Chapter Text
Part 1
Dennis struggles to balance all his items as he rushes through the campus library. It's already past 9 PM when he finishes studying and remembers he needs to borrow a book for class. Well, needs is a strong word—Dennis wants to. Next week, a guest lecturer will discuss spotting abuse in emergency medicine, and Dennis wants to get ahead by reading the book their professor mentioned. So there he is, ill-fitted backpack bouncing on his back, arms overflowing with his jacket, thermos cup, and open laptop—the book cover displayed on the screen. Each item is just a slip away from crashing to the floor.
He gives the old lady at the desk a nod, which she warmly returns. Dennis is sure she doesn't actually remember him, despite greeting her almost every day. His thoughts halt when he reaches the shelf he needs. Looking around, he realizes very few people are left in the library, he can only see one other man inspecting the same bookshelf Dennis is about to scour. Glancing at his cellphone balanced between his thumb and middle finger, Dennis sees it's already 9:30 PM. Given that it's Friday, the library closes at 10.
Cursing under his breath, he starts his search. With each wrong title, he moves further down the line, suddenly aware of his growing proximity to the man squatting only a few feet away. Shuffling occasionally, making small jumps to realign the stuff in his arms, he moves closer. His eyes wander quickly across the shelves but come up empty. Dennis takes a second to look at the other patron, who has by now settled with a book right where he was squatting. The man looks to be older, maybe in his early fifties, with short hair and a neat beard. His prominent sculpted face, reminds Dennis of a Greek marble statue. Letting his hands slowly caress the pages, the man seems absorbed. Dennis feels his own eyes wander up those arms slowly. The patron has his sweater on the ground by his feet, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up over his forearms. Dennis forcibly blinks, internally damning all the late nights he spent studying for his lack of focus. By now, almost hovering over the man, he drags his eyes back to the book the gentleman is reading. Letting a breath escape, he gasps, "That's the one—" Dennis is bent over, looking at the red book in the other man's hands when he feels a sudden shift in his arms.
A sudden echo cuts through the silent library. Dennis's thermos cup hits the floor, the lid slowly rolling away. Coffee that had gone cold hours ago spilled over him, his laptop, and the man's shoulder.
The man, suddenly aware and startled by Dennis's presence, springs to his feet. Taking in what just happened, his mouth swings open, but before he can utter a word, the student's horrified yelp interrupts him.
"Shit, shit! I am so sorry, sir—" The boy's eyes dart between the man's shoulder and his own laptop. Acting purely on instinct, Dennis shoves his jacket into the older man's hands and starts aggressively shaking his laptop upside down, panic seeping into his voice as coffee seeps into the keys. Using the sleeve of his shirt, he tries to salvage it.
Dennis's head overflows with dread, praying to a God he's no longer sure is listening, he hopes his laptop won't see the pearly gates today. He wouldn't be able to afford that. Completely forgetting the other man for a moment, Dennis is dragged back to reality when he sees shifting movement in the corner of his eye. Looking up, he meets the stranger's gaze. Dennis notices a few stray graying hairs in the man's beard, painting him into a silver fox. Within milliseconds, his panic is replaced with overwhelming embarrassment, he looks down at the jacket the man is politely holding, and feels his face run red, turning oddly purple. Ears burning hot. Muttering more apologies, Dennis shoves his laptop under his armpit and reaches out to grab the contents of the stranger's hands. Barely aware of his surroundings, Dennis’s eyes focus on the route of his escape—stumbling over his own feet, he rushes past the librarian's desk and out of the library, the September air still warm despite the late hour.
When the man comes to from the rush of feelings, he's sitting on a locker room bench at his university's gym, his jacket and a red book in his hands. The book he grabbed in a frenzy from the other man's hands before running away. Letting his head sink deeper, Dennis wishes he could fall through the floor.
Dennis winces at his growling stomach. He takes a sip from a paper cup, the burned coffee sitting at a safe distance from his laptop. It might be disgusting, but at least it’s free. He can't help but feel deep, lingering regret at not getting his thermos back—it was a really good one.
When he went back to the library Saturday morning—to actually register the book he'd run out with—the sweet librarian told him they hadn't found any stray cups. On his way out, Dennis couldn't help but notice new signs prohibiting the consumption of drinks outside of designated areas. Now, he's sitting Monday morning in his lecture hall, cold coffee courting his stomach. A steady stream of students shuffles into the space, the noise of their chattering becomes so distracting that Dennis decides to close the book he’s reading. The cover reads "The Art of Noticing—What Separates a Good Physician from a Brilliant Doctor, by Montgomery Adamson." The author’s face plastered over the hardcover. Dennis had almost read the book cover to cover over the weekend; having now only one chapter left. He reasoned he'd be able to finish it during his walk from the lecture building to the library.
As the professor settles in front of the students, she clears her throat. The chattering quickly dies down, all the students' attention lock on her. With a bright smile, she starts her introduction.
"Students, I'd like you to meet Doctor Michael Robinavitch. A great friend of mine and the Attending of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center's ER. As we're on the topic of a doctor's role in reporting abuse and the importance of really seeing beyond what our patients tell us, I thought it only right to invite the man who himself is in the eye of the hurricane. Please give him a warm welcome!" Professor Prasad smiles as she takes a step back, letting a man in his fifties take center stage.
Dennis had always sat in the same spot for all his lectures—Professor Prasad's class was no exception. But now the first-row seat feels like a burning skillet. Dennis sits like a fly caught in a trap, unable to put more distance between himself and the spider.
"Everybody calls me Doctor Robby." The regretfully familiar man smiles, as he lets his eyes wander across the sea of new faces. Dennis is sure he sees Robby do a small double-take when their eyes meet, but he swallows hard, pretending it's all in his imagination.
"I can see that some students have already taken the time to read my… mentor's book. Montgomery Adamson." The name lingers on Robby's tongue. "He was a great man, and a big reason why I now come out to hold these lectures." To further his legacy, pass his torch to the new generations. The latter goes unsaid.
The lecture is very interesting, and Dennis recognizes several of the cases Doctor Robby mentions from Doctor Adamson's book. By the time the lecture ends, Dennis has almost forgotten his embarrassment and is fully devoted to scribbling down notes. The two hours fly by in an instant. Now after the class’s end, no longer shielded by the invisible wall that the lecture content provided, Dennis hurries to gather his things—hoping he can slip out before Robby catches him. It proves almost easy, as med students are notorious overachievers, and several of his classmates stall the doctor with questions.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the younger man steps out of the building. The time on his phone reads 11 AM, and Dennis wonders where he should spend his time before his 12 o'clock class. As he's about to step in the direction of the library, a jolt shoots through his body. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-a—" a familiar voice sounds. Two hands land firmly on Dennis's shoulders, naturally spinning the boy around, landing him face-to-face with Michael Robinavitch.
"Hi." Robby smiles. Dennis notices the pronounced crow's feet around the doctor's eyes. "Hi," Dennis replies in a half whisper, the voice getting stuck in his throat.
Robby crosses his arms across his chest as he rolls his shoulders. His stature relaxed and carefree, Dennis feels the opposite, he finds himself scratching at his cuticles.
"How'd you find the lecture?"
"It was really, r-really good!" Dennis tries to sound confident, but the words tie a noose of his tongue. His eyes scan the man in front of him. Of course, Robby's wearing a different shirt, unstained by Dennis’s shame. The doctor nods.
“Glad to see your laptop is okay.” Heat travels up Dennis's neck like an allergic reaction to the man’s words.
"Doctor Robinavitch, I am so—so sorry about your shirt. And the book, and… just everything." He mentally counts the cash he has in his pocket, wondering how much dry cleaning would cost. "I should pay for the cleaning, I—" Frankly, Dennis doesn't know what he wants to say.
"Robby, please." The doctor smiles again, and Dennis struggles to read Robby’s expression—his intentions quite unclear. For someone who's about to press a student for money he seems rather calm and carefree. "I was just going to ask you to point me in the direction of the cafeteria. Have you eaten lunch yet?" Robby lies. In all honesty, he wasn't sure why he stopped Dennis. He hadn't felt any resentment for the coffee on his shirt, but seeing the kid trying so desperately to melt into his seat and turn invisible every time Robby looked at him through the lecture tickled the man's curiosity. He suddenly remembered, "Right, your cup—" But Dennis is already speaking.
"Yes, no, I mean yes, I'll show you. And yeah, I've had lunch. If you go to that building," Dennis hurriedly points, "you'll see a big sign, and the cafeteria is right around the corner. You won't miss it!" As Dennis says the last words, he's already stepping away from the older man, putting distance between them. He shoots a quick smile as he turns away, breaking into a light jog. Before he even knows it, Dennis is at the library. The heat on his shoulders is still lingering.
The rest of the school day passes quickly. After killing some time studying at the library, Dennis downs a few granola bars for lunch while walking to his next class. Washing it down with half a bottle of Gatorade he saved from yesterday. After his last class, Dennis strolls down to the bus station. Checking his phone occasionally, he boards the bus as he’d done a million times before. Getting shoved by a mass of other students, he finds himself at the back, standing pressed between other commuters. Swaying methodically between the bodies, Dennis studies flash cards on his phone. Once a seat is offered, he quickly sinks down, knowing the road ahead of him is long. Opening his laptop in his lap, he reads and reorganizes his notes from today’s lectures, deep in his thoughts, he suddenly gets pulled out by a baby’s cry. A tired mother with a disheveled look is rocking her infant back and forth. The bus had gotten a bit emptier since earlier, but other passengers were still pressing against her. Slightly pushing the woman at every bump and every turn. The baby’s cry cuts through the packed and loud bus, drawing dragged-out sighs from other commuters and complaints from teenagers. Further casting shame on the mother.
“Excuse me?” Dennis waves to her, and he can see the woman tensing up. Already looking for an excuse to give. “Would you like my seat?” The man is already standing up as the words leave his mouth, but not moving any closer in fear of somebody else snatching it the moment he heads towards the mother. She visibly relaxes, tugging her hair behind her ear, and hurries over on unsteady feet.
“Thank you, young man.” She smiles, the movement reaching her eyes. He shoves his laptop back into his bag and stands awkwardly beside her. He didn’t expect her to, but she continues, “I’m taking Billy to Pittsburgh Trauma’s emergency room.. He hasn’t stopped crying since yesterday.” Dennis can feel her worry, yet he’s unsure how to respond. He says the first thing that comes to mind, and hopes that it’s enough. “PTMC Emergency department has fantastic doctors, I’m sure your son will be in great hands.” He thinks of Robby and the other doctors shuffling around, checking the baby’s vitals, ordering tests, and comforting the mother. Sometimes he wants somebody to comfort him.
Walking up to a tall apartment complex, Dennis quickly taps in the door passcode. Using the elevator, he reaches his floor. He knocks on a door, the pattern of his knock resembling a secret code.
“Mr. Dennis?” A high-pitched voice reaches through the door. “The one and only,” he replies.
The door swings open, and a little boy peeks out, a grin plastered across his face. He looks to be about 9 years old.
“You remembered the code!” The kid runs back in, leaving the door wide open for the med student to walk through. Climbing out of his shoes, Dennis aligns them neatly by the door. He follows the kid into the kitchen, setting down his backpack on one of the chairs. The clock on the wall reads 4 PM.
“How else would I get in?” Dennis asks, playing up his surprise, earning a giggle from the kid. “Alright, Harrison, how about you show me your spelling tests since last week?” The smile on Harrison’s face gets replaced by a deep frown, not elated that Dennis actually plans to do his job.
After a bit back and forth, they settle down huddled over the kitchen table. For the next three hours, they practice spelling, solve math problems, and complete Harrison’s homework. To keep the kids’ attention, Dennis creates games out of the workload. By 7:30 PM, the two hear a click at the front door, and the kid shoots up from his seat. “Mommy!” He yells as he jumps into a woman’s arms, replacing the grocery bags she drops to catch him. She spins him around once before setting him down. With a cheeky smile, she glances between the two boys, “You haven’t given Mr. Whitaker any trouble now, have you?” The boy dramatically denies such accusations before running back to his room, clearly done for the day. Dennis bends down to grab the bags and carries them to the kitchen. “Whitaker, you are a godsend! I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” The mother laughs. Earlier that morning, she’d texted Dennis asking if he could come already at 4 instead of their usual time; she had been called in to work on her day off. “It was no problem at all, your son is always a joy to tutor. His grades have improved significantly, too.”
The woman smiles warmly, “It’s all thanks to you.”
They unpack the bags before Dennis goes to grab his backpack, already checking the bus schedule on his phone. “You’re not staying for dinner?” She asks, almost offended that he thought to leave so soon. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose, Mrs. Ashcroft.” Bag in hand, Dennis smiles politely. Only to be met with a frown.
“It’s Miss McKay now.” He raises his eyebrows slightly, but not enough to show his surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, he was a dick.” McKay laughs bitterly, stealing a glance towards her son’s room. Her head snaps back to Dennis, demeanor changing entirely. “And how dare you say you’re imposing! I’ll take offense.” The woman’s gaze softens, “It’s your tip for babysitting. You’re not allowed to refuse.”
“I wasn’t babysitting! Harrison was working hard with his studies.”
“Yeah, I’m sure his ABCs were grueling,” She rolls her eyes. Sensing Dennis’s wariness, “I won’t feed you my cooking, I promise. It’s from a diner down the street.” Cassie laughs.
Dennis knows that Cassie means well, so for her comfort, he stays. Not for the gnawing hunger that is eating through his stomach like acid. After dinner, he helps to clean up, and Cassie sees him to the door. She hands him an envelope, and he quickly takes a look inside. It’s a habit, rather than distrust. He stops in his tracks and looks up at the woman.
“This is way too much!” She shrugs as a response, adding, “And you stayed here for… almost 4 hours more than usual. I’m just paying you for your time.” Dennis feels bad; he knows she’s a single mother now, and paying him 20 bucks an hour.
“You’re a good mother, Ms. McKay.”
“And a damn good client. So don’t you dare go cold on us when you’re thinking of quitting tutoring.” She smiles at him, more words stuck on her tongue that Dennis doesn’t want to hear. She settles for another half joke, “and you’re the cheapest babysitter in Pittsburgh, so you’re a treasure for a woman like me.”
They say their goodbyes, and Dennis leaves, catching the now nearly empty bus back to the University of Pittsburgh. Instead of entering the campus premises, Dennis crosses the street and walks to a nearby PC cafe, the neon sign above the entrance reads PC BANG with a tacky explosion in the background. They are the only place that are open 24/7 around here and are quite popular with students trying to blow off some steam, from all the school pressure. Paying with his newly earned cash for 6 hours, Dennis settles at a computer in the furthest corner of the saloon. Setting an alarm at 5 am and dragging his hoodie tighter over his body, Dennis settles for the night.
The library smells of old books and coffee, with a hint of student burnout. The space—filled with the sound of pen against paper and constant keyboard tapping. Dennis scribbles rigorously in his notebook next to a drawing of a heart. His eye twitches when he thinks Harrison could probably draw a better one, but that's why Dennis is in med school and not arts. In front of him sits an empty paper cup—the library's coffee machine leagues ahead of the shitty self-serve mud water in the lecture buildings. But Dennis still drinks it.
He jumps when someone places a metal thermos cup in front of him, dragging him from his focused state. It takes a moment to process: the cup looks like his old one—no, is his old one. And a hand holding it, belonging to... Dennis's eyes wander up the arm, the shoulder, neck, and finally the face of Michael Robinavitch.
"Doctor Robby!" Dennis's heart skips a beat.
"I thought I'd find you here." The older man gives him a tight-lipped smile, nodding to the seat across from Dennis.
"Yeah, it's free." The student chirps. Nodding like he expected the reply, Robby takes a seat. "You were looking for me?" Dennis looks at Robby over his laptop screen.
"Yeah, uh." Robby nods to the cup. "You sort of bailed on me before I could bring it up yesterday. Didn't expect to run into you in class, so I left it at home. But I had to come through here anyway, so I decided to take a chance to see if you'd be—" Robby waves his hand, gesturing at the library.
"Yes, the library..." Dennis blinks a few times, his mind running empty on what to say. "Again, I'm really sorry about the shirt." He feels his eye twitch again, and Dennis wonders if the heart he drew wasn't actually all that bad, and this is just his body's reaction to his fourth cup of coffee before 11 AM. Robby shakes his head. "Forget it, kid. If you bring it up once more, I'll really have you pay for it." Dennis nods, his nails nervously scratching at his cuticles. It feels rude to go back to his textbook, but he doesn't quite know what to say. "So..." he tries.
"What are you doing here? They sent you back from PTMC to retake your medical license exam?"
"Something like that." Robby laughs, and something flutters in Dennis's chest. "No, same lecture for another class. I've got one more after lunch hour."
Dennis blinks hard, a cue for his body to snap out of his awkwardness. "The lecture," he begins, "it was really interesting. I learned a ton." Doctor Adamson's book lies heavy next to his laptop. He notices Robby's gaze on it. The older man drags his eyes from the cover, almost like he's pulling teeth. He nods, wetting his lips and letting out a quick "That's great." It doesn't sound sincere. Robby shakes his head quickly, seemingly reacting to his own thoughts.
"Alright, study hard, Whitaker. I'll see you around." And with that, the man gets up to leave. "Thank you for the cup!" Dennis calls after him. He doesn't remember telling Robby his name.
Dennis's attention shifts from the library's exit when his phone buzzes. A message from a group chat asking to meet up that night to finish a group project. They decide to meet at seven, which gives Dennis just enough time to get back from a tutoring session with a high-schooler who needs a little boost with her math grades. Dennis packs up his laptop, grabbing his cup from the table to put it away when he feels liquid move inside. The lid tightly screwed on. Carefully, he opens it to take a sip, his taste buds meeting creamy, rich, sweet coffee. Still hot.
At the dorm, he and his classmates order pizza. Three second-years scattered across the room—it's the closest Whitaker has gotten to hanging out with friends since high school back in Broken Bow, Nebraska. He barely knows these guys' names. A pit he's grown used to ignoring settles in his stomach, and he finds himself rolling the cross around his neck between his index finger and thumb in self-soothing motions. When he notices himself fidgeting, Dennis closes his laptop. "Do you guys want coffee from Bumble Bee's? My treat." He wants classmate A and B to like him. The white envelope he got from McKay—getting a little lighter.
Hours later, empty coffee cups and pizza boxes scattered across the room, Dennis notices he's the only one typing on his laptop. Taking a quick glance around, he sees one classmate sunken into the sofa while the other is sprawled out on the floor, cushioned only by the musty dorm carpet. The light's still on. Dennis looks at the time on his laptop—it's 1:12 AM. He knows he should probably leave. He gets up and grabs a blanket from the side of the couch to cover the girl he calls classmate A, then quickly grabs another blanket to cover boy B. Dennis thinks one more time about leaving as he turns off the lights, settling at the desk where he'd been sitting all evening. Turning off the desk light, he slowly lowers his head, letting it rest against the hard wood. Maybe if he falls asleep while seemingly studying, they won't question why he's still here in the morning.
Dennis wakes up to light shaking on his shoulder. It's boy B shaking him. Suddenly, Dennis is wide awake, reaching for his phone—it's 7 AM. He can't believe he forgot to set his alarm.
"Uh, right. Looks like we all fell asleep last night. But we got pretty much everything done." He sighs, dragging his palm across his face. "I'm sorry, I have an 8 AM class, and Wilma already left. I feel really shitty kicking you out, but do you think you can get ready to leave by 7:30? Um... if you need to shower—" Dennis springs up from his seat, quickly shoving his stuff into his bag. Laughing nervously, he replies.
"I'll get out of your hair right away! Sorry, I don't know how I fell asleep." Only then does he notice that boy B is wearing only a towel around his waist, hair still dripping from the shower. His stomach and chest are toned, and Dennis can tell he must be hitting the gym regularly, though he's never seen him at the campus gym. Speaking of—Dennis clears his throat, his hand reaching for the cross that feels like it's burning against his sinning flesh. Dennis decided long ago that he does not believe in God.
"I'll shower at the campus gym! My first class doesn't start until nine."
Boy B just nods absentmindedly, not sensing Dennis's sudden nervousness. "Sure, whatever works for you best." He nods, not even looking at Dennis. "I live off campus, catching a bus and then back, I'd barely make it in time." Dennis offers, even though his classmate didn't ask. Turning his focus back to his bag, he quickly makes sure he has everything and turns to leave.
After the presentation later that week, he never speaks to boy B or girl A again.
He finds himself at the campus gym at 7:15 that morning. "Good morning, Mr. Gonzales." Whitaker exchanges pleasantries with the janitor, who had just finished wiping down the equipment. The gym's walls carry the smell of sweat that no amount of cleaning could ever combat. There are already a few students on the treadmills despite the early hour. Dennis pays them no mind and heads straight for his locker. Grabbing his shower gel and towel, he heads for the showers.
He squirts the last of the diluted shower gel—mostly water now—into his palm, making a mental note to buy another bottle later. He tries to scrub himself clean but feels no relief. Quickly glancing around, Dennis makes sure he's alone before running to the bathroom stalls. He presses the soap dispenser aggressively until a solid amount of soap pools in his hand. Back in the shower, he lathers the soap in his hair and over his body, scrubbing until his skin feels sore. His classmate's body flashes across his mind when his eyes are closed. Instinctively Dennis opens them to get rid of the images, only to get a stream of soap in them. The sting is immediate. Dennis is kind of grateful—it feels like divine punishment. It's soap.
Later that day, Dennis receives a message about his phone bill that he's past due. Laughing bitterly, he feels like there's not one day when he's allowed to catch a break. And suddenly, the envelope with cash that felt so heavy is reduced to an empty sleeve of paper. The change gives him enough to last for two dinners and the bus to his next tutoring gig. He boards the bus after class, letting himself get pushed around among the other commuters. This time he can't be bothered to practice his flashcards. A big lump of tears and frustration blocks his windpipe when he tries to swallow. A sudden thought crossed Dennis’s mind, how he wished he’d seen Doctor Robby today, but he hadn’t gone to the library at all today. He shakes the thoughts—unwanted and useless.
Dennis is walking up the driveway when the door swings open. A woman in her late forties runs out. She smiles when she sees Dennis, waving, "Hello, Mr. Whitaker. I'm in a rush, but the kid's inside waiting. I'll leave you to it!" And then she's gone, pulling out of the driveway, leaving him in the dust.
He walks up the porch and in through the open door. It's a single-family home, one floor, framed family photos on the wall. Dennis can feel a sting in his chest, thinking of the empty walls of the house back in Broken Bow. "Mr. Whitaker!" A teenage boy emerges from the living room. "Hi, Jake. I ran into your mom at the entrance. She seemed to be in a hurry."
The boy grins, looking like he wants to boast, but teenage hormones make him too proud to admit it. "She's going to a job interview. She's been waiting for their call for ages."
"That's amazing. I'm sure Mrs. Malloy is really happy."
They head back to the living room together. "But there's another reason she must be really happy. I heard you got an A on your biology exam?"
The boy sheepishly smiles and looks away. "Well, that being said... looking at your report card, your other scores are telling me I'll stay employed."
When the hour is up, Jake sees Dennis to the door. An envelope waits on the dresser—Dennis must've missed it on his way in. He checks the contents and shoves it in his bag. The sun is still high when he gets on the bus to the university. This time in a better mood, he studies all the way back.
The rest of the week passes uneventfully. He doesn't have any tutoring sessions until next Monday, so Dennis coops up at the library. A few times he catches himself staring out the window, people-watching, looking for an older doctor who happened to hold some lectures that week. On Friday, Dennis has given up, realizing how stupid it was to waste time daydreaming instead of studying. Still, when lunch hour comes, he steals a few glances toward the door.
At 3:10, a heavy body sinks into the chair across from Dennis. "Hi." The student sheepishly musters. "Hi," Robby greets him back. Dennis's eyes linger a moment too long on the older man's face, not quite sure if he's a figment of his own imagination.
"You really must've enrolled here, Doctor Robby." Dennis chuckles, realizing how silly it was for him to expect to see the man an entire week after their initial meeting. How silly it was for his expectations to become reality.
"Last day at The University of Pittsburgh as a student," Robby smiles back. "My PTO ends on Sunday, and it's back to ER on Monday."
Dennis raises his eyebrows. "You came to work on your time off?" Quickly calculating that if Robby had a consistent schedule this whole week, that means he spent 20 hours lecturing med students across all five days.
"Gotta make use of the time somehow. Management would get on my case if I didn't take any time off." Robby looks like he's about to say something, but nothing comes out. Dennis raises questioning eyebrows again, halfway shutting his laptop.
"You know, for the last day before my graduation, would you like to join me for lunch?" Robby laughs in a low rumble, his hand finding the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly. "I was actually catching up with an old friend who works here during lunch hour, so I completely forgot to grab something. And then I got stuck in the afternoon lecture."
"But eating alone in a school cafeteria feels sort of awkward when you're my age. At 3 PM, no less." For some reason, that was not what Dennis had expected to hear at all, earning the man a sudden laugh.
"I'm not really a lunch guy, but I'm pretty sure the diner's already closed. They close earlier on Fridays." It was Robby's turn to raise his eyebrows.
"Lunch is a very important meal of the day. It's not good to make a habit of skipping meals."
But Dennis only shrugs. "I thought doctors were notorious for skipping meals. I'm just ahead of my peers." He cracks a smile. "What can I say, I'm an overachiever." And Robby nods with a serious expression.
"Don't practice what we preach—it's part of the oath we have to take." When the two make eye contact again, they both burst into laughter. "There's a pretty mean food truck nearby. Their tacos are to die for," Dennis musters. He has already closed his laptop and is putting it away. As they walk toward the exit, Dennis remembers something. "Right, thank you for the coffee, Doctor Robby."
The older man lifts his hand to pat Dennis on the back. "Glad you liked it. Wasn't sure how you like yours, so I just made it like my own." Ending his touch with a squeeze to Dennis's shoulder, Dennis feels electric pulses sending shivers down his spine.
"And the lid stayed on this time?" Robby chuckles as they exit the building. Feeling a faint blush creep to the apples of his cheeks, Dennis replies, "Yup! It was tight, real tight." Cringing at himself the moment the words leave his mouth.
At the food truck, Robby insists on paying, so Dennis leaves a tip for the worker. His father's voice echoes in the back of his head, ridiculing him for accepting handouts.
"Wow, the cheesy tacos are really no joke here," the man exclaims after a few bites. "That's what I told you! These are the best tacos you'll get in Pittsburgh." Dennis replies with his face stuffed. This is his second hot meal of the day—the first one being instant cup noodles for breakfast. The lecture hall has a corner with a microwave and a kettle that he helped himself to. But that was hours ago, and the taco now feels like a blessing.
Robby quietly observes the young man as he eats. Dennis is suddenly aware of how he must have inhaled his portion. Ignoring Robby's eyes, he suddenly finds a lot of interest in meticulously wiping grease from his fingers and face.
When they're both done, the two men awkwardly stand there, not quite sure what to say. Dennis starts.
"Well, it was really nice to meet you, Doctor Robby. I hope we'll see each other again." Dennis hates how distant it comes off. Robby smiles and shakes his head. "Unless you come see me as a patient, and that is not something to hope for." He gives Dennis a solid pat on his arm, making the man's entire body sway. "Thanks for the truck recommendation. I've got to bring the kid here. He'd love it." A twinge of something bitter enters Robby’s eye, but he doesn't say anything. He quickly smiles and nods, then starts walking. "Bye, Doctor Robby," Dennis yells after the man. Robby lifts his hand but doesn't turn around. Dennis turns back in the direction of the library. I didn't know Doctor Robby had a kid... It makes sense though. He wonders how old they are and how Robby is as a father. A vibration from his phone brings Dennis back to earth.
“Hello, Dennis Whitaker speaking.”
“Oh hey kid! How are you? It's Vera from North Hill. “
Dennis's eyes widen at the familiar voice.
“Oh my god, Mrs. Petrovna!”
“Glad to hear you still kickin’.” A raspy laugh sounds on the other side of the line. “How you been kid, don’t you miss this old hag? I told you to drop by even if you’re not working.”
“Mrs. Petrovna, you haven’t even reached your prime. Who are you calling old?” Dennis makes a joke, ignoring the latter of what the woman said.
“Well, when’s the last time you had a shift here?”
Dennis thinks for a moment, “I think I covered for Mr. Wallis about a month ago?”
“Well, look at that,” the woman laughs again, “the buckethead went and tore his Achilles tendon when he went skiing. Who goes skiing in September?” The woman argues. “Well, him aside. I know you’re busy kiddo, I won’t bore you. But would you like to pick up some of Wallis’s nights? If you have time to drop by, you could get first dibs on all you want.” The voice is warm, familiar.
Dennis takes a quick look at the time. “If I grab the bus now, I’ll be there in an hour?”
Vera nods on the other side of the line, “You know I’m here all evening, so no rush.”
Neither of them speaks, but they don’t hang up either. “What year are you in now, MS1, MS2?”
“I’m in my second.” Dennis’s voice is barely above a whisper. He hasn’t spoken to Vera in about a year. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing so quickly. “She would’ve been real proud of you kid, you know it.” Dennis can’t bring himself to respond, too scared that if he opens his mouth a sob will escape instead of words. So he nods, knowing Vera can’t see it.
Quickly clearing her throat, she continues. “We all miss you here Dennis, I hope we’ll see your face around more now. I’ll see ya when you get here.”
They hang up.
An hour and a half later Dennis stands in front of a big building, huge letters above the entrance read North Hill’s Housing and Care.
As he enters the lobby a bubbly, shorter woman in her fifties walks up to him with a bright smile and open arms. “Dennis! My little boy!” He lets Vera Petrovna embrace him in a tight squeeze. Dennis is not by any means a giant, but this woman barely reaches his own shoulders. Warm familiarity and shame fill him, he can feel his blood carrying the guilt for avoiding her through every crevasse of his body with every heartbeat.
“It’s really good to see you’re well, Mrs. Petrovna,” Dennis speaks genuinely, the woman playfully punches his arm. “And it’s awful to see you’re nothing but skin and bones. Do you know how Linda would tear me into shreds if she knew I allowed her boy to walk around like this?” Her accent hasn’t changed, still thick despite spending half her life in the States.
“Come here baby, let's get you caught up. Fatima, Donald, and Liza are on shift. They’ll be happy to see you.” As they walk through a corridor, they reach the elevators. Vera Petrovna fills Dennis in on all the recent gossip, he finds out that Maja who was on leave due to complications with her pregnancy finally had her twins. Two healthy boys.
The building has 4 floors, each floor it’s own department. North Hill’s Housing and Care is a boarding facility for people who need a little extra help. Some more than others.
The ground floor consists of a cafeteria and kitchen—though some clients are served their meals in their own rooms, staff tries to gather as many clients as possible alongside themselves in the cafeteria; to foster a sense of community and avoid isolation. There's also a library, and a nice lounge. In the basement this center even has its own gym and therapeutic swimming pool—so the lobby can never quite get rid of the smell of chlorine. Alongside a laundry room for staff and clients alike. Then on the second floor are all the patients who need around-the-clock care, people with difficult physical disabilities, patients with severe epilepsy, and other disorders that need heavy monitoring. The third floor is for patients who need moderate support; they have a lot of clients on the autistic spectrum here. All need minimal physical support, but guidance and oversight. The top floor is reserved for clients who can—for the most part—take care of themselves but could still use some oversight. Each floor has its own staff that rotates, given that the top floor doesn’t actually need staffing they fall under the third floor’s responsibilities, which is exactly where Dennis is headed.
The elevator door dings and they step in, another person already inside, sitting in a wheelchair. “Morning, sweet cheeks,” the woman smiles up at Dennis.
“It’s afternoon, Myrna. But yes, it’s lovely to see you too.” The door closes and Dennis presses the buttons for the third and fourth floor. Jumping when he feels the mischievous woman poke his glute. Sending her a mean look, he shakes his head, “This is harassment Myrna, next time I’ll have you reported.” She chuckles and whistles at him. And he shakes his head, not able to contain the smile that creeps onto his lips. Vera and Dennis get off on the third floor, sending the woman up to the fourth.
Waltzing into the staff room, Vera exclaims, “I brought our little prince!” And three heads suddenly emerge out of nowhere. Dennis exchanges a few small hugs and fist bumps before he settles down on one of the chairs. Donald, a CNA in his early 40s, Elizabeth, a CNA in her 30s, and Fatima, an RN in her 40s, all settle down with him. Despite Dennis covering a shift here only a month ago, he probably hadn’t seen any of these guys in over half a year, if not more.
“How are you, little greenie?” Donald ruffles the man's hair. “Not so little anymore.” Vera interjects, “The kid’s an MS2 already!”
The staff collectively let out a dramatic gasp. Elizabeth smiles, “So kind of Doctor Whitaker to grace us with his presence!” The man laughs, “As if! I heard that Mr. Wallis is on sick leave?”
Fatima sighs, “The madman got 8 weeks for tearing his Achilles.” They all wince when imagining the injury. The woman turns back to Dennis.
“Now tell us! How’s school? It feels like it was yesterday that we saw you get accepted. Got a cute girl?” Dennis laughs awkwardly. When he moved to Pittsburgh, North Hill’s was his first part-time job. He ended up securing a spot full-time for a year, but after covid—2 years ago—they had to let him go. Since then, he’d been covering stray shifts here and there whenever they’d call. A flashing light with an alarm goes off, catching everyone’s attention. A digital screen on the wall flashing a client's name.
“Ah, shit. That’s Logan, gotta scram. It was real nice seeing you Denny—if I don’t catch you before you slip out.” Donald smiles quickly before rushing out of the lounge.
“I should probably take a look at the schedule?” Dennis offers, grateful for the distraction that frees him from talking about his school experience. “I’m on it,” Vera calls from behind, coming up with a big paper schedule.
Dennis writes his initials over all of Wallis’s night shifts, double-checking his lecture schedule and tutoring sessions, he manages to snatch a couple of evenings and mornings too.
“Grab a cup of joe before you leave,” Elizabeth calls out before she too is on her way to see a client. Dennis quietly thanks her, filling his thermos cup from the break room’s pot. From the mini fridge, he snatches a carton of milk and grabs a few sugar cubes from the pantry. Making sure he wrote down all the shifts in his own calendar, Dennis waves Fatima and Vera goodbye, then heads to the exit.
“You blink and then they’re all grown up.” Vera leans against her coworker, a somber smile on her lips. “He’s starting to resemble her more with every passing year. “ Fatima replies.