She’s eyeing the couch again. There’s nothing left to do to keep busy after she put her textbooks away, and you did not sweep up all those Cheez-Its just to let her turn her apartment back into a cluttered disaster zone, so you stand, toss her plaid jacket at her, and say, “Come on. Let’s go.”
She doesn’t even attempt to catch it, and one of the sleeves smacks her in the face as it plops into her lap. She scrunches her nose and huffs an almost-laugh.
“Where are we going?” she asks, half-heartedly sticking one arm into her sleeve.
“Well, you finished all your work, so I thought we’d have some fun.”
“God, Alex, not you too, I told Portia—“
“No! I—fun was the wrong word, I meant we should go get something to eat.”
She groans.
“Something off the meal plan,” you add. Her eyebrows lift a little, and the palest ghost of curiosity flits across her face. It disappears quickly but it doesn’t matter, it’s emotion, you’ll take it.
“Come on,” you say, pulling the rest of her jacket across her shoulders and coaxing her to her feet. “I’m buying.”
She sighs, and wilts a little against you so you keep your arm around her shoulders and say, “You wanted to be more than three feet from the couch? Let’s go be more than three feet from the couch.” She does another almost-laugh, and you add it to your too-large collection of small victories.
“Keys?” you ask, and she ducks out from under your arm to grab them off her desk.
“Thanks. My gran always said I’d leave my head behind if it weren’t attached to me.”
She smiles weakly but swallows hard, and she is quietly devastated in a way that is so familiar your own throat feels tight. It makes you feel helpless, and that makes you angry, because you have worked so hard to become an empowered woman who can handle things, who can protect the people you care about, and it hits you so hard that sometimes you just can’t. But she’s standing, and this isn’t about you anyway, so you smile bigger than you feel as you hold the door open for her.
“That’s what friends are for,” you say as you close it behind the two of you. Her eyes are already brighter as soon as she steps outside, and not in an on-the-verge-of-tears way, and she looks at you askance.
“Not gonna double-check I locked the door?” she asks, and it stings, but you know she’s joking so you smile and raise one don’t-start-with-me eyebrow at her.
“You’re not a child, Dorothy. You can lock your own apartment. Besides, it’s not my stuff getting stolen if you don’t, so.”
Her mouth quirks at that, and you open the door to the stairwell for her and push her lightly through. It’s still light out as you exit the dorm, and not terribly chilly yet, so you set off down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of the parking lot. She trots after you.
“We’re not taking your car?” she asks, and you smile secretively.
“It’s not that far. Anyway, it’s nice out. We should enjoy it before it gets cold.”
“It occurs to me that you never actually said where we’re going.”
“Didn’t I?” you say, purposely not looking at her. “How forgetful of me.”
She rolls her eyes and jams her hands into her coat pockets as you walk. It’s not long until you reach Vampa’s, sandwiched between a pet store and a barbershop with an honest to god antique red and blue pole out front. She’s been staring mostly at the sidewalk, following you only peripherally, so when you turn to walk through its little front gate, she looks up and is almost startled to see how far you’ve moved. She blinks rapidly.
“I—wow, I really zoned out there, huh. This is it?”
You nod, unable to fully keep down your smile because this is probably your favorite place to eat in the entire town, and you’re weirdly excited to see what she thinks of it.
“Yep. Best Greek food around. Do you want to eat inside or out on the patio?”
She scoffs at the word patio, and yeah, it’s really just a few metal tables with mis-matching plastic chairs but hey, you’re giving her the option. “Inside,” she eventually sighs. “I’m not really feeling a side of flies with my moussaka.”
She draws the word out in a way that tells you she’s almost definitely getting a cheeseburger, and you usher her inside.
It’s dimmer, the lights are soft and gold and strains of rebetiki music mingle with the low buzz of a soccer game on TV over the bar, the clink of silverware against ceramic plates. There are maybe four other people in the entire restaurant, and the sign in front says to seat yourselves, so you usher her over to your favorite booth and slide into it. She drops heavily into the seat across from you, and then leans onto her elbows, looking around the place with some interest while you try not to fidget. You’re nervous suddenly. You haven’t come here with someone else in a long time and you want her to like it. You want to not screw this up, and then you wonder what exactly you’d be screwing up if you did.
The waitress arrives to take your drink order before you can follow that train of thought to its station, and you’ve never been so grateful for an interruption in your life. And then she’s gone and Dorothy’s started to fidget herself.
“So, do you come here often?” she asks, and you can’t help the ungraceful snort that comes out of you. She instantly cracks a smile before wincing and shaking her head. “I can’t even believe I just said that. I…wow. You know what I mean, though. How did you even find this place?”
“Oh, I wish I could take the credit for that. Jeanne brought me when I was a freshman on our first…." You cough, way louder than necessary. "Uh, she has a great eye for little hidden gems like this.”
You play with your fork before you work up the courage to ask, “Do you like it?”
She must hear the anxiety in your voice because her eyes go soft and she smiles, really smiles, and nods.
“I think I like the little long-horns the best, it’s an unexpected touch,” she teases, running her fingers over the pattern on the booth’s upholstery and you stare because how have you been coming here for three years and never noticed that? The waitress—her nametag reads Tina—sets down your drinks and takes your order, and Dorothy actually does get moussaka. Conversation lulls after Tina leaves, and you panic as suddenly your brain is entirely void of things to say.
“So, what classes are you taking?” You hate yourself as soon as it’s out of your mouth, and Dorothy gives you a look.
“You just watched me slog through like four hours of homework for all of those classes, I think you probably know what I’m taking better than I do.” There’s no malice in her voice, but it doesn’t stop you from wanting to crawl into a hole somewhere far, far away.
“Sorry, I know, I just—I’m not good at small talk.” You swallow hard and stare down at the paper placemat, ears burning.
“It’s just me, Alex,” she says softly. “I think we’re kind of past the point of small talk.”
You look up, and something releases inside of you because everything’s easier after that. You pull out a pen from your purse and draw a tic-tac-toe board on your placemat, drawing an X in the top right corner before pushing it toward her. You stick to mostly neutral topics—academics, favorite books, that sort of thing. A lot of it you already know from the rush events, but so much of it is new that you don’t really mind when she repeats a few things. You talk more than you thought you would, and she gets as close to excited as you’ve seen in several days when you mention Dr. Faria is your advisor.
“She’s seriously so cool, she knows everything about like, everything!”
“Yeah, Abby’s wonderful. She’s one of those professors who really cares about you as a person, not just how well you do on her exams. Definitely take at least one class with her before you graduate.”
Tina comes back with two dishes and sets down a plate of pita and olive oil between the two of you before hefting the last dish higher so you can see it and pulling out a lemon and a candle lighter. Shit. You forgot that you had ordered this. You’re already blushing as Tina squeezes the lemon out over the dish. Dorothy looks a little confused as Tina readies the candle lighter and begins the countdown. Crap, you forgot about this part, how loud it is, how empty the rest of the restaurant is. She reaches the end, shouts, “Opa!” and lights the whole pan on fire, tilting it back and forth so the cheese inside cooks evenly. She gives you two a big grin and sets it down between you, and Dorothy’s staring between you and it with such total delight that it is completely worth any and all looks thrown your way by the other diners.
“Ok, what did I just witness? Because that was awesome.”
Your stomach swoops as she scoops up a piece of pita and moans a little at the taste.
“Holy shit, Alex, this is amazing. Seriously, what is this?”
“It's called saganaki. I thought you might like it.”
“Yeah, nailed it. I swear I’m having a religious experience over this cheese.”
You grin and dig in as well, mentally pumping your fist because you nailed it. She said so. The rest of dinner passes in a haze of really good falafel and getting your ass kicked at tic-tac-toe, and finally Tina comes back with the check. She gives you two but you grab Dorothy’s before she can go for her wallet.
“No, Alex, you don’t have to—“
“I said I was buying, didn’t I?”
You hand Tina your card, and she walks away while Dorothy looks torn between pouting and protesting. “Honestly, Dorothy, it’s fine. I want to do this.”
She squirms, unconvinced. “Can I at least do the tip, then?”
You roll your eyes and nod, and she brightens as she anchors a few bills underneath the salt and pepper shakers. “Next time’s on me, though,” she says, and you thrill right down to your toes. There’s no way you’ll let her do that, but the sentiment is nice and you like the idea of coming here again with her, so you smile and tell her sure.
It’s just on the dark side of dusk when you leave, and she opts out of finding somewhere for dessert, claiming she can feel the impending food coma beginning and she’d rather pass out in her own bed than in the street. She links her arm in yours on the way back, and the silence is easy between you. You sneak a glance at her every few minutes. You know nothing has been fixed. The darkness in her head hasn’t lifted, but you’ll be damned if you leave her in it by herself. You’d like to think you could make things a little easier. She looks tired but she walks a little lighter, and her head is no longer bent toward the sidewalk.
“I had a really good time tonight,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear as you drop her off at her door.
“I—yeah, me too.”
The silence turns awkward for a moment as she fumbles with her keys, jerks her thumb toward the door, and says, “I should probably….”
“Yeah, I’ve got some reading left to do so I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Uh, bye.”
She’s got the door to her apartment halfway open and you’re turning to leave when you hear her call your name. She looks at you with big eyes and says, “I just, I wanted to say thank you. I’ve been such a mess, and you’ve been really great about everything and there for me and you didn’t have to be and….”
She looks down and you bite your lip before finding yourself stumbling backward as she engulfs you. Her arms are around your waist and her face is pressed into your shoulder, and she’s shaking a little but holding you so tightly. It’s the best hug you’ve had in a long time. You wrap your arms around her and hold her just as hard, murmuring, "Hey, hey, of course I did," and hoping she understands every other wordless thing you pour into it. Eventually, she lets you go, wiping her eyes before she smiles, a real Dorothy smile, and whispers, “Good night,” before stepping fully inside her apartment and shutting the door.
As you walk back to your car your arms tingle with the warmth of her, and you know that what you won tonight was nothing short of enormous.