Chapter Text
Her eyes open to the smell of chocolate and…fish? She reaches onto the right side of the bed to find herself alone in it. This bed isn’t hers, neither is the ceiling she’s looking at right now. At her big age, she is definitely not one to performatively hang up vinyl records on her bedroom wall just above a turntable. Not that she’s not into music, but she is definitely someone who would keep such precious records in a cabinet, stored alphabetically. This day is one of the first times she has spent the night at this place. Still, it amazes her how this room alone is designed in a way that maximizes natural light and natural ventilation. The bedroom window faces east and as if to filter out the Pittsburgh pollution, small plants are situated on its sill.
It takes her a few moments to realize a song is playing from the living room. After she uses the bathroom, she opens the dresser to pick out a maroon oversized t-shirt that has been altered into a crop top. LABAN UP, it says in some sort of a varsity font with a fist symbol.
She walks out of the bedroom to find a pale woman in a white tank top and shorts, with her hair tied up in a ponytail, singing along to the song that is playing and dancing while cooking in the kitchen. Wow, she could be a singer.
“Nahihilo
Nalilito
Asa’n ba ‘ko sa’yo
Aasa ba ‘ko sa’yo”
She looks at the TV, with the title and album cover flashed on screen: Migraine by Moonstar88. “What language is that?” she asks.
“Tagalog, Dr. Garcia,” the woman replies as she turns away from the stove slightly to face her.
Garcia sits down on the dining chair with her legs folded and facing this goddess of a woman cooking. “What did I say about names, Trinity?”
“Given names outside of work,” Trinity says with a sarcastic eye roll. Upon Garcia’s glare, she folds, “...Yolanda.”
“Good.” Yolanda takes a peek of what Trinity is cooking from where she is sitting. “What’re you cooking, Chef Trinity?”
A grin breaks out and appears on Trinity’s face that it can be seen from the dining area. It is also visible that she is suppressing it when she replies, “Champorado.”
“Like champurrado?”
“Oh, you have this in Latin America, too, huh?”
“Wha–no. Champurrado means mixed.”
Trinity taps the ladle on the pot and pours some champorado into three bowls. She approaches the dining table carrying a tray with the three bowls on it, a small plate containing some type of fish, and a can of evaporated milk. She tears some of the fish and sprinkles it on top of one of the bowls, then drizzles the milk. She mixes the bowl, scoops, and blows the heat off as much as she can. “Say ‘ah’,” she commands Yolanda to open her mouth and the older woman complies. She feeds her the scoop.
Yolanda’s eyes glow as her mouth rejoices in the fusion of sweetness and saltiness and sweetness again of this chocolate-y dish. “Chocolate…rice…with fish…and milk. Never thought I’d eat something like this.”
“You like it?”
“Yeah.” Yolanda opens her mouth again for Trinity to feed her another scoop. “Is this a Filipino dish?”
“Yeah. One of my favorites from back home.” Trinity shoots a look at Yolanda’s shirt before she turns around to grab the coffee pot. “Nice shirt.”
“Did you alter this or is it really like this?” Yolanda asks, pointing at the blunt cuts on the bottom edge of the shirt.
Trinity just ignores the question and continues on dancing along to the song playing. Without warning, while pouring coffee, Trinity belts out the song again as the chorus plays, “Nahihilo, nalilito, asa’n ba ‘ko sa’yo? Aasa ba ‘ko sa’yo?”
Yolanda is enjoying this too much. The stereotype is true: Filipinos do sing very well. She feeds herself another scoop of champorado. Another stereotype is true: Filipinos do cook very well. This fishy chocolate monstrosity is heaven. “Care to translate what you’re singing, rockstar?”
Trinity bends down, making sure her eyes meet Yolanda’s, and says, “Secret.” There it is. Her Filipino accent slips. The ‘r’ is a little too rough and the ‘e’ meets the ‘t’ sharply.
Yolanda has always thought her native accent is cute, even cuter when she knows that she is not even trying to hide it. It really just slips from time to time and she lets it. The coffee smells so good from her mouth though. As if she can drink it from her mouth, Yolanda pulls Trinity and locks her in a kiss. She straightens Trinity up and plants kisses down to her neck, and her clothed chest and belly in the process. No, wait. Kissing is not enough. Yolanda needs to be under her skin so she lifts up the tank top slightly and lets her head be hugged by the cotton as she kisses as much skin as she can.
“HAPPY BIRTHDA–OK! I’ll come back out when you two are done fornicating in our kitchen,” Dennis declares as he walks out of his room and retreats back into it upon seeing Yolanda as if she was being birthed by Trinity.
Yolanda exits the tank top, rests her chin on Trinity’s clothed belly and looks up. “Happy birthday. You should’ve told me.”
“And make you realize you’re a 37-year-old fucking a 27-year-old?” Trinity teases. She’s an excellent ragebaiter.
“I’m thirty-six!”
“Not until January.” Trinity feeds Yolanda another spoonful of champorado.
Yolanda rolls her eyes both at Trinity and how good the breakfast is. “What gift do you want?”
Trinity grins. Even though they have only been fucking each other’s brains out for nearly two months, Yolanda is all too familiar with that grin–the horny grin. Which means– “Boobies,” Trinity says with a cheeky, high-pitched voice.
Yolanda rolls her eyes once more but lets herself be dragged to the master bedroom. “You can eat now, Farm Boy!” She yells as she lets Trinity leave gentle marks on her neck. The door closes and they almost wrestle on the bed. She can hear the music from the living room get louder–something she has noticed Dennis has been doing every time she and Trinity get loud in the bedroom.
–
They drive to work in Yolanda’s Porsche 911 Cabriolet, with Yolanda driving and Trinity in control of the music. During the first month of them hooking up, they rode in silence and had some small talks. The second month, Yolanda gave Trinity access to the infotainment system to play music, with the younger woman still being cautious with what she played. Today is different. Trinity plays the same playlist that was playing this morning in the apartment. Her Filipino playlist. Most songs actually sound pleasant, while some sound very…fuck boy-ish, like the one playing right now.
Yolanda glances at the screen to see the title: SUBOMOTO - Hev Abi Remix by Zae. She then looks back at the road for a good few sentences before glancing at Trinity, who is rapping her heart out. Terribly. Yolanda does not speak any Tagalog, well aside from ‘salamat’, but she knows Trinity sounds terrible right now. From what she is hearing, she is better off as a singer. Her diction is slippery, her American accent slips from time to time, and her hands are too jazzy.
“You don’t look like someone who listens to rap music,” Yolanda says with a split second glance at Trinity, trying to keep her eyes on the road.
“I look like a stereotypical Cavite tombits, Garcia, what did you think?” Trinity replies before going back to rapping.
“OK, translate that.”
“Cavite is where I’m from. Tombits is…well…it’s flexible. Mostly lesbian, sometimes butch, masc, tomboy,” Trinity sneaks her reply again before continuing on rapping.
“Is that near Las Piñas?”
Trinity pauses rapping now. She looks at Yolanda and she can see her from her peripheral vision. “It’s neighboring Las Piñas. How do you know that place?”
“Princess is from Las Piñas.”
“Oh, yeah. But like, that’s about an hour away where I’m from. I’m from General Trias–GenTri. Less polluted, soon to be even more polluted probably, with all the malls and highways they’re building. God, I miss trees.”
This is new. Over the past two months, Trinity has slowly let her walls down that she’s now giving Yolanda complete answers with supporting information, unlike back then when she would give filtered and cautious answers.
“I just realized you’ve only ever told me about how you’re half-Filipina, you’re from Cavite, and that you’re 27. I don’t know much else about you.”
Trinity grins the same grin she made earlier that morning. Yolanda can feel the grin without even looking at her. She knows her answer is going to be dirty already. “You know what I taste like.”
“I may not be speaking but I am back here! I just left my headphones at home,” Dennis complains from the backseat, the very tight backseat, but he fits almost perfectly as he is sitting behind Trinity, who is surprisingly kind enough to position her seat as far away forward as humanly possible to allow him to fit in.
“My place later? I’ll buy some takeouts,” Yolanda suggests. “For the birthday girl.”
“Oh, thank God. Peace!” Dennis says, covering his eyes as the two women kiss.
They break apart just in time as the lights turn green.
–
Before lunch, Yolanda’s phone buzzes in her pocket. For the past few months, her family has been urging her to settle down soon, trying to set her up with their friends and coworkers, some of whom she has actually dated or hooked up with in the past but has not told her family about. Hoping this buzz is different, she takes out her phone and…it is.
Trinity
come down here
we have lunch
princess made us lumpia and pancit
theyre spring rolls and noodles btw
if ur not familiar
Yolanda
pick me up by the elevator
Right when the elevator doors open, the young doctor greets her. “Doctor Garcia.”
“Doctor Santos,” she greets back. They have promised each other to remain professional at work. No nicknames, not even given names. Just Doctor Garcia and Doctor Santos. No words to give away what they have been doing when they are out of their scrubs. Their actions, however, speak their own language. Trinity has always acted like a gentlewoman around Yolanda since they started hooking up and Yolanda just lets her. She would hold the door for her, pull a chair for her, and even fix her bun when it loosens.
“Doctor Garcia! Have some lumpia,” Princess almost shoves the tray of lumpia towards her.
She grabs one and takes a bite. The glow in her eyes lightens up the room. It’s crunchy and savory. Trinity grabs a cup filled with sauce and gestures for her to dip a piece so she does. She glows even more. Crunchy, savory, and sweet.
“What’s the occasion?” Yolanda nonchalantly asks but it is obvious already that she is enjoying the lumpia as she grabs another piece.
“It’s Santos’ birthday,” Perlah replies, shaking Trinity’s shoulder a little.
Playing dumb and trying to keep their cover, Yolanda says, “Well, happy birthday, Doctor Santos.” She cannot take it anymore. She has to know. “Princess, what is in this? This is amazing!”
“Ground pork, onions, garlic, and carrots,” Princess replies, with her mouth still slightly full of lumpia.
“Come sit,” Trinity invites as she pulls a chair for Yolanda, who is still indulging the savory treat.
The two nurses give each other a knowing look, as if they are exchanging information telepathically. Trinity notices this, decides to ignore it, and proceeds to serve herself and Yolanda some pancit malabon.
–
Later that day, the two doctors leave together and decide to just eat at a Japanese restaurant. Yolanda insisted they dine in instead of ordering takeouts since it is Trinity’s birthday and the restaurant has a birthday discount and free cake. They head to Yolanda’s apartment to eat the cake…off of each other. After about an hour of practically eating each other, they find themselves showering together and continuing things there. After another round, Yolanda exits the stall and brushes her teeth. She hears some knocking from inside her walls but ignores them as she has been hearing them for days. She then exits the bathroom to get dressed in her nightgown–something she has not worn in a while as she has been sleeping naked for a few days straight. Not long after she settles in her bed, she hears a thunk.
“ARAY!” Trinity exclaims from the bathroom.
“Trinity?” Yolanda rushes to the bathroom to find Trinity sitting on the floor, holding her left cheek while her faucet is exploding with water. “Hey, cariño, what happened?” She bends down and gently slides Trinity’s hand away from her cheek to find a red mark that is now starting to swell and bleed.
“Your faucet exploded,” Trinity states the obvious.
“Let’s get you out, OK?” Yolanda helps Trinity up and into the kitchen. She takes out a first aid kit and readies some cotton balls and betadine. She takes one more look into the injury and–yup, that is going to need some stitches.
–
They rush to the ED at the insistence of Yolanda and the resistance of Trinity, who kept saying they can just suture at home.
“I didn’t take you for an abusive girlfriend, Garcia,” Parker Ellis teasingly remarks as they enter the ED that night.
“We’re not girlfriends!” the two not-girlfriends insist at the same time.
After Ellis treats Trinity, she goes to process her records, leaving the two alone.
“You can crash at my place while it gets fixed,” Trinity suggests, holding the ice pack to her cheek. “You’ve been practically living there anyways.”
“That’s really your thing, huh?”
“What?”
“Adopting people into your home.”
Trinity releases a shy smile which then stings her cheek. “Aray.” She then switches turns with her hands on holding the ice pack since her left hand was getting tired. Yolanda then takes the ice pack and holds it herself against the bruised cheek. This is the first time she’s seen the stoic doctor be caring for non-patients. She wants to tease her about it but–
“Blink twice if you need help, Santos,” Emery Walsh says as she peeks into the room.
Yolanda just flips her off without looking at her and keeping her eyes fixed on Trinity, who blinks once.
–
Yolanda wakes up in the same bedroom as yesterday. She reaches out her right arm and finds that she is not alone in this bed. Trinity sleeps soundly right beside her, facing her, fully clothed–a rare view. She’s really pretty, Yolanda thinks. Her skin perfectly contrasts her dark hair. The stitches on her cheek do not even ruin it. If anything, they enhance her appearance. Badass. Suddenly, loud funky music plays from the living room, waking Trinity up. Yolanda opens the door and leans on the doorway to find Dennis dancing with a broom in his hand. It’s not the usual broom one sees. It’s fluffy, made of tiger grass, and its handle is wrapped with plastic straw with a weave pattern and a lettering that says ‘BAGUIO CITY’. This broom seems to be convenient for him when cleaning as it is lightweight, which means he can easily dance around while cleaning.
“Nice moves, White Chocolate!” Yolanda teases.
Dennis startles and is reduced to a shy mouse boy. “What are you doing here, Doctor Garcia?!”
A hand slithers on Yolanda’s waist. “A pipe burst in her apartment. She’ll be staying here for a while,” Trinity says as she rests her chin on Yolanda’s shoulder.
“Perfect,” Dennis flatly says. Yolanda’s actually a good cook and often brings takeouts when she comes over. She’s also the initiator of the Santos-Whitaker household movie nights. He just doesn’t like it when he’s trying to enjoy the movie and the two women are making out thinking he can’t see them in the darkness. What he can see right now are the stitches over a bruise on Trinity’s face. His annoyed expression immediately turns to a concerned one. “What happened to your face?”
“Pipe, woosh, faucet knob, thunk,” Trinity summarizes as she points to her stitches.
–
Days later, Yolanda and Trinity come home from a grocery trip. The scar on Trinity’s cheek is now slowly starting to heal, while other…injuries–intentional bruises–are still fresh and never fail to be replaced by new ones. As Trinity unloads the grocery, Yolanda starts cooking. It smells so good that the aroma floats under Dennis’ door and into his nose. He goes to check what she’s cooking but is still too shy to initiate a conversation with the scary surgeon and she can feel this.
“Valenciana,” Yolanda says, pronouncing it as ‘valen-see-ah-na’.
“Valenciana,” Trinity corrects, pronouncing it as ‘valen-sha-na’. “We’re doing my version, OK? The GenTri way.” She takes out a jar of chili peppers from the fridge. “I hope you like spicy food, Huckleberry.”
Yolanda freezes and turns to Trinity. “This is supposed to be spicy?” She takes the index card containing the recipe and reads it.
“Yeah, why?”
“Nothing. I can just make a non-spicy portion,” Yolanda says.
“No, it’s OK Dr. Garcia, I can handle spice,” Dennis insists. His tone sounds genuine. Yolanda is doomed.
“No, I can make a separate batch. It’s fine,” the scary surgeon pushes, now losing her scariness. Trinity sees through this and so does Dennis. The Doctor Yolanda Esmeralda Garcia cannot handle spicy food. Ironic.
Trinity takes the chili peppers she had just put on the counter into the fridge’s vegetable drawer. “It’s OK. It’s really not supposed to be spicy. It’s just my personal preference.” Yolanda gives Trinity a look. Thank you, as it appears to be. “I thought you liked spicy? You said that when I told you I’m a Scorpio.”
“Well, you’re the only spicy my tongue can handle,” Yolanda swiftly delivers.
Trinity elbows Yolanda but her own face has already turned as red as a chili pepper. “‘Te, naman! Calm deown!”
“Just call me when the food is ready. My eyes and ears aren’t really in the mood to witness this,” Dennis says as he walks back into his room.
Trinity turns the TV on and opens Spotify to her OPM playlist. She shuffles the playlist and the first song is Tahanan by Adie. As usual, Trinity sings along effortlessly.
“Sa’yo lang, sa’yo lang ako uuwi
Kaya naman
Dito ka sa piling ko
Oh, dito ka lang, dito ka lang
Bumabagal ang ikot ng mundo
Kapag ika’y nariyan,
Oh, aking tahanan”
Trinity goes back to the kitchen to help Yolanda cook, mostly singing along to each song that plays. Yolanda actually enjoys this. Trinity’s diverse music taste also proves her wide vocal range and ability.
A little while later the valenciana is served. Trinity snaps some pictures of it while Yolanda and Dennis wait for her to finish.
“You know, in most cultures people pray before eating,” Yolanda says.
Trinity doesn’t take her eyes off the phone while she’s typing. “We got the Last Supper up there already,” she says as she vaguely gestures at the painting. It’s a staple in a Filipino household to have the Last Supper in the dining room and it’s ironic and funny for an agnostic like Trinity to follow suit.
Just as they are about to take their first bites, Trinity’s phone rings. The name ‘Chito’ flashes on her screen. She answers it.
“You have to cook me some when you fly home for Christmas!” Chito says on the other side of the line, implying Trinity had sent him a picture of the dish.
“Hi, kiddo!” Whitaker waves at the camera upon it being pointed at him.
“Hi, Kuya Berry!”
Trinity turns the camera to Yolanda. “This is our chef for tonight. This is Yolanda.”
“Hi!” Chito greets as Yolanda waves at the camera. “OK, kanino siya? Sa’yo o kay Kuya?” Chito boldly asks as the camera points back at Trinity.
“Gago! Naka-speaker ka!”
“Bakit, nakakaintindi ba sila?"
They start to talk loudly and aggressively as the conversation goes on, making the Tagalog sound like gibberish to both Yolanda and Dennis. Dennis does not seem to mind though. He is obviously used to it and he’s really enjoying the valenciana.
"Bahala ka d’yan, kupal!” Trinity rolls her eyes looking like she’s regretting ever answering the phone right on the dinner table. Yolanda looks at her with heart eyes. This aggressive girl is hers. She does not understand Tagalog yet but it sounds like a lovely language to her, even though she is very sure that she just cussed whoever it is on the other side of the line.
“Aw, I love you too, Ate.”
The call ends.
“Sorry, that was my brother,” Trinity says as she puts her phone down on the table and continues eating.
Yolanda smiles at her. That was obvious, she thinks. “I figured.”
–
Hours later, after catching their breaths in bed and their souls returning back to their bodies, Trinity stands up to get dressed and goes to the bathroom to pee and brush her teeth. Yolanda has always complained about Trinity’s nightly routine being so complicated so she uses Dennis’ bathroom for her own nightly routine.
“Oh, finally my ears are saved!” Dennis breathes a sigh of relief upon opening his bedroom door for Yolanda.
“You live here for free, Farm Boy, deal with it.” Yolanda hits back as she skips to the ensuite bathroom. “At least I’m somehow paying my portion of the rent.”
“And I’m paying with my ears for your payment!” Yolanda just stares with daggers at him, which scares Dennis just a little bit. “Doctor.”
She grins and turns to the counter to find her toothbrush wet and Dennis’ toothbrush dryer than the Sahara which means one thing: Mouse Boy used her toothbrush, turning her grin upside down. “Oh, you little shit!”
By the time Yolanda returns to her bedroom, Trinity still isn’t done with her skincare.
“You haven’t told me about your siblings,” Trinity says as she emerges out of the bathroom and back onto the bed. Trinity must have heard her argue with Dennis, considering how thin the walls are.
Yolanda rolls to face Trinity, “What do you want to know?”
“How many there are. Uh–,” Tagalog is taking over Trinity’s mind. She can’t translate it.
“Trin? You blanked out.”
“Sorry, I’m translating. Pang-ilan ka?” Trinity takes a beat to translate as clearly as she can. “OK, the closest I got is: Are you the oldest or the youngest? List them down?”
“Oh, you mean birth order.” Trinity wiggles her eyebrows in agreement. “I’m the oldest. Then it’s Enrique, then it’s Tomás.”
“Ate Yolanda. Ate Yoli.” Trinity practices in a sing-song tune, slightly teasingly.
“What does that mean?”
“Older sister.”
Yolanda raises her eyebrows in confusion. She’s heard that before. “You call Princess and Perlah that.”
“It’s just a respectful way to address older women in a friendly manner. But usually it’s for older sisters or older female cousins.”
The sleepy Yolanda mouths an inaudible oh. “Is it the same as ‘Te’?”
“Yep. Ate, ‘te. Atsi. Same thing. Term of endearment.”
Yolanda’s heart sinks. Her sleepiness has now passed to Trinity as the younger doctor is quickly taken by sleep.
Ate. ‘Te. Sisterly. Friendly. Trinity has called her that a few times during the most random conversations. It is unclear as of now but that sounds like they are simply friends with benefits. They are, but Yolanda just cannot understand why she is not OK with that deep inside. She is a busy woman. This is perfect already. Somehow being called something friendly–sisterly even by someone she has not been doing the friendliest things with especially in their mother tongue pierces her stone cold heart.