Work Text:
The thing about having predictable working hours is that Trinity can easily slip something trivial into her schedule, which is now marked on a forest-themed calendar by the fridge – courtesy of Baran, of course. Dry cleaning pickups, Aza’s PTA meetings when Baran has to step in on her day off, a quick trip to the farmer’s market when they run out of bell peppers, and everything that requires her immediate attention.
Except it is her grandmother’s eightieth birthday, and the woman has insisted on all of her grandchildren’s presence.
Far from trivial.
It only means Trinity’s efforts to avoid family functions with her ridiculously intrusive aunties are always doomed to fail, and that she will have to confront questions about her life choices.
When are you getting married? (None of their business – although there is currently an unmistakable jewelry box-shaped lump in her underwear drawer.)
I have a stubborn joint pain after lifting. What should I do? (Probably the poor form, Uncle.)
Have you met a boy or a girl yet? (At least this one’s inclusive.)
Trinity doesn’t know how many strained, awkward smiles she has left in her body.
“Eshgham,” a voice inches from behind her, strong arms snaking around her waist. The embrace calms the erratic track of her thoughts, so much so that she almost forgets the task at hand.
Right, the dishes.
“Hey,” she mutters, briefly turning her head to feel Baran’s face against her cheek. The sink nests only a few utensils and saucers and mugs, but Trinity realizes she spent the last ten minutes ruminating. “You told me you’ll bathe.”
Baran hums against her nape, planting a chaste kiss on the exposed skin over the collar of her shirt. “I was waiting for you.”
“I’ll be there,” Trinity promises as she rinses the last of the mugs and places them on the drying rack, then wipes her hands with a towel.
With timid eyes, she turns around, facing her older woman who is irresistibly fresh from yoga under the morning sun.
Trinity notes the embellishment of sweat beads on her chest and neck.
“You’re tense,” Baran says.
“You’re sexy,” Trinity shoots back, tracing prominent lines of muscle and tanned skin. A gamble.
Baran doesn’t take it. She simply rolls her eyes then quells into a resolute expression, relaxing the hilt of her fingers on Trinity’s hips. “What were you thinking?”
She winces upon realizing her luring attempt to digress, yet again, does not work on her own favor.
It never does with Baran anyway.
“You don’t wanna take this to the bathtub?”
“No,” Baran firmly holds out.
“Fine.”
Trinity pauses, searching for the next string of words. “It’s about Lola’s birthday.”
The weight of the apprehension dawns on Baran, facial features softening.
She had been there. It was a year into their relationship. Everything was trial and error – still is, but two years ago was on a different level of explosive changes especially for their friends and coworkers at the ED. Especially for Aza, who is now getting used to this ordeal with a new mother figure, but was previously hesitant to even let Trinity help with a math assignment.
That was when Baran decided to take her to a family dinner. Just the five of them: Baran’s parents, Aza, Baran herself, and Trinity, the wonderful new addition. It was not as grand as Trinity had expected knowing Baran’s exquisite taste in everything; just a little gathering al fresco style in the backyard that made her feel like has always been a part of their family, laughing over Aza’s enthusiasm with running circles around the warmly-lit garden.
Now it’s Trinity’s turn, and anyone who knows Trinity knows that her family can be overbearing. Make no mistake, her family is her pain in the ass, but for a fresh pair of eyes this can be far from compelling.
And she doesn’t want to discourage Baran; to cast a harsh light on what was previously a shot in the dark. Baran will have to see the bigger picture, have a better look at her family history, on why Trinity turned out the way she is now – so withdrawn and oozing with scornful humor that she has yet to unlearn.
“If you don’t want me to go, I’d understand,” Baran conveys with so much earnestness Trinity would burst in an instant.
Trinity instead takes her girlfriend’s hand and places a kiss on her wrist. “Please, baby, I want you there,” she says, her tone deliberate. “But I can’t promise that it’s going to be peaceful.”
“It’s a big family. You’ll never know what happens in functions like that.”
“Lola tends to ask a shit ton of questions.”
“I mean, you’ve met my mom.”
“And…” Trinity chews on her lips, her grip on Baran’s arm getting tighter, “they don’t know. About this. Us. Not yet.”
Baran nods in understanding, cupping her cheek. It almost makes her feel guilty about not being forthright with anyone in the family besides her late dad; that for years she had to hide a secret that eventually led her to such a wonderful person that has made her happier than she’d ever been in her life.
Perhaps, this time, she’ll be ready.
Perhaps.
“Hey,” Baran says, grounding her, “Getting to meet them is already a huge deal for me.”
Trinity winces. “Are you sure you don’t feel like I’m dragging you back to the closet?”
Baran searches her eyes, brows curling in measured discernment. “I’ve never had anything like this beyond meeting my ex-husband’s family, and that was a disaster. The marriage too.”
Marriage.
Trinity tries not to think of the ring in her underwear drawer, grounding herself back to the moment.
She leans forward and kisses Trinity’s forehead. “I am just grateful that you’re letting me in.”
“You have no choice but to keep me, then,” Trinity jests as she closes her eyes, allowing herself to just feel the softness of Baran’s lips on her skin.
Baran teasingly narrows her eyes as she pulls away to look her in the eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
She pretends to sulk, letting out a deep sigh and scrunching her forehead; ignoring the way the wheels of her head are turning and constantly revising the elaborate plans she made for Baran for when the time comes.
When the time comes.
It is only a question of how – for now.
“Can we still take this to the bathtub though?” she whines, making Baran chuckle. “I’ve been a good girl. Perfectly subtle.”
“Doctor Santos, your other hand has been squeezing my ass this whole time,” Baran says as her words fade into the press of her mouth against Trinity’s in a light-headed kiss, the faint taste of coffee engulfing her senses.
Nonetheless, the older woman leads her to the bathroom – the perfect restart to a rather apprehensive early morning.
Baran was able to book a direct flight to San Diego last week, much to Trinity’s dismay. “I’m the one disrupting my attending’s tight schedule by taking her to my family. I should pay,” she had insisted, but her girlfriend only gave a resolute smile and a kiss on the cheek.
The older woman also booked a private airport transfer so they won’t have to wait in the taxi line.
“You’re either spoiling me rotten,” Trinity manages to say as she helps the driver settle their luggage in the trunk, “or you’re evading having to deal with my heat sensitivity outbursts.”
“The former, although I’m just as glad you don’t have to be on standby under this extreme heat,” Baran gets a hold of her hand when they slip into the car, kissing the side of her head. “Isn’t this more convenient, baby?”
“You didn’t have to. We could’ve just waited in line,” Trinity whispered. “I can wait.”
“No, you can’t.”
She smiles in a tentative concession. “No, I can’t.”
“And that’s alright. You have me pampering you however I want to.”
“That’s not necessary,” Trinity says, but she places a quick kiss to Baran’s cheek nevertheless, reveling in their little bubble before having to face the havoc in the shape of her relatives. “I will pamper you even more when I climb this goddamn medical ladder.”
Baran laughs, a hand tracing the lines of her face, then captures her lips.
“As your attending, I would rather not supplement your pressure regarding that.”
“Fair enough.”
Trinity smiles into another searing kiss as they ride into the heatwave of her family’s hometown; at least the one far away from home.
The drive isn’t expected to be long. And while the traffic unexpectedly goes easy for them, she still takes time to let her eyes flutter shut as she nuzzles Baran’s neck at the backseat, sniffing the floral fragrance from her curls, breathing in the clean scent that is uniquely hers.
“We can just stay at the hotel, you know,” Trinity murmurs against her skin.
“Mhmm,” Baran lets out in a soft subdued sigh, making her shiver on her seat. “Aren’t you excited to see your lola?”
“I am, but you smell so nice.”
“Eshgham…” Baran breathes, and Trinity can feel her holding back by the way her jaw clenches. She welcomes Trinity’s caresses nonetheless. “We came all the way here to see your family.”
Trinity clicks her tongue and grumbles, “You’ve made me soft.”
“You are soft.” Baran wraps an arm around her shoulder, mouths inches away. “Always been.” And then her tongue slips in between Trinity’s parted lips.
So much for her girlfriend’s usual restraint.
It has always been like this with Baran. Somewhere at the back of her mind, the external assumption of the honeymoon bliss being short-lived fades, disproven. Because all it takes is one touch; perhaps a little teasing like a cherry on top; then every bit of their rationalized willpower comes undone. The ED hastes far away from their shared preoccupations, replaced by this utter tenderness that Trinity countlessly surprises herself with.
She deepens the kiss – as if it can get any deeper with how Baran takes a feel of her already swollen lips. She can taste their breaths, the impossibly supple sensation of Baran’s lips against her own, the floral scent of her shampoo. Breathing deeply, Trinity lets out a soft laugh, earning herself an even softer chuckle as their lips meet again with a slick adhesion.
The driver clears his throat.
Baran freezes. Trinity pulls away, both gaping at the sudden interruption, then melting into a fit of quiet laughter as they straighten up. She loves that they can just laugh over the most prosaic inconveniences, even something that amounts to thwarting a passionate scene that could’ve led to something more inappropriate.
Only the driver isn’t amused as they have not noticed the vehicle coming to a halt. “We’re here at your destination, Madams,” he says flatly.
The last thing Trinity wants is to waste this poor guy’s time so she slings her backpack to her shoulder and mutters her thanks. Baran does the same with her handbag, but she says her thanks out loud as they crouch up together to exit the car doors.
The older woman also makes sure to give him a huge tip after what he had to witness.
The hotel stretches through the curve of the Pacific Beach, and she can tell from its grandiose architecture that Baran has splurged on what is adjacently considered a holiday again. A buggy awaits them at the entrance, ready with the much-needed assistance with their luggage.
Upon checking into their room – a honeymoon suite with an ocean view, just as they chose right after their we’re-going-on-a-holiday bathtub sex – Baran pulls out her phone to call her mom for an update.
On the screen, Aza comes to view, his adorable curls taking up the most space.
“Maman! Mommy!” he squealed, waving a hand at them. The reception is thankfully smooth for them to see his face clearly on the phone. “I’m going to the bookstore!”
“Oh, jigaram, you look so happy there!” Baran beams as she angles the phone towards the window so the camera encompasses the ocean view.
“Don’t forget your vitamins, please!” Trinity butts in, and Aza nods enthusiastically. “Where’s your mamani?”
“She took out the trash,” the nine-year-old replies. “Beautiful beach, by the way. I’m still mad I can’t come with you guys…”
Baran warmly glances at Trinity, who only winces. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it up to you on Christmas break. Meanwhile, you should go pack your essentials in your satchel, okay?”
“Fine,” the boy rolls his eyes, then he lights up as he calls for Trinity. “And Mommy, uh…the thing you asked me about. Are you doing it?”
“What thing?” Baran furrows her brows, and Trinity momentarily stuns from the kid’s reckless rambling.
Aza merely giggles from seeing Baran’s confusion. “You’ll know when you get there, maman.”
The younger woman eyes him to watch his words – an almost telepathic connection between the two. “We’ll see about that. Just enjoy your grandma’s treats for you, hm? And I shall enjoy mine as well.”
As they say their goodbyes, and as Baran clicks her phone shut, she shoots a quiet demand at Trinity.
“You heard him. We’ll eventually get there,” she simply shrugs, veiling the impending nerves of her plan. The small jewelry box is in the compartment of her jeans and away from her underwear organizer; less likely for Baran to see it.
She focuses on the matter at hand and maintains her composure.
“Doctor Santos, when I find out what this is about…”
“What, you’ll chain me to the bed as punishment?”
“No sex for two weeks.”
“Why–”
But Baran has already turned her back on her, stripping off of her shirt and pants, revealing the sapphire lingerie set that Trinity gifted her on their first anniversary, the one that barely covers her ass. She slips into the bathroom without a word, leaving the door wide open.
Trinity has never felt so annoyed and unbelievably turned on at once.
The party starts at six.
Thankfully, the hotel was a mere kilometer away from her aunt’s beach house. It’s been two years since her last visit here, and it’s just as humid and massive as she remembers.
In her yellow sundress, Baran steps into the porch, curls cascading through her muscled back. Trinity chose her daisy dukes under a matching Aloha shirt so they’ll look cohesive (Baran has taken the chance to tease her about being a romantic on their way out of the hotel).
“You ready, mahal?”
Baran merely nods, breathing deeply. Trinity presses a quick kiss on her temple to soothe her even just a little.
Hand-in-hand, they enter the house, and they are welcomed by a myriad of stares – her aunties and uncles and cousins all share that inquisitive fascination, some even huddling in the couch set with rapid whispers as she and Baran walk out of the foyer. Instead of the sheer excitement of seeing the rest of her family after several months, all Trinity can recognize at the moment is the shift in the atmosphere upon their entrance. She reminds herself that these people can love her at the same time as give her unwarranted advice and criticisms, and so she moves slowly through the crowd, putting on the most polite smile while never letting go of Baran’s hand.
Then she realizes that, of course, all eyes are on Baran.
Her dad’s sister Mila (bless her) decides to break the ice when everyone else seems to be dumbfounded by her presence. “There’s our beautiful doctor!”
“Tita Mila! Long time no see,” Trinity exclaims, pulling her into a brief embrace, then turning to Baran. “This is, uhm, my roommate and boss.”
She suppresses a shiver from the atrocious-sounding labels.
“Baran Al-Hashimi. Nice to meet you,” her girlfriend says as she reaches out for a handshake, giving Trinity a subtle wink as if to assure her that it’s fine.
Despite that, it still feels wrong, but the moment does not give her some grace to ponder as the rest of her relatives are already following suit in introducing themselves to this beautiful new doktora beside their quote unquote golden girl.
“My niece’s boss? Well, I thought you were the newly-crowned Miss Universe!” one of them cries out, and Trinity can’t help but wince.
It is not surprising that her relatives would cling to the merit of their profession, but even a conditional validation is validation enough in emotionally precarious times like this.
She and Baran are now caught up in the festive exchange of pleasantries. One of her aunties pulls her aside to hand her a thick stack of dollars, which she meekly slips into her small canvas bag.
“Jesus, Tita Gina, this is too much!” Trinity chides.
Her auntie leans in, eyeing the rest of their family as if checking if the coast is clear, then whispers, “For your exquisite taste in women.”
Trinity’s jaw goes slack, flinching and unblinking. Instinctively, she searches for Baran, who is busy chatting with one of her suck-up cousins, then she turns back to Gina.
“Tita, I-”
Her auntie, however, has already elbowed her way to the kitchen.
Of course, her Tita Gina knows – she was the one who took her to a Lady Gaga concert when she was fifteen, and the same person who caught her cutting out a bikini-clad Kylie Minogue from a magazine before she even realized her lesbianism.
Trinity almost laughs on the spot at the memory, and partly from relief that at least she doesn’t have to hide from every family member present on this occasion.
She feels for the dollar stack in her bag, immediately thinking of Aza; of what kind of overpriced little souvenirs she can get him when they visit the tourist traps in the area tomorrow.
Amid the chaos of her relatives, Trinity longs to be able to hold him again in her arms.
When she finds Baran again, she does not let go, even when she has to entertain a cousin, or a nephew, or answer an uncle asking for medical advice about the numbness of his veins on his right arm.
“It’s still best to get it checked by a vascular surgeon,” Baran shyly chimes in, which Trinity finds so fucking charming she starts fighting the urge to kiss her right then and there.
The rest of the pleasantries eventually die down to clusters of small talk and chismis and banters.
Her Lola Trinidad chooses it as the perfect time to walk in, unsurprisingly, as she has a thing for grand entrances and being the center of attention.
“Here goes the birthday girl,” Trinity whispers to her girlfriend. “Do you wanna greet her?”
Baran’s lips curve upwards, seemingly noting the strong presence of her grandmother. “Of course. You have the most beautiful namesake.”
Her grandmother’s eyes fall on them before they can even move, and she gestures for them to come with the biggest smile Trinity has ever seen her put on.
“My, my Trinity Marie,” her lola exhales as she opens her arms for the warmest embrace, eyes crinkling at the corner.
A rush of pure delight spread through her chest, making her knees weak. Perhaps, being in med school indeed has stolen so much of her time. Trinity is fortunate enough to have Baran reminding her of what she has missed in her life.
Such as this one.
“Happy birthday, Lola,” Trinity says, the relief of being home washing through her.
“Thank you, hija.” Lola Trinidad’s gaze swivels to Baran, drinking in the sight of her in pure awe. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of having such a glorious guest?”
“Maligayang kaarawan, Lola Trinidad,” Baran conveys in careful syllables, which surprises Trinity in the best way possible, and with heartfelt pride.
(Happy birthday, Lola Trinidad.)
Baran reaches forward for a handshake, but Lola Trinidad brushes it away and instead pulls her in an equally warm embrace. Trinity catches her girlfriend’s mouth stretching wide in surprise, a smile eventually reaching her eyes. Behind her lola, they share a knowing look as if to agree that this is going better than expected.
“Baran Al-Hashimi,” she introduces as they pull away, “Trinity’s room-”
“Best friend,” Trinity nervously blurts out, “and like…roommate, yes. She- she’s also my boss.”
Lola Trinidad only narrows her eyes at them, lips pressed into a thin skepticism. Whatever’s in her mind, Trinity is grateful her grandmother decides to dismiss it.
For now.
“My favorite doctor sure loves the company of gorgeous women.”
Trinity almost chokes, having to hold on to Baran for balance.
Worse, her lola leans into Baran with the impression of sharing a secret, “You should see her childhood bedroom. Full of sexy lady posters.”
From the look on Baran’s face, Trinity gets the feeling her girlfriend would like to unpack that once they get home. “I didn’t know you had such enthusiasm for sexy ladies, Doctor Santos,” she teases.
The younger woman wishes she can just drop it – it was a long time ago.
“I wish I could tell you more right now, Doctor Al-Hashimi. But we have to delve into dinner first. You don’t want to miss the pinakbet I cooked,” Lola Trinidad invites them. “Do you eat pork, if I may ask?”
“I do. I’m excited,” Baran says. “And for the record, just call me Baran, please.”
With curious captivation, Lola Trinidad cocks an eyebrow, locking eyes with Trinity. “Humble and beautiful, isn’t she?”
“The most,” Trinity supplements as she clings to her girlfriend tighter, still uncertain on where this is coming from.
If her Lola Trinidad has figured out the unquestionable truth with her grandma intuition, she wishes for it not to be dissected even further.
Dinner is served in the backyard, the area directly facing the beach. Trinity notes that they pulled out the monoblock tables and chairs to accommodate everyone. Spotting a table for two near the buffet table, she leads Baran to its direction.
“Someone’s hungry,” Baran quips as they settle their bags on their chosen table to reserve them.
“Starving,” Trinity whispers to her, snaking an arm around her girlfriend’s waist, hoping no one would notice. “I think it's jetlag. How about you?”
Baran examines the food on the table with blissful wonder. She has introduced her to different Filipino dishes (with sinigang being her all-time favorite) but it’s her first time at a full-fledged Filipino buffet.
“Honestly, I can’t wait to try all of them. Thanks for taking me with you.”
For a moment, they hold each other’s tender gazes in a quiet resolution – corners of lips tickling upwards in shared intimacy – before joining the rest of the family.
The family digs in right after saying grace and singing Lola Trinidad a happy birthday (it briefly turned into a playful chorale intermission).
“That one’s lechon baboy,” Trinity points at the whole roasted pig laid at the center of the table with an apple snuck between its teeth. “My Tito Dodong made sure it’s crispy even after literal hours. Here, try this.”
She picks a small piece of browned skin and holds it out to Baran, who snatches it with her mouth. The crunch echoes immediately after the bite, leaving them sharing a fit of laughter.
“Good?”
“That is extremely savory,” Baran nods as she slices another bigger piece and puts it on her plate, along with the tender meat underneath.
Trinity introduces her to other dishes: her lola’s pinakbet (which she swears is the best vegetable dish next to inabraw), lumpiang shanghai (a staple – always Trinity’s target in parties), pork dinuguan (Baran becomes even more fascinated upon learning it’s a blood stew), her favorite noodle dish pancit bihon, the sweet Filipino version of spaghetti with hotdogs for the kids, and kare-kare (another one of Trinity’s usual targets).
If two years ago, you tell Trinity Santos she’ll have to witness her robo-doc of an attending stealing a hotdog and marshmallow skewer from the pineapple centerpiece, she’d laugh at your face.
Nevertheless, she welcomes Baran’s enthusiasm, thinking to herself that she does not regret opening parts of herself to the woman of her dreams.
On their way back to their table, Trinity’s eldest cousin purposefully bumps into her.
“Digits nga ng boss mo, Trin,” he mutters with a sly grin.
(Give me your boss’ number, Trin.)
“Kakalbuhin talaga kita, Boyet, sinasabi ko sa’yo,” Trinity spits.
(I'm going to shave all your hair off, Boyet, I’m telling you.)
She elbows him in the stomach even with her dinner plate full in her hand. It doesn’t spill, which she takes as a good sign of her own physical prowess. Otherwise, she’d become today’s embarrassment.
Witnessing the vaguely hostile interaction – at least on Trinity’s end – Baran catches up to her in sheer confusion.
“What was that about, eshgham?”
She rolls her eyes as they perch their plates on the table and sit next to each other. “Nothing.”
“Trinity.”
“Fine,” she says, aggressively forking through her pancit. “Boyet wants your number.”
Baran hums, a wayward smile forming on her face. “So? Why didn’t you give it?”
“Are you serious?”
“But wouldn’t your earlier reaction expose you?” her girlfriend further teases.
Trinity observes their surroundings before saying another word, then bending towards Baran to whisper, “I wouldn’t appreciate my goddamn cousin bothering you. I know he has an unfinished PhD dissertation to take care of.”
“And…?”
“You’re mine,” she begrudgingly concedes, swallowing a mouthful of rice and stew.
“Good girl.”
She feels Baran’s hand caressing her knee, and god she wishes to carry her to the nearest room that can provide even an ounce of privacy.
In the meantime, they fall into a blissful regimen of relishing the food, at times asking each other if they want more of a particular viand (which Trinity never says no to). From time to time, Trinity quips to Baran funny stories about every family member who happens to pass by their table.
“That one cheated on his ex-wife with his dentist,” she quips when one of her uncles is out of earshot. “Then his ex-wife actually dragged him out of the house by the hair for the whole neighborhood to see. That’s why he’s bald.”
Baran bites into a piece of beef, holding back a chuckle.
“It’s okay to laugh, mahal. It was fifteen years ago.”
At one point, Trinity tries something bold – something whimsical, something sweet.
She holds out her end of a lumpia roll with her teeth, tilting her head as Baran takes a bite of the other end. With clumsy bearings, they nibble into each crusty seams, then inching closer and closer, their lips nearing another state of inseparability…
Until Trinity snatches the last bite of the roll.
“I could kiss you right now,” she says in the middle of chewing.
“You’re free to do so anytime. But no pressure, Doctor Santos.”
Baran winks as twirls her fork over some noodles, cheeks tainted crimson a shade deeper than the blush she applied earlier.
“You two should get a room,” her cousin Andeng interrupts, hovering above their table with a bowl of soup in her hand. This one, she considers incredibly progressive based on the Facebook posts she wrote last year on corruption and marriage equality (at the price of their conservative relatives’ pestering. Trinity had to defend her last Christmas).
Other than that, they usually bond over Fortnight and banter.
Trinity snorts. “Missed you, too, ‘Deng. How’s med school?”
“Loaded question,” Andeng evades as she slowly makes her way to the adjacent table. “Byeeee, lovebirds. Ninang ako sa kasal, ha.”
(I’ll be a godmother at your wedding, okay?)
Godfuckingdamn.
Baran raises an eyebrow in sheer intrigue. Trinity freezes in her seat, her lumpiang shanghai momentarily forgotten.
“I assume she said something about a wedding, Doctor Santos?”
When Baran planned a dinner for Trinity to meet her parents, she wanted them to feel the utmost comfort as they got to know each other. Hence, she served Trinity’s favorite morghe zaferani and followed her father’s recipe of tahdig – all home-cooked on her day off.
Needless to say, they adored Trinity. They still do. Now, she supplies them with their weekly humorous commentary on baseball and sometimes a plate of chicken adobo.
Aligned with her calculations (as much figures and reckoning as family reunions entail), being with Trinity’s family is overwhelming in the best way possible. So many kids running around, aunts chatting behind hand-made abaniko, and uncles who are now clinking beer bottles at the veranda.
She is still not sure where to fit in this intricate puzzle of clashing personalities and treatises.
After dinner, she is offered a bottle of a Filipino-branded beer they apparently hoarded from the deli. Baran accepts, and she is happy to have not curbed her enthusiasm with trying things her girlfriend grew up with. Somehow, the family is delighted to see her enjoying herself, especially with the food.
From the beach house, the sky paints a bright tangerine and deep violet over the horizon, the expanse of the ocean skirting its ravishing gradient. Aza would have loved watching the sunset. She makes a mental note to return – the three of them next time.
Behind her, Trinity tests the karaoke machine by the sole electric socket they could find in the garden. She occasionally holds the microphone down so one of her toddler nephews can announce some gibberish, then goes back to untangling the cords.
“Do you wanna try?” Trinity asks her.
“Go ahead. I’ll be here watching.”
Her girlfriend sighs, “Fine. I’ll do one song, then you join me for the next one.”
“Trin-”
“Our duet is set in stone, mahal.”
Baran feels her cheeks heating up. The younger woman knows how being called ‘mahal’ saps her.
And so, she nods. “One duet.”
“Just one.”
Baran lets Trinity have the floor, stepping aside so her cousins and aunts can form an audience around her girlfriend. She manages to wave back at a few relatives acknowledging her as they brush past her and towards the small crowd.
A familiar pop intro resounds from the speaker, and Baran recognizes its Cher’s Believe, a staple in Trinity’s shower playlist. She bops her head to the beat, cherishing the sound of her girlfriend’s voice through the microphone.
“A charmer, isn’t she?”
She jolts from the voice behind her.
Lola Trinidad sits in one of the patio chairs, curiosity written all over her face. “Come sit with me, Doctor Al-Hashimi.”
“It’s Ba-” she cuts herself off, realizing there is no way she is contesting the old woman’s preference. “Okay.”
Especially when is doing her best to be in this family’s good side.
Baran sits on an identical chair just beside Lola Trinidad, gently swirling her beer bottle before taking a swig.
Just a few feet away from the blast of speakers, the old woman’s corner is rather laced with more subdued energy. Perhaps, it is merely Lola Trinidad’s strict but welcoming demeanor.
Baran aspires to have such an approach as an attending.
“My apo’s boss, huh?” Lola Trinidad says, chuckling. “You look good together.”
She glances at Trinity, who is now cracking her voice on purpose when she reaches the chorus. “Uhm, we’re-”
The old woman looks at her incredulously. “Come on, now. Don’t deny it. You were pretty obvious during dinner.”
Baran, being put on the spot, takes a deep breath. She doesn’t mind being figured out, quite frankly, but she can only imagine what her girlfriend would say if she weren’t sabotaging her vocal cords at the moment.
“Were we?” she says, shyly tucking some loose strands of her curls behind her ear. “Sorry about that.”
Lola Trinidad shakes her head, still chuckling in what Baran eventually recognizes as amusement.
“Nonsense. It’s a fresh look on my Trinity Marie.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the first person she’s brought home.” The old woman points at her. “Hopefully the last.”
Baran feels her shoulders relax, releasing a pent-up breath. Looking back at the sunset, she feels a surge of confidence taking over her.
She started the day nervous, although she managed to curb it enough for it not to spill over the rest of the day, especially something as special for Trinity as this one. There is the familiar desire to be liked – she had been introduced to her past partner’s families before.
Only it feels more profound than ever, now that it’s the person she’s planning to spend the rest of her life with, something she has yet to admit.
Perhaps tonight, when they’re in bed, when she can pepper kisses on Trinity’s whole being.
Perhaps, they can finally start talking about settling down and she can finally buy that diamond ring she’d been eyeing at the mall.
“My son is already fond of her, sometimes even more than me,” Baran confesses.
Whatever word comes out of her mouth, she shall blame it on alcohol later. Right now, she cannot let go of the emotional tether that’s materializing between her and one of the most important people in Trinity’s life.
“And here I thought I was never going to live long enough to see my great-grandchildren,” Lola Trinidad jokes, but Baran catches a spark of hope in that voice.
“You will. I think,” Baran promises, her thoughts on Trinity and Aza; on how much they already resemble each other in terms of attitude; how in sync they tend to be; that Aza is Trinity’s just as much as he is hers.
“I don’t have enough time in this world, Doctor,” Lola Trinidad wistfully admits. “I’m just happy my golden girl will be taken care of.”
A beat.
Baran lets the liquor burn her throat as the sunset hazes into the dark and the brightly-colored lanterns start flicking into life.
It is no surprise that Trinity is the favorite, when Baran herself loves her like it’s breathing.
“And hija?”
“Yes?” Baran turns to Lola Trinidad, taking in the poised bearing, eyes eternally crinkled at the corners, the deeply knowing gaze – there is so much wisdom there, so much love to share as well.
“You are family now.”
Without hesitation, Baran reaches over for the old woman’s hand, squeezing it lightly in gratitude.
As soon as she pulls away, she catches Trinity’s eyes on her, brows furrowed.
“What embarrassing childhood story are you feeding my boss, Lola? Let her sing with me!” she whines into the mic, and then everyone bursts into laughter.
Lola Trinidad stands up and shrugs. “Not trying to meddle in your business, apo. Go get your girl while I get my damn insulin.”
It may be the most mundane form of acceptance; an affirmation over beer and under a heatwave. But for Baran, a former refugee who never had the luxury of having all of her relatives in one place, her own sense of belonging has always been obscure.
But she knows now that a particular aspect of belonging can be determined. Perhaps, not always in her workplace, not in the bigger concept of a nation from the eyes of an immigrant, but certainly somewhere, somehow, whenever Aza reaches for her in sleep, or in the quiet understanding she shares with Trinity in the ED and outside of it, and even in the way Lola Trinidad has welcomed her to the family.
As she takes Trinity’s hand, she realizes there is no puzzle to solve when it comes to making someone your family, only a promise to make.
Particularly, for the both of them, maybe that promise takes the form of a question to ask on one knee.
The cinematic tension of the intro glides into a sonic landscape. It is an epic ballad, after all, and maybe a tad bit romantic for the occasion. Trinity is worried it might shift the grandiose spotlight from her grandmother, but her family seems to enjoy seeing this new guest doktora having fun.
“Remember this one?” Trinity whispers.
“The first song you played in my car,” Baran recalls.
She fiddles with the barrel of the microphone, “Do you like it? Or is it too corny?”
Baran runs a hand over her shoulder, gaze piercing through her. “Relax, baby. Just stay with me.”
And relax, she tries, for she starts the song with as much ease as she can muster.
Looking in your eyes I see a paradise
This world that I've found is too good to be true
Standing here beside you, want so much to give you
This love in—
“She’s doing the soprano part, by the way, so the neighbors don’t call the police with a noise complaint,” Trinity jests amid her verse to inhibit a wave of nervousness. When she hears overlapping giggles from the crowd, a small part of her thinks she should do stand-up comedy if this whole medicine thing doesn’t work out.
Baran steadies Trinity with a hand on her waist and sings.
Let 'em say we're crazy, I don't care about that
Put your hand in my hand, baby, don't ever look back
Let the world around us just fall apart
Baby, we can make it if we're heart to heart
For the chorus, Trinity’s relatives sing along. This one is one of their karaoke cornerstone tracks, after all.
And we can build this dream together
Standing strong forever…
Under the bright lights of her Tita Mila’s elaborate lanterns, her eyes never leave Baran, who looks even more beautiful with the crimson on her cheeks and a triumphant smile that she somehow has broken into.
Her gaze stays in place for the rest of the song. Only on Baran. Only on the most significant addition to her family.
The song ends and the monitor shows their score: 69.
Some adults in the room slump over, busting their guts, a few slapping the table while howling, while some parents are covering their children’s ears from the inappropriate jokes the teenagers are making.
“Really?!” Trinity complained, and Baran had to cover her mouth in sheer amusement.
Shaking her head, she considers surrendering the mic to someone else, but not before taking in the kind of people in her family.
Trinity is sick of it, of having to call Baran her roommate or boss, of not being able to share the happiness she has gotten from this relationship, of having to conceal the contentment of being Aza’s mother figure just because it’s not ‘conventional.’
If some of her uncles can come out as cheaters – in marriage, in university – Trinity can be the raging lesbian for all she cares.
It is not going to be perfect, but it is going to be relieving.
Baran senses her apprehension. “You alright? Need some water?” she offers out of concern.
How can she hide a love so profound from these people? There is enough misery in this family alone.
Fuck it.
Trinity cups Baran’s face, muttering a desperate, “I love you so much.”
It finally dawns on Baran what she’s about to do. Some sort of shared epiphany for the ages. Some sort of heartfelt miracle; the heat of their breaths closing in; brown eyes giving way to honest surrender.
“I love you, you know that, right?”
Trinity closes the distance between them as her silent answer, an anchor into the chaos of her family. Baran pulls her closer by the collar of her shirt, her lips soft and warm from the beer, and she relishes all of it.
The kiss is all too sudden for Trinity to overthink proprieties. All she knows is that she wants more of this – of them in family functions, maybe they can bring Aza next time, maybe there’s a ring on her finger the next moment–
Holy fuck, she’s kissing her girlfriend in front of her family. She just created the chismis material of the year and doesn’t even give a single shit.
They can talk all they want, but she’ll be happy for the rest of her life for as long as she has Baran Al-Hashimi holding her close like this.
“Ma’am, I don’t care if you have electric candles or those oil lamps that they used in the medieval era, I just need you to prepare them within ten minutes, and I know that that is possible because your in-house restaurant’s lighting relies on those romantic candles. Can’t you just lend us two of those please? Just for the night,” Trinity rambles on the telephone.
The party was two hours ago. They are back at the hotel, sobering up. Trinity insisted on taking dibs on the first shower of the night, just so she can get the plan in motion while Baran freshens up.
Romantic jazz music plays from her phone (she already has a playlist for this very moment).
“Look– what’s your name again? Okay, Joy, I just want to let you know that the woman of my dreams is about to walk out of the shower, probably smelling like those Dutch flowers you see on travel magazines. If I don’t have this perfect set-up in our room, it might look like this whole ordeal is bullshit. A lesbian’s future depends on your service. And I am willing to pay extra…”
“Ma’am, please calm down,” the receptionist tells her.
“The point is, Joy, I have this diamond ring–” she fumbles for it in the pocket of her crimson robe, then stops when she can only feel a thin sheet of fabric.
Her heart skips a beat.
Shit shit shit shit.
Where the hell is the ring?
“Ma’am?” she hears from the phone, but her mind filters it out in unmitigated panic.
And of course, Baran chooses this very moment to come out of the shower in the matching silk robe, just as Trinity requested.
The telephone drops from her hand, crashing onto the carpeted floor.
“Looking for this?” Baran says, a ghost of a smile dancing on her lips.
She holds up a tiny velvet box, the same one she’s misplaced.
“Eshgham.” Her girlfriend steps closer, reaching for her trembling hand and clutching it to her chest. “Explain.”
“Uh…”
“And no, we cannot take this to the bathtub this time.”
“Baran, I…”
Trinity swallows a mouthful of air, rummaging through her precious mind for the right words.
Perhaps, this is it. The moment of truth, and she doesn’t get a chance to digress.
Not that she plans to, anyway.
“What is this about, baby?” Baran asks, heavy lashes fluttering into a gentle plea, although Trinity can sense that she already knows.
She’s just waiting for it to be uttered.
Instead, Trinity slowly grabs the box from Baran’s hand, staring at it as if gearing up a rocket to launch into space. The consonant melody of the music sways in the background, and Trinity can see the rest of her life unfolding right in front of her.
She stands on one knee, taking Baran’s fingers with her own, jaw tightening as the tears threaten to fall.
Not yet, not when she has something to say first.
“Doctor Al-Hashimi…I’m sorry for calling you ‘robo-doc’ on your first day,” Trinity starts, and a soft, warm laugh escapes Baran. “I only did that because you were so adamant with the new technology and shit, which I understand now, because I want to spend more time with our Aza just as much as you do. When I was with my relatives earlier today, I realized, wow– you really can’t choose your family sometimes, because a few of them are really shitty people I just tolerate. But then there are some moments in our lives where we get to choose. It’s like a crack where the light gets in or whatever the metaphor is. This is one of them. I choose you, Baran. I choose you everyday…”
Trinity clears her throat, and closes her eyes for a second. The words come out of her mouth before she even registers them in her mind.
“Will you marry me?”
Baran exhales an exhilarated “yes” as Trinity slides the ring into her finger. “Come up here and kiss me.”
Finally.
And Trinity does, like her life depends on it. They melt into the kiss until it turns into nothing but a shared breath – a tender promise of a lifetime. It doesn’t burst like fireworks in Trinity’s countless daydreams, it just feels like coming home.
Not a minute later, they lock into a timeless embrace, gently swaying into the music, even though they almost stumble into each other as they try to pivot across the floor.
“God, are we drunk?” Trinity gags against Baran’s shoulder.
“I think,” Baran says, chortling. “But this doesn’t feel like a decision we’ll regret in the morning, does it?”
She inhales the sweet scent of her fiancée’s curls, humming an agreement. She attempts a twirl – lifting a hand over Baran’s head as the older woman makes a halo with the graceful sway of her body, which almost becomes a disaster as Trinity fails to take a precise step from the swift motion. They end up laughing it off, but they keep on swaying to the melody with utter bliss.
“Earlier, I thought my family’s chaos would turn you off,” Trinity quietly admits as they fall into a steady rhythm.
Baran pulls away from the embrace to look her in the eyes, “Hey, I had a wonderful time, and I like seeing how your history echoes into what you are today…”
“Look at you with your way with words,” she attempts to digress.
“When I say yes, Trinity, I mean it.”
Trinity absorbs the diamond ring that now adorns Baran’s beautiful fingers, deeply exhaling. “We’re really getting married.”
“Yes, we are,” Baran says in a resolute voice. “You know, I was going to propose.”
Her eyes widen. “What? When?”
“Eventually, when we go back to Pittsburgh.”
“Then propose, mahal. I won’t stop you.”
“We’re already engaged.”
“That was me asking you. Now, it’s your turn.”
Baran bites her lower lip and tilts her head, as if considering her own plan. “Alright.”
“Catch me off-guard. Surprise me. Right in the middle of trauma or something.”
“No.”
“I’m kidding, Doc. Jeez!”
The sweetest kiss absorbs their shared giggles, foreheads adhering. Trinity’s mouth is full of her – nothing else exists, nothing else matters.
“Shall we tell Lola first thing tomorrow?” Baran suggests, still swaying her around the room.
“No, our flower boy deserves to know first.”
“Ah, so this is what you’ve been conspiring behind my back…”
Trinity grimaces. “I had to ask permission from your mom and Aza.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
“Are you mad? Still no sex for two weeks?”
“Hey, that was before I thought you were planning to pull a prank on me again.”
“Well, if that’s the case…”
Trinity slides a hand under the shawl lapel of Baran’s robe, taking a quick feel of the prize underneath–
Someone buzzes at the door, much to their shared dismay.
Baran straightens up and pulls the robe tighter to her chest, making Trinity groan in frustration.
When they open the door, a woman politely stands in front, holding a bouquet of flowers and four pieces of the electronic candles Trinity had requested earlier.
Peering at the nameplate, she groans even louder.
“Dammit, Joy. You could’ve brought these before my boss became my fiancée!”
Fin.