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Santos knew what she was getting into when she got romantically involved with García. It had been obvious, hard to ignore after all, that she had… a child.
She had known from the very beginning, claiming it didn’t matter, because what else could she have done about it? Yolanda’s life came as a whole with her role as a mother, and Joaquín, the child in question, had been here longer than she had.
Trinity was the newcomer, the one who had to adapt, for better or worse.
Even if Yolanda had warned her from the start, avoiding putting a label on their relationship during the first months because of her motherhood, Trinity had wanted to take the risk anyway, after days spent with her mind crowded by the persistent thought that she truly, seriously wanted to be with her.
And if that included a child, she would accept it, just as Yolanda had accepted everything about her, from her self-sabotage to her childhood trauma and old gymnastics injuries, all wounds she was slowly recovering from.
And don’t get Trinity wrong, it’s not like she had any kind of beef with a literal almost seven-year-old. On the contrary, Joaquín was… cool, with his little Vans, his curly hair cut by his mother, and his impeccable manners.
Still, even after two years of knowing him, Santos struggled to find her place in his life. There wasn’t really a blood bond between them, right? It felt like she had been having the same conversation ever since their relationship became official, turning into something more tangible, like labeling moving boxes not too long ago.
Yet it seemed inevitable to dwell on the matter the moment she sat down in one of their usual cafés with her trusted confidants.
“I’m just saying… who am I to set any boundaries, you know?” Trinity comments suddenly, drowning her anxiety with a long sip of coffee.
Mel tilts her head slightly as she studies her. “Why wouldn’t you? You live with him.”
“You’re a responsible adult, just like his mother,” Samira agrees, stirring her tea. “And I’m sure he understands that. Kids are pretty perceptive.”
“I know they are,” Trinity replies under her breath, slumping further into her seat.
She takes a few seconds, throwing her head back with a huff before continuing. “But how am I supposed to tell him what time he can go to sleep or that he needs to finish his food?”
“… does it still haunt you, being alone with him?” Samira asks, raising one of her dark brows. “He was born in like, 2020.”
“I also know he missed out on a lot, okay? That’s why he asks about everything, the why of everything,” Trinity adds, once again trying to ease her throat with the bitter drink.
“Time together matters, and the fact that he asks you things is a sign of comfort,” Mel argues thoughtfully, her gaze drifting away.
Trinity allows herself a small smile at that.“Is it pathetic that I’m looking for approval from a kid who dresses up as Spider-Man?”
Samira’s warm brown eyes meet Melissa’s honey-colored ones, and they share the exact same expression. Mel is the first to give in, shrugging slightly.
“… no,” she says, trying her best.
Trinity rolls her eyes at the obvious complicity. “You are totally lying, girl… oh my God.”
“It’s admirable effort!” Samira jumps in quickly to defend her. “It matters to you, it matters to García, and it should matter to… Joaco.”
“His friends call him Joaco,” Trinity corrects before she can stop herself. “And trust me, I don’t think that little man considers me his friend.”
“You are friends,” Mel assures her, nodding. “You have sleepovers, you eat together, and… he asks you things.”
Trinity forces herself to bite her lower lip, holding back the urge to argue with that statement, because it doesn’t feel like enough.
The sleepovers and shared meals happen because they live under the same roof, and the questions only come when Yolanda isn’t around to answer them. But instead of saying any of that, she just stays quiet.
No matter how many times she has done it, it still makes Trinity extremely nervous to pick Joaquín up from school when Yolanda can’t make it because of work.
She doesn’t know exactly why she reacts this way, but she finds herself counting the blocks with each step in her Converse, which, honestly, she should probably clean.
And when she finally looks up, pulling off her headphones as she’s met with the school entrance, that familiar twist returns to her stomach, a strange mix of discomfort and alienation, suddenly feeling every other parent’s eyes on her and that they know she doesn’t belong like them.
Still, all of that seems to fade the moment Joaquín’s face appears among the crowd of kids, lighting up as soon as he sees her.
“Trin!” he exclaims excitedly, showing the gap between his front teeth as he waves eagerly.
Trinity returns the gesture, a small sense of satisfaction settling in her chest as she watches him weave through his classmates to reach her.
“Joaco! Who came today, your mom or…?” the teacher starts to ask, gently holding him by the shoulders, but she trails off when she notices Trinity standing there. “The girlfriend, then.”
It seems to be the label assigned to her, right?
Trinity steps closer with a certain shyness. “… hey.” It’s all she manages to say, forcing what she hopes passes as a smirk.
Joaquín quickly takes his place by her side, saying goodbye to his teacher and a few friends Trinity recognizes from afternoons spent at their house.
The walk home has gotten easier over time. At least now Trinity knows how to start.
“What did you do today?” she asks, taking Joaquín’s flower-patterned backpack so she can carry it for him.
“We had math, sums and… super boring, but lunch was good,” Joaquín answers, nodding enthusiastically.
“I always liked lunch more than class too,” Trinity agrees, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
During the short walk between crossings streets, Trinity’s hand brushes against Joaquín’s smaller one, and without hesitation, he laces his fingers with hers.
“Mom always says I have to do this before crossing,” Joaquín comments, swinging their joined hands. “That, and look both ways.”
“Wise woman,” Trinity replies, glancing down at their hands for a moment, feeling an unexpected sense of protectiveness settle in her chest.
They share a small laugh, and for a moment, Trinity thinks that maybe, just maybe, they really are friends.
And Trinity can’t help the small smile that once again forms on her lips later that night, when Yolanda leans in and whispers, “thank you for doing me the favor,” pressing a kiss to her lips.
Still, Trinity finds herself once again caught between a rock and a hard place when she’s suddenly in the middle of a standoff between Yolanda and Joaquín.
Their afternoon snack time is interrupted by the eternal dilemma of not wanting to do math homework. It had happened to her at that age too, and probably to anyone who had never been good at math… something Yolanda cannot relate to, with that strange condition Trinity likes to tease her about, being practically a human calculator.
Unfortunately for Trinity, she has no choice but to stay in the crossfire, trying to look casual as she prepares coffee at the kitchen island, even as she keeps watching the argument from the corner of her eye.
“Joaquín! You’re going to sit there and do it until you understand it,” Yolanda demands, her firmness unshakable. “That’s the only way you learn, trial and error.”
Joaquín huffs, muttering under his breath as he shifts in his chair. “This is so boring…” he complains again.
“Not everything in life is meant to entertain you,” Yolanda counters with a shrug.
Trinity has to bite down lightly on her lower lip to keep from laughing, something about the way Yolanda has always treated her son, never talking down to him, always amuses her.
“I can do it with him, if you want…” she offers suddenly, before fully processing what she’s actually saying.
Yolanda looks up at her, both eyebrows raised, until she finally nods. “Sure, if you want to.”
“… yeah?” Trinity echoes, as if she’s asking for permission again.
Joaquín’s brown eyes, identical to his mother’s, snap to her immediately. “Please! Please!”
There’s really no room left to refuse. Trinity makes her way over to the dining table with her cup of coffee, ready to face those basic calculations.
And Trinity catches the way Yolanda mouths a thank you before leaving them alone.
Santos settles into the chair, still processing what she just did, and how naturally Garcia accepted it, trusting her.
She shakes off that lingering feeling of being out of place, even though, by now, she might be more involved than she ever realized.
From the very first time Trinity met Joaquín, a protective instinct had been triggered. He had looked so small, so defenseless. It had always happened to her with her own patients too, even back during her emergency rotations, when she chose pediatrics.
And the feeling only grew stronger in the quiet routines, in the mornings when she combed through his dark curls, when she cut up his fruit for dessert, or made space for him between her and Yolanda in bed during storms.
She had never really stopped to question it, not even in between patient consultations, whether she would like to care for a child of her own. Still, she wouldn’t deny that guiding Joaquín didn’t displease her.
Those old teenage fantasies of a possible perfect life had slowly begun to resemble her reality, almost without her noticing.
That’s why, and for so many other reasons, she doesn’t hesitate when she hears a small cry from the yard, snapping her out of her nap on Yolanda’s favorite hammock.
“Joaquín? What happened?” she asks immediately, turning her head in search of him. “Joaquín!”
She moves toward him without thinking after spotting him on the grass, curled in on himself and holding his knee close to his chest, trying to breathe through his nose between soft sobs.
“Hey, hey… what happened?” she asks gently, lowering herself to sit in front of him.
Her hands move carefully toward him, fingers brushing up along his leg until they reach his knee, but the moment she touches it, Joaquín lets out a small cry while curling in tighter.
“Sorry, sorry!” Trinity blurts out, quickly pulling her hands back. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, okay?”
Joaquín nods slowly, his lower lip trembling, his eyes fixed on her as he tries to hold back tears.
“… I just… my shoelaces were untied and…” he explains as best as he can, his shoulders beginning to shake.
“I understand,” she assures him quickly, nodding. “… let’s go inside, okay? I’m sure mom has something in her first aid kit to fix you up.”
Joaquín hesitates for a moment before throwing himself into her, wrapping his arms around her neck, making it easy for Trinity to lift him as she stands.
“It’s okay, alright?” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the top of his head. “I’ll teach you again how to tie them, and you’ll remember.”
Joaquín buries his face into the crook of her neck, finally relaxing against her as small tears roll down his cheeks.
It wasn’t the first, nor the last time Trinity realized that Joaquín was now part of her responsibility too. But it wasn’t until he expressed it himself that she understood the role she had been stepping into, without quite knowing how it happened.
It came during one of their small “family” outings to the park, where Joaquín played with his classmates while Yolanda and Trinity talked about their week.
Trinity could feel Yolanda’s hand absentmindedly massaging her thigh over the denim of her jorts.
But… they don’t notice Joaquín approaching until he’s suddenly there.
“Can I go see an anthill Amara found?” he asks, standing in front of them with both arms tucked behind his back. “They’re black ants,” he adds before his mother can even ask.
“… from a distance,” Yolanda sets as a condition, pointing at him.
Joaquín nods, accepting the rule, but he doesn’t move. Instead, his brown eyes shift to Trinity’s green ones.
It takes her a few seconds to understand what’s happening, that he’s asking for her permission too. She instinctively looks to Yolanda for guidance, but her girlfriend seems more focused on wiping a smudge off her son’s cheek.
“Sure, yeah… go ahead,” Trinity says, her voice thin, followed by a small cough that she covers with a tap against her chest. “Just, you know, away”.
She stays there for a few seconds longer, watching Joaquín run off to join his friends, feeling something soft and overwhelming bloom in her chest.
“Look at you…” Yolanda comments, a low whistle slipping past her lips. “… very well.”
“You think?” Trinity asks, turning to her quickly.
Yolanda lets out a small laugh, nudging her shoulder with her palm. “You’re overthinking it, trust me.”
Trinity rolls her eyes when Yolanda presses a kiss to her cheek, even if she still feels strangely moved by everything.
“… shut up,” she mutters with a huff, blinking a little faster than usual.
So this is what they were now… a family, right?
Three plates at restaurants when they went out for dinner, children’s movies on the weekends, and far too many parenting books slowly taking over Trinity’s nightstand, their margins filled with her notes as she tried to memorize the best ways to handle tantrums or awkward questions she had never even thought to ask herself.
Her most valuable possession had quietly become the friendship bracelet they shared, a small piece of jewelry Joaquín had given her, and one she wouldn’t take off for anything in the world.
Before Trinity even realized it, she was crossing streets with both hands intertwined, one with Yolanda’s and the other with Joaquín’s, laughing freely. And learning how to dance salsa in the middle of the kitchen, clumsily guided by Yolanda after a couple glasses of wine, once Joaco had gone to bed early.
She had even become part of the moms’ group chat, and even if Trinity had never been a fan of those, she still took the time to check it between patient consultations or during her breaks, when she ate those almost ridiculously nutritious lunches Yolanda packed for her, which she would never admit out loud were some of the best meals she had ever had.
And well, now she had to set the example for Joaco and actually eat three proper meals a day… right?