigger than Trinity’s whole apartment, and a television that’s about the same size as her bed. The living room carpet is a lush beige. This place doesn’t try to perform with rustic appeal, it’s minimalist, which says more about its wealth than any lake sign hanging up in Shamsi’s bedroom.
“Ah, no.” Dennis chuckles, rubbing a hand behind his neck. A nervous habit, it seems. “Just a kid from Nebraska, you know?”
Trinity manages to close her jaw before turning back to Dennis. “Jesus, I need to visit Nebraska some time.”
“Ah, it’s not really, uh, anything interesting.” Dennis looks at her feet, fidgety. “Do you want me to run your socks through the dryer?”
“Oh.” Trinity blinks. In the haze of luxury she had forgotten about her wet feet. “Yeah, thanks.”
She rips off her socks and hands them over to Dennis, who takes them without complaint. He tells her to make herself comfortable, while he pivots off to the basement, heading down the stairs directly in front of the door. Trinity takes her backpack in one hand before heading into the living room. It’s only when her bare feet touch the (extremely soft) carpet, that she notices Abbot, sitting in an armchair beside the couch. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt, the sweatshirt says Smokeshow!, which almost makes Trinity laugh. She supposes they’re having somewhat of a lazy day in, on account of the rain. For Trinity, it’s a breath of fresh air in comparison to life under Shamsi, who reprimands Trinity for wearing shorts.
Abbot is reading a copy of National Geographic. He has on a pair of old man reading glasses. When Trinity appears, he doesn’t look up from his page. “Nice of you to join us.”
“Yeah, well, if I knew what the inside of this place looked like, I might have come sooner.” Trinity takes a seat on the couch farthest from Abbot. She rests her backpack on her lap, and leans back. Yep, the couch definitely cost a million dollars. She has to stop herself from sighing in bliss.
“It is nice.” Abbot says, only half paying attention to her, still focused on his reading. “Dennis has been cleaning all day.”
Trinity snorts. “What? Too good for housekeeping.”
“Something like that.” Abbot hums. “You’re the third person to ever be in here.”
Trinity sits forward, feeling startled. “Wha–”
“Your socks should be done by the time you leave,” Dennis appears. He’s carrying a wad of green in his hand. “Here, you can borrow a pair of my socks for now.”
Dennis hands over a pair of fluffy green socks. Trinity has never been someone who likes fluffy cute things, in fact she finds the sexist stereotype insulting. Still, the socks do feel nice and warm in her hand, and when she puts them on, her feet become warm in ways she didn’t know were possible.
“Hey.” Dennis chirps. “Looks like we have the same feet.”
“Gross. What are you trying to say?”
Dennis jumps. Trinity thinks she hears Abbot snicker. “What? No–”
“Relax. I’m joking.” Trinity rubs her toes through her socks. “Thanks.”
“We can go upstairs if you like?” Dennis offers. “There’s a nice lounge area that overlooks the lake. It’s nice for reading.”
“A lounge area, Jesus.” Trinity says already standing. “Are we in Buckingham Palace?”
Dennis laughs. “Maybe. For the Poconos at least.”
“Dennis.” Abbot calls, finally looking up from his reading. “Don’t forget–”
“Yeah.” Dennis says, shortly. “I got it.”
Abbot says something else, but by then, they’re already on the second flight of stairs.
*
“So is Abbot like your sugar daddy or something?”
Trinity breaks into laughter at Dennis’s face, a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
“Hey!” she cackles. “I’m not judging.”
“No!” Dennis half-shouts. “No way, he’s erm– a friend.”
Trinity raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re friendly, huh?”
Dennis faces wrinkles, he waves his hands around like he’s batting away the thought. “No, he’s a friend of my partner.”
“Well, now I just have more questions.”
Dennis doesn’t answer her, just curls deeper into his armchair, pulling his knees close to the chest. Dennis was right, the upstairs lounge has a great view of the lake, and is great for reading, even better than Javadi’s gazebo, but reading is the last thing she wants to do right now. She’s much more interested in studying Dennis. Still, she’s not trying to push her luck, she wastes a few minutes staring out the window with him before continuing.
“You live in Pittsburgh?” Trinity asks, eyeing the yellow Pitt on his sweatshirt.
“Oh.” Dennis startles away from his thoughts. “Yeah.”
“How did you get all the way from Nebraska to Pittsburgh?”
Dennis shrugs. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Where are you from?” Dennis asks instead.
“Texas.” Trinity finds herself sneering at even the name. “That place sucks.”
“I went with Robby to Houston once.” Dennis says. “The people there were nice.”
Trinity catches the name, but tucks it away in her pocket for later use.
“Yeah, they’re nice in Texas.” Trinity mumbles, mostly to herself. “What part of Nebraska are you from?”
“Broken Bow.”
Trinity shakes her head. “Never heard of it.”
Dennis huffs a laugh. “You’re not the first.”
“So what? Did you, like, raise cows and shit?” Trinity angles it as a joke, but Dennis quickly averts his eyes. She gasps, “Oh my god! You did!”
“They were dairy cows.” Dennis mutters, picking some lint off his bright pink socks.
“You’re a farmboy!” Trinity laughs, holding her stomach. “I can’t believe this! You’re a small town kid turned sugar baby!”
“I’m not a sugar baby!” Dennis puffs.
“I’m joking.” Trinity wipes some tears from her eyes. “Jeez, you’re such a huckleberry.”
Dennis blinks. “A what?”
“Exactly.”
They drift off into silence, both staring out the window. The rain has let up, but still is heavy enough that Trinity can hear a steady rhythm as it falls on the walls. The house is somehow even quieter than Shamsi’s. Trinity can’t make out a single noise, other than the rain. She strains her ears for footsteps, Abbot making his way up, but no noise comes. This far up in the house, it almost feels like Trinity and Dennis are the only two people in the world. The feeling relaxes Trinity in a way she hasn’t felt in awhile. The green fuzzy socks feel good on her feet.
“So I guess you live in Pittsburgh too, right?” Dennis says. “That’s how you know Dr. Shamsi?”
“Yeah.” Trinity grumbles, watching rain drops race down the window. “It’s a real coincidence."
“Not really.” Dennis shrugs. “A lot of people from Pittsburgh come here, especially the Doctors. It’s a word of mouth place, I guess.”
Trinity takes her chance. “So is your Robby a Doctor too?”
A look falls over Dennis’s face that Trinity can’t decipher. His eyes go wide, his jaw a little slack, before he closes up on her. “Uh, no, he, um—just works with them a lot?”
Trinity smacks her lips. “Uh, okay? So–”
“Dr. Shamsi seems really nice.” Dennis jumps in, clearly steering her away from the mysterious Robby. She lets him get away with it. For now.
“I guess you think everyone is nice.” Trinity says, sinking further into her armchair, and throwing her feet up on the matching foot rest. “That’s a real character flaw, huckleberry.”
“I guess so.” Dennis stretches out his legs, mimicking her. “When I first moved in, she brought over some homemade curry. She told me it was good “brain food”. It was really delicious.”
“She loves brain food.” Trinity says, rolling her eyes. “Trust me, behind closed doors she’s a lot more cold blooded.”
An unwanted image of Shamsi wiping her hands down her face, staring at a picture of her baby daughter, in a half darkened office arrives in Trinity’s mind. She pushes it away.
“So, uh, how do you know her exactly?”
“She’s my advisor at Pitt Med.”
“Oh, and uh, what is that like?”
“Thrilling.” Trinity says, dry. Dennis gets the hint and drops the conversation. They sit in silence again. Some blue is starting to break through the clouds.
“You know, I get bored here, like–all the time.” Dennis says, words shaky even as they come together. “So if you ever need a break from Shamsi, or studying or whatever, you can come over here? And maybe we could go out and get burgers or something? Or get some lake time in? Or, I don’t know, we could just sit here–”
Trinity watches Dennis ramble, eyebrows raised. As he mutters about activities they could do, food they could eat, she feels a terrible feeling she hasn’t felt in years. She feels fond. It makes her want to throw up.
“Dennis.” Trinity stops him just as he starts to ramble about paint and sips. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but honestly, you’re my golden ticket out of that house. So just consider us co-conspirators for the summer. I’ll do literally anything for a burger.”
“Oh. Wow.” Dennis pops up from his chair. “So we’re like, friends, then?”
“No.” Trinity says, firm. She doesn’t need any friends. “Co-conspirators.”
Dennis smiles, like she accidentally gave something away, but Trinity holds herself too tightly to have any idea what she possibly could have let slip.
*
After another hour of mindless chatter (Dennis needs a serious education in reality television), Abbot comes knocking around reminding Dennis about some meeting, and Trinity takes it as her queue to leave. Dennis says, “See you tomorrow”, like it’s a certainty, and Trinity guesses it might as well be, seeing as how desperate she is to have an actual summer, even if it is with some sheltered sugar baby.
Her walk back to the Shamsi-Javadi residence is much dryer than the last. It’s not until she’s back in their entryway, slipping off her sneakers, that she realizes she never took off Dennis's green socks.
“Nice socks.” Victoria says from the dining room table from where she’s studying. Trinity moves around her, into the kitchen. “Those are the expensive kind that moisturize your feet.”
“Yeah. I feel baby smooth.” Trinity opens the fridge to look for a snack. She finds nothing but some sad looking bags of spinach. She makes a note to herself to look inside Dennis’s fridge when she goes back. She grabs a bottle of spring water then closes the door. Trinity takes a sip, leaning over the kitchen counter to watch Victoria as she studies. “Finally came out of your room, princess?”
“Mom has a headache.” Victoria says, not looking up. “She’s resting upstairs.”
“So the coast is clear, huh?”
Victoria keeps scribbling in her notebook, copying some text from a book called Medical Bereavement. Victoria holds herself the same way as Shamsi when she’s upset or annoyed, stiff, slightly curled shoulders, pretending that something is more important than the annoyance.
“How was Dennis’s place?” Victoria snips, underlining something in the book. “Was it a good networking opportunity?”
“Uh, I guess?” Trinity takes a long sip of the water. “He has some sort of live-in bodyguard for some reason.
Victoria snorts, it doesn’t sound kind. She mutters, “For some reason…”
Trinity feels like she’s missing something. From Shamsi being surprisingly willing to let Trinity go over there to Dennis’s strange and isolated living situation. She straightens up from behind the counter. “Do I not know something?”
“Oh, please.” Victoria says, snide, flipping a page in her book. “You’re my Mother’s next project. Aren’t you supposed to know everything?”
There’s a million ways she could reply to Victoria’s underhanded comment, but in her confusion she says nothing. When Victoria is met with silence, no biting reply, she finally looks up at Trinity. Something in Trinity’s face must give her up.
“Oh my god.” Victoria suddenly stops her writing. “You actually don’t know?”
Trinity flips her hair away from her forehead. “Know what?”
“You have no idea who Dennis is married to?”
“I do.” the words come out more defensive than Trinity wants them to. “Some rich guy who likes younger guys. Robby Whitaker or something like that.”
Victoria openly laughs in her face. “No way!”
Trinity feels herself getting steadily annoyed now. “What is it?”
“Dennis has two last names.”
“Okay?” Victoria pauses, with obvious patience for the dramatic, a patience Trinity does not currently have. “Fucking tell me! Jesus.”
“His full name is Dennis Whitaker-Robinavitch.”
Trinity feels her whole body clamp up. She shakes her head, like she misheard. “What, like–”
“Michael Robinavitch.” Victoria explains, grinning. “Like the Robinavitch wing of Pitt Memorial.”
Trinity’s body teeters forward, her hands grip the edge of the counter. “He can’t be–”
“How did you not know?” Victoria says, eyes wide with excitement, clearly happy to have something over Trinity. “I thought that’s why you were interested in him in the first place!”
“You told me he was married!” Trinity shouts, waving her arms around. Remembering Shamsi upstairs, she lowers his face. “When I asked you who that was, you just said Dennis. How am I supposed to know some random guy named Dennis is married to Pitt Med’s biggest donor?”
“Uh, because everyone knows?” Victoria rolls her eyes, very much sounding like the teenage girl she is. “It was like, a huge deal when they got married. Even Mom and Dad were talking about it. It was all over the Pittsburgh Medical social threads, twitter, instagram.”
Trinity falls forward, his face landing in her hands. She moves her hands across her face, to the sides of her head, so that her skin pulls tight across her face. “Fuck.”
“You would’ve been in your first year of med school, I think?” Victoria says. “No one told you?”
Trinity isn’t going to admit to Victoria Javadi of all people that she doesn’t have any friends. “Well, I was busy, you know, doing actual work?”
“Yeah, but, it was everywhere–”
“Is that why Shamsi sent me over there?” Trinity stands upright. She takes her hair out of its ponytail, then pulls it up again. “So I could network?”
Victoria nods her head. “Obviously.”
“What the fuck.” Trinity begins passing the length of the kitchen, from edge to the counter and back, but a thought occurs to her that stops her dead in her tracks. “Oh my god! I called him a sugar baby!”
A laugh erupts from Victoria that she quickly stops at Trinity’s harsh glare.
“I’m sure it’s fine Trinity. Dennis seems really cool, I’m sure he–”
Trinity tunes her out.
Michael Robinavitch is somewhat of a legend at Pitt Med, a certified myth. Probably the richest man in Pennsylvania, a top donor to Pitt Medical and Memorial, especially their ER, funds hundred of scholarships, and owns at least 30% of the property in the greater Pittsburgh area, from rows of townhouses to affordable housing, clinics to golf courses, probably half the clubs Trinity goes to on a regular basis…
Robinavitch was an attending at the ER, before investing in some property, and becoming a millionaire. He’s infamous for being self-made. From being an intern, an attending, then climbing his way to the top of the top. What really settles Michael Robinavitch as staple conversation in Pitt Med’s rumour mill, is his persona. He has been asked to give hundreds of lectures to the students, attend galas, dinners in his honor, all of which he has turned down. Rarely, he’ll be in the press for some visit to a clinic, or children’s ward, but for nothing more than a photo op, before he disappears back to whatever hole he hides in.
People who worked with him in the ER recall Robinavitch as a good Doctor, but with a temper, who made not just one med student cry. People mutter that he fell from grace, had a mental breakdown after an MCI, got into shady dealings with shady people. What is true, and what isn’t true, Trinity has never bothered to find out. There are things that are for certain; Michael Robinavitch is a ghost story as much as a success story. He’s a very powerful man, and Trinity Santos, like the complete dumbass that she is, just invaded the private space of said powerful man, one of the only people in the world who could kill her career before it ever got started, and called his husband huckleberry.