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"Outch shit!"
Fucking Huckleberry she thought while groaning, turning her head in the pillow.
"Good morning", a soft voice pulling her away from her slumber.
Here she stood in all her glory. Rested on her side propped on her elbow, hair wild cascading down her shoulder, and those brown eyes lovingly looking at her.
"Hey, what time is it? How long have you been up", her voice was still rough, sleep still trying to pull her back.
"Nine forty, I thought you needed the sleep"
Last shift had been hard. A dead kid, a hula-hoop code and to top it off an attempt. Exactly thirty seven minutes before the end of her shift. So she had in fact needed the sleep, but Yolanda — how great it was to say her name like that — didn't answered her question. She hummed and turned her head, still waiting for a response. She felt a hand running through her hair and saw a smile tugging at the rim of her lips.
"I woke up a little while ago, too tired to get out and the view was fairly too irresistible to do so"
"Sappy"
"True"
She smiled, throwing her hand around the waist of the older woman.
"I think Whitaker may have broken the coffee machine"
"Or burned himself"
"Uh yeah maybe, it would be less worrying actually", she added as they both laughed. She tried to go in for a kiss but was quickly pushed down, back hitting the mattress and a hand on her chest.
"Morning breath you know that", as she was given an unperturbed glare.
"Don't hurt to try"
She stretched, muscles heavy and sleep definitively clearing off. She looked around, a shirt thrown on her desk chair a few days ago, Dr Garcia belongings on the said desk. Rays had made their way between her curtains. Casting a golden light on the features of the surgeon. She had never looked more beautiful in Trinity's eyes. Aphrodite hiding among mankind. She couldn't tear her eyes off of her, a force inexplicably hooking her and forcing her to notice every single details. Her eyes, her lips, her defined eyebrows god even her nose. There was not a single part of that woman which didn't hypnotise her.
A voice brought her back to reality.
"Are you done starring or should I block the entire morning from my schedule?" she teased lightly.
"I mean — you could in fact block it but I have a better activity than starring in mind" she answered her face explicit.
"Interesting, but we need to eat come on"
"Nooo…", Trinity whined trying to stop Yolanda from leaving the bed. Hand falling — or rather pushed — from her waist. She felt a kiss on her temple, heard footsteps and the door opening.
She was alone, she waited.
She breathed in. A delicate coffee smell coming from the kitchen.
Noises. A pan perhaps? Mugs too. Her stomach decided for her, growling.
She made her way to the kitchen. An inaudible conversation taking place between her roommate and her girlfriend — ah! girlfriend could you believe it — the two most important person in her life right now.
She stopped at the edge of the room, leaning on the wall and observing the scene taking place in front of her eyes.
Yolanda, stoical, intimidating and impenetrable ER surgeon, Garcia making eggs in Trinity, awkward, loser and lesbian, Santos kitchen. Wearing her oversize shirt and boxer. Next to her was Whitaker, sat on a high chair speaking about whatever nonsense he could speak of. A loser of course, but her loser. She loved them both so much. She went from never believing in people and being so sure that she would never have a safe place ever again — not her house, not her town, not even the internet with this stupid trial all over it — to find two.
A best friend. Something she swore off a long time ago, a 4th of July night, sobbing in her bathroom a hand clasped on her mouth and straight lines on her thigh. But here he was, kind, understanding and protective but never overbearing.
A girlfriend. Her partner. Someone who would stay through everything. Goods and bads, lots of bads actually. She was comprehensive, calm and observant. Always listening never judging. Not a day could pass without wondering what did she do to deserve her. She had almost fucked it all up and she would thank whoever she could for the second chance she had. Yolanda Garcia was the best thing to ever happen to her, the light at the end of the tunnel. Her calm after the storm, an ongoing storm since forever as far as she could remember.
And here they were. Chatting and making breakfast at her place in her kitchen in her clothes — not Whitaker thank god even though she suspected him at some point.
She smiled, thinking about how she should go the cemetery soon. It had been so long, she missed her, she had so much to tell her.
Peace would be a presumptuous assumption. She don't think she will ever be. But it was the closest she could get to it. She was healing, one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. She would fall again, for sure, but they will be there when the time comes. She was not alone.
Hey, a hand on her cheek. "Breakfast is ready". She closed her eyes, falling into the touch.
"Everything is okay?", worried eyes scanning her. She looked up.
"Yes. More than okay actually, I was just lost in my thoughts"
"Didn't know you had these", Denis chimed in.
"Oh fuck you"
"Jar", the surgeon interrupted.
Trinity ignored her and his victorious smile.
"So about this breakfast…"
Laughter echoing through the once empty and cold apartment.
She told them she had something to do. Told Yolanda later in that she needed to do it alone. The woman had frowned but understood, just asking if it was okay for her to wait in the car. It was supposed to rain today she was not walking or taking the bus.
So here they where, the cemetery, not the most joyful place you could think of.
She walked a few hundred meters, still visible from the parking. A headstone "Loving daughter, dear friend. Forever with us", fading flowers, dead leaves. She crouched down, taking the flowers off and swiping the debris away. She had brought a bouquet of lily of the valley, turning down her usual chrysanthemum one from the florist.
She sat down, wondering where to start. It has been a while since she last came. She figured out an apology was needed.
"So, I'm here… I'm sorry I didn't came sooner, life got a bit busy you know"
She sighed.
"Well, not exactly busy. Maybe complicated? You would definitively tell me complicated because you always thought I was born busy…"
Words were pouring. She told her about Whitaker, how he was not just a simple roommate anymore.
"He could never replace you of course but dunno it's nice. He's nice. Too much sometimes but still cool"
She went on and on. Work, family, friends, last karaoke night with Mel and Samira. The teenage girl during her night shift, how wrong it felt. The baby she helped deliver, how great it was, feeling his little hearth in the palm of her hands. Langdon stupid apology, their stupid eyes contact whenever something dumb was happening, he wasn't actually totally bad. Still an asshole but after Yolanda much needed talk he backed down. Yolanda. Her girlfriend. She smiled.
"Remember when we used to talk about love when looking at the stars? How would the perfect person feel. Someone who always listen, here for you even during the worst no matter what, unconditionally loving. She is all of these things and so much more. I told you I didn't believe in soulmates and all but maybe I do now. I can't imagine my life without her, as fucked up as it may sound — she laughed — but god I love her. I've never loved anyone like that. I just look at her and my heart feels so full like it's gonna explode"
She looked back, Garcia still in the car looking down at her phone. Yes she was fucked and no she wouldn't do anything about it.
"Bummer you'll never meet her, but you know she'll probably come next time. Sorry for missing your birthday by the way, will not happen again. I miss you. I-", she gulped, eyes burning with tears. "I'm fine, as much as I could. I told them, opened up. Sorry for breaking your trust I guess? Don't know if you care — she gestured at the grave — now. But I just wanted to let you know everything was okay"
She stood up. Turning her head once again, this time Yolanda was looking and getting out of the car. She wiped her hands on her jean. Damp spots on it, she looked at the sky. Droplets falling down on her face mixing with the tears she didn't realised she had shed. She stayed like this a few minutes. Breathing. Existing. A weight leaving her.
She reached her pocket taking out a chocolate bar, her favourite. Setting it in the middle next to the flowers.
"Until we meet again Cam", she whispered touching the gravestone.
She walked back to the parking. Wet clothes sticking to her skin. Yolanda was here, under an umbrella and a towel in one hand. She smiled.
"Hey"
"Hey, figured you would need it", she said as she extended her arm.
"Correct as always", she took it, drying her hair.
"As always, how was it?", she sat behind the wheel turning the AC off.
"Great, really great. I talked a lot.
"Good, it's nice. I'm happy you allowed me to come"
"Even if you had to stay in the car?"
"Even if I had to stay in the car", she turned towards Trinity taking her hands. "I'm here for you no matter what, I'm a ride or die you should know that already", she smiled.
God she was so in love with that woman.
She muttered a "I love you so much" before launching and kissing her. Hands framing her face, foreheads pressing against each other.
"I love you too Doctor Trinity Santos"
They smiled like idiots in love.
They were idiots in love.
Love.
She thought it was disgusting at 10. Said to her between inappropriate gestures, a word she learn to associate with him.
She thought it was bullshit at 16. Love is conditional. Love needs to be owned. No one would love her if they knew the truth.
She thought she could understand it at 25. She tried and failed. It hurt to trust and it hurt even more to be betrayed. She was right and couldn't tell the truth ever again.
At 28 she finally understood it. Looking to her left at the woman driving her luxurious car and making fun of her musical comedy song but still singing along.
To be love was to be seen. To be heard. To be known.
Yolanda looked at her and smiled softly. She smiled back. Their hands interlinked on her lap.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
Emily Dickinson.