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Trinity shuffled into the living room with a different outfit for what felt like the millionth time that evening. Yolanda glanced up at her from the book she was reading, giving her a once over. Trinity was now dressed in loose navy dress pants and a crisp white shirt. She looked good. Like in the four other outfits she changed into in the span of thirty minutes.
“Ay, Dios mío,” Yolanda huffed, setting the book down. “So you changed again.”
Trinity pouted. “You’re no help,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Yolanda pinched the bridge of her nose, a smile tugging on her lips despite herself. “Trinita, you already showed me four outfits and you look good in all of them,” she said slowly, getting to her feet. “Mamá won't care about what you’re wearing. She’s just excited to meet you.”
Trinity sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I know, just—” she cut herself off, reaching for Yolanda’s hands. “I’m nervous.”
Yolanda squeezed Trinity’s hands. “It’s gonna go well, mi amor,” she murmured, thumbs brushing over her knuckles.
Trinity nodded faintly, letting go of Yolanda’s hands to smooth out the fabric of her shirt.
Yolanda glanced over her again, eyeing the crisp fabric. “Maybe…” she muttered, her nose scrunching slightly. “Don’t wear white. Papá’s gonna be cooking, like, really messy stuff.”
Trinity’s eyes widened. “But then the pants won't go with the other shirts I have and I already picked out the jewelry and—"
Yolanda shushed her gently, placing both hands on her forearms. “It’ll be fine, Trin, just wear the last thing you showed me.”
Trinity huffed out a breath. “Fine. Yeah, okay. Give me ten minutes!” she said, already moving toward their bedroom again.
“Only ten minutes. Then we’re leaving.” Yolanda called out after her, sitting back down.
Trinity got back in the living room with fifteen seconds to spare. She was wearing a pair of baggy jeans and Yolanda’s sage green button-up shirt now. Yolanda looked up at her and smiled fondly, tilting her head to the side. “There you go,” she murmured, standing up again to grab her bag.
Trinity chewed on her bottom lip before smiling, and she gestured at herself one last time. “Looks good?” she asked gingerly.
Yolanda rolled her eyes, still smiling. “You look perfect,” she said, pressing a kiss on Trinity’s cheek. “Let’s go.”
The sun was already painting the sky pink by the time they pulled up in front of the García house. A simple two-story home sat tucked into the street, its porch lined with a couple of mismatched chairs and a small coffee table that looked like it had seen years of slow mornings and louder afternoons.
Trinity let out a fond chuckle as she stepped out from the car. She found Yolanda’s hand easily, looping their fingers together.
“It’s not much, but it’s home.” Yolanda murmured, tugging at Trinity’s hand to guide her toward the front door.
Trinity hummed, nudging Yolanda’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” she said, earning a soft laugh from Yolanda.
Yolanda pressed the doorbell, and it took approximately three seconds for it to be flung open and they were met with Yolanda’s mom, Marisol García.
“Oh, mi vida, here you are! Ay, I missed you!” Marisol beamed, arms already flying around Yolanda’s shoulders to capture her in a tight embrace. Yolanda let out a squeak—adorable—as she wrapped her arms around the older woman, smiling widely.
And before she knew it, Marisol had already turned to Trinity. Up close, Trinity could suddenly see Yolanda in her. The same deep brown eyes, the same expressive eyebrows, the same look of quiet attentiveness whenever someone spoke. It softened Marisol's features in much the same way it did Yolanda's.
Her dark hair had long since begun to silver at the temples, and there was something familiar in the way she carried herself—gentle, but with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent her whole life taking care of people.
Marisol took one good look at her, and placed both hands on Trinity’s shoulders. “Welcome, mija,” she said warmly, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Yolita talks about you all the time.”
Trinity let out a breathy chuckle. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mrs. García,”
Marisol’s brows furrowed, making Trinity think she already fucked up before the evening started. But then, she shook her head firmly. “No, no, no, none of that formal nonsense,” she said, guiding both women inside. “You call me Marisol, got it?”
Trinity raised her brows, glancing at Yolanda briefly before speaking. “Okay, got it,” she said, a small smile on her lips.
When they stepped in, the first thing Trinity noticed was the scent—fresh vegetables, something minty, and something deeper, spicy enough to make her nose tingle.
The house was simple yet warm, with couches that looked like they’d survived generations of kids jumping on them and a vintage rug nearly half the size of the room. Afternoon sunlight poured through the windows, filling the living room with a golden haze.
The walls were scattered with paintings and family photos—most of them featuring a baby Yolanda and her siblings. Trinity was absolutely going to take pictures of them to tease her later.
“I told Arturo to go easy on the tapatío, but ay, Dios, that man has no measure,” Marisol muttered, guiding them both on the worn couch. Which, as expected, immediately swallowed Trinity whole. “I hope you’re good with spice,”
Yolanda snorted softly beside Trinity, and she chuckled. “I’m alright, your daughter has been torturing me with your salsa for months.”
Yolanda playfully swatted at Trinity’s arm. “Torture? Wow, what an accusation.” she said flatly. “I thought you enjoyed it!”
Trinity threw her hands up in exasperation. “I enjoy it when it’s not scorching my mouth!” she said, then she turned to Marisol. “But seriously—your salsa might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Marisol beamed at that, taking Trinity’s hands into hers. “Ay, Yolita, es tan dulce,” she said warmly. “I’ll send an extra jar next time.”
Yolanda let out a low chuckle, crossing her legs. “Thanks, mamá. And—maybe go easy on the chillies, esta bien?”
“Bueno, bueno,” Marisol said, waving a hand. “But she’s gonna have to build tolerance, sí?”
Just as Trinity opened her mouth to speak, Yolanda’s dad, Arturo García stepped in the living room with a very loud footfall.
“Yolita!” he beamed, wiping his hands on his apron before pulling Yolanda into a tight hug.
Yolanda stumbled backwards as she gave in to the hug, letting out a startled laugh. “Hi, papi,” she said, patting Arturo’s back.
Arturo was a couple inches taller than Yolanda; with short, grey curls and laugh lines around his eyes—a kind smile that Trinity already knew from Yolanda’s face.
He finally released her and took a seat in the armchair beside the couch, turning to Trinity with soft eyes. “You must be Trinity,” he said, his smile widening. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Trinity nodded, glancing at Yolanda. “Wow, you really like talking about me, huh?” she teased, inevitably earning another swat at her arm.
“Oh shut up,” Yolanda said, leaning back slightly on the couch. “How could I not talk about you?”
Trinity’s expression softened immediately and she shook her head, a small smile on her lips.
Arturo looked at them, eyes softening. “Mírala cómo la ve, Mari.” he said to Marisol, his voice full of quiet joy.
“Papá.” Yolanda said firmly, shooting him a gaze that normally made interns scramble away.
But Arturo just raised his hands in surrender. “¿Qué? It's true.”
Trinity let out a quiet chuckle, shifting a little closer toward Yolanda.
Arturo turned to Trinity, leaning on his elbows. “You speak Español?” he asked, eyes shining with pride. “Yolanda taught you, didn't she?”
Trinity nodded, scrunching her nose slightly as she tried to muster a sentence together. “Un… poquito,” she said carefully, holding her fingers close together. “Pero hablo terrible.”
Yolanda buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking as she laughed. “Okay, show off,”
Arturo burst out laughing. “No, no, that was good!” he insisted, pointing at her approvingly. “See, Mari? She’s trying.”
Marisol chuckled, squeezing Trinity’s knee. “¡Sí, sí, muy bien! She’s got a good teacher after all,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at Yolanda.
“Yeah, yeah, I try,” Yolanda said, waving a hand. Then she glanced at her watch and raised an eyebrow. “Camila not coming?”
Trinity hummed, tilting her head. “She’s coming too?” she asked.
She’d met Camila once before—if being spotted in the background of a FaceTime call and subsequently questioned by an extremely curious younger sister counted as meeting.
Arturo nodded. “Sí, she called me before you two came. They will be late—Marcos has, eh, what do you call it?”
“Taekwondo?” Yolanda said.
Arturo snapped his fingers. “Yes, yes, that.”
“Let’s set the table before they come,” Marisol suggested, already getting up to her feet and heading toward the kitchen.
Arturo followed right after her, checking his watch. “The enchiladas still have ten minutes,” he muttered mostly to himself, before turning back around and pointing at Trinity and Yolanda before they could stand up. “You two—stay. Be novias. Mari and I got it.”
Trinity blinked, looking between Yolanda and Arturo. “Uh, okay,”
“Let us know if you need help!” Yolanda called after Arturo as he disappeared into the kitchen.
Trinity slowly sank further into the couch. “Um,” she said, staring toward the kitchen where Marisol and Arturo had disappeared. “So… what the hell just happened?”
Yolanda let out a soft laugh, leaning back beside her. “You got hit with the full García experience.”
Trinity turned her head slowly. “Wow. Okay. And what did your dad just call us?”
Yolanda waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Trinity said, raising an eyebrow.
“Relax,” Yolanda murmured, nudging her shoulder. “They love you.”
Trinity blinked. “They’ve known me for, like, fifteen minutes.”
“And?” Yolanda said simply.
Trinity paused. She wasn’t used to this—being introduced to parents, getting accepted with no conditions, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“…shit,” she muttered, dragging a hand across her face as she huffed out an incredulous chuckle.
Yolanda tilted her head, watching her for a beat before taking her hand. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “That’s kind of how they are.”
Trinity let out a slow exhale, rubbing her thumb across Yolanda’s finger. “I like them,” she said, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
Yolanda chuckled, squeezing Trinity’s hand once. “Good. Because you’re gonna be stuck with them for a while.”
Trinity blinked once, raising both eyebrows. “Wow,” she teased. “That was very bold.”
Then a loud knock echoed through the house before either of them could say anything else.
“Yolanda!” Marisol’s voice called from the kitchen. “¡La puerta!”
Yolanda was already on her feet, hurrying toward the door. “¡Va, va!”
Trinity watched her practically sprint to the entrance, a small smile on her lips. She got up a beat later, following after her to greet Camila and little Marcos.
“Tía Yola!” Marcos squealed, barely kicking off his shoes before launching himself into Yolanda’s arms. Camila shook her head, smiling as she placed Marcos’s bag on the shoe cabinet.
Yolanda laughed, ruffling the boy’s curly hair. “Hi, bud. It’s good to see you!”
Camila stepped in fully after Yolanda, who was finally freed from Marcos’s hug. She turned to Trinity, offering a warm smile—much like Marisol’s.
“Hello, Trinity,” she said, still a little breathless. “Welcome to chaos.”
“Nice to finally meet you in person,” Trinity replied.
“Same,” Camila said. “It's easier to judge someone when they're not a blurry rectangle on my phone.”
Trinity snorted.
Yolanda’s head practically whipped toward them. “Camila,” she warned, raising one eyebrow.
Camila just waved her off. “Relax, I’m just kidding. I like her.”
Trinity chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck.
Just then, Marcos appeared right in front of Trinity, scanning her with narrow eyes. “Are you Trinity?” he asked, voice surprisingly firm.
Trinity startled slightly, eyebrows raising. “…yes?” she said cautiously, her gaze flicking at Camila briefly.
Marcos tilted his head. “Can I call you Tía?”
A quiet laugh slipped out of Camila, and Yolanda snorted.
“Um,” Trinity muttered, looking at Yolanda for confirmation. Yolanda nodded with a slight grin.
Trinity turned back at Marcos. “Of course you can,”
Marcos nodded slowly, still looking like he was interrogating Trinity about a life-or-death mission. “Cool.” he said, then immediately ran off toward the living room.
Trinity watched Marcos disappear around the corner.
“…Well.”
“Well?” Yolanda echoed.
Trinity rocked on her heels.
“Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”
Camila chuckled softly beside her. “Yeah, he’s very straightforward,” she said. “Gets it from his Tía, no doubt.”
Trinity barked out a laugh.
“Okay—” Yolanda began with a raise of her hand, but was immediately interrupted by Marisol’s voice from the kitchen.
“¡Todos, a cenar!”
Trinity’s head immediately snapped toward the sound.
“I know that one.”
Camila blinked.
Yolanda let out an incredulous chuckle.
“A cenar,” Trinity repeated, looking ridiculously pleased with herself. “To dinner.”
“Look at you,” Camila said fondly.
“She’s been waiting for an opportunity,” Yolanda muttered.
By the time they made it to the dining room, the table was already overflowing.
A large dish of enchiladas sat proudly in the center, smothered in red sauce that scared Trinity a little. Bowls of arroz rojo and refried beans occupied whatever space was left, squeezed between a basket of warm tortillas wrapped in a kitchen towel and several mismatched dishes filled with shredded lettuce, diced onions, sliced avocado, and Marisol’s infamous salsa.
A pitcher of lime agua fresca sweated onto the table runner, surrounded by glasses that never seemed to stay empty for long. The entire room smelled of roasted peppers, tomatoes, garlic, and spices that had probably been simmering for hours.
“Oh… wow,” Trinity muttered as they all sat down. “And I thought Filipino dinners were packed.”
Arturo laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, this is nothing,” he said, gesturing around the table proudly. “You should see the holidays.”
Trinity chuckled, leaning forward to scoop rice onto her plate. Marisol immediately stepped in, placing a generous piece of enchilada beside it.
“Don’t be shy, mija, we won’t bite,” she said, eyes creasing warmly as she smiled.
“Thanks,” Trinity said, offering a small smile as she cut into the enchilada.
Arturo leaned in slightly, watching closely as she lifted the fork.
“Papá, let her eat in peace,” Yolanda muttered, amused.
Camila chuckled softly. “He’s excited. Let him be.”
Trinity chewed slowly, eyes widening slightly as she took in the flavors. “Oh, this is amazing,” she said at last, and Arturo practically jumped in his seat with pride.
Marisol placed a hand on Arturo’s. “So you’ve done it again, mister,” she teased, already rising to refill everyone’s glasses.
Arturo leaned forward slightly.
Then he set his fork down.
“Okay,” he said, nodding once. “Time for questions.”
Yolanda sighed the moment her father leaned forward in his chair.
“Oh no,” she muttered under her breath.
“Oh yes,” Camila said quietly, already smiling.
Trinity paused mid-chew, then slowly set her fork down. “Alright,” she said, amused despite herself. “Ask away.”
Arturo smiled fondly, then cleared his throat. “So,” he said, settling back in his chair. “How did you two end up together?”
Trinity swallowed her bite, quickly wiping her mouth. “Uh—well, it took a while,” she admitted. “I, um… dropped a scalpel on Yolanda’s foot on my first day.”
Camila winced. “Yeesh. I remember that.”
Yolanda shot her a warning look. “Camila.”
“What?” Camila said innocently. “It’s a memorable incident.”
Trinity snorted softly before continuing.
“I bought her a drink to make it up to her after that, and,” she said, glancing briefly at Yolanda, “it just kind of… happened after that.”
“It took us some time to figure out what to do about it,” Yolanda said, fingers brushing over Trinity’s hand. “But we cracked it eventually.”
Arturo let out a fond sigh, nodding. “Hermoso,” he muttered, voice soft.
Marisol shifted in her seat slightly. “Ay…” she murmured softly, a small smile forming. “That’s a good story.”
Marcos’s head snapped up from the action figure he was fiddling with. “Tía Trinity,” he said, voice hushed.
Trinity turned to Marcos. “Yeah, Marcos?”
“Do you like Tía Yola a lot?” he asked very seriously.
Trinity chuckled. “I do,” she answered easily, taking another bite of her enchilada.
Marcos nodded once, grinning widely. “That's good.”
Yolanda patted Marcos’s shoulder. “Thanks for your approval, cariño,”
Marisol smiled to herself, watching Marcos settle back down. Then she turned her attention back to Trinity, more gently this time.
“Were you always thinking of being a doctor, Trinity?”
Trinity blinked, caught slightly off-guard, but not uncomfortable. “No, actually,” she said after a beat. “I used to be a gymnast.”
Marisol’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Professional?”
Trinity nodded. “Yeah, up until I was seventeen. I, uhm…” she faltered slightly, and glanced at Yolanda.
Yolanda found Trinity’s hand under the table, giving it a soft squeeze.
Trinity cleared her throat before continuing. “The plan was to join the Olympics, but I got injured.” she said. It wasn't really a lie—just not the whole truth. She wasn't going to just drop that bomb about her coach at a dinner table with a six-year-old.
Marisol’s expression softened immediately.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, mija,” she added, voice warm.
Trinity gave a small shrug. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”
Marisol nodded slowly. “Still,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “That's a lot for someone so young.”
Yolanda’s thumb traced a small, absent circle over Trinity’s hand under the table.
Camila, unusually quiet for once, leaned back in her chair—but didn’t interrupt.
Marcos, completely oblivious to the conversation, loudly announced, “I do Taekwondo.”
Marisol let out a soft breath that turned into a smile again. “Of course you do,” she said fondly.
"Tía Yola used to do Taekwondo too," Marcos added, turning to Trinity.
Trinity raised her eyebrows as she glanced at Yolanda. “You did?”
Yolanda frowned slightly, confused. "No I didn't?"
"Tío Diego said you did." Marcos said, raising an eyebrow.
Yolanda waved a hand. "Diego is a liar."
Camila snorted over her glass.
Trinity huffed out a chuckle.
Arturo pressed a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tried to stifle a laugh.
Marisol just clicked her tongue, shaking her head with a subtle smile.
Marcos turned to Trinity again. “Can you still do flips?”
Trinity blinked. “Uh… Probably not in your living room.”
Marcos considered this. “Makes sense.”
Camila laughed quietly. “He takes sports very seriously,”
Trinity chuckled. “What belt are you?” she asked, finishing the last of her rice.
Marcos’s face lit up and he grinned. “Yellow!” he said proudly. “It's my favorite color.”
“That’s very cool,” Trinity said. “I also like yellow.”
Marcos's eyes widened slightly. “Really?”
Trinity nodded. “Really.”
He seemed to think about this very carefully.
“Okay,” he decided.
Then he went back to eating.
Camila laughed quietly. “Congratulations,”
Trinity blinked. “For what?”
“You just became his favorite person.”
Trinity let out a chuckle. “Nice,”
Marisol eyed Trinity’s plate. “Take more rice, mija,” she said, not even waiting for a response before she scooped a portion on her plate.
“Oh—thank you,” Trinity muttered.
Arturo cleared his throat again, preparing his next question. “Trinity,” he said, drawing the table’s attention again. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “Two younger brothers—Gabriel and Samuel.”
“Oldest sister?” Camila asked.
Trinity chuckled. “Unfortunately,”
“Ah,” Camila said solemnly. “So you've suffered.”
Yolanda clicked her tongue. “You don't get a say here, you used to encourage Diego into tackling me every chance you got.”
Camila gasped. “I was a child!”
“You were fourteen.” Yolanda said flatly.
Camila considered this. “A young child.”
Arturo pointed his fork at Camila. “She’s right.”
“Papá!” Camila protested.
Arturo shrugged. “Eras tremenda.”
Marisol looked up from her plate. “Ay, stop it, all of you,” she warned, then turned to Trinity. “How old are they?”
“Gabe is twenty-one and Sam is nineteen.”
Marcos gasped loudly. “That’s so old!”
Yolanda choked on her drink.
“Marcos,” Camila said, trying and failing to hide her grin. “Be nice,”
“What?” Marcos asked innocently. “They’re older than Coach Millie!”
Arturo let out a bark of laughter.
Trinity was laughing too hard to help. “Honestly, they’d probably agree with you.”
“See?” Marcos said, completely vindicated.
Trinity exhaled quietly, setting her fork down for a moment.
She’d been laughed at, questioned, fed, corrected, and gently interrupted the entire evening.
And somehow… none of it had felt like she was being tested anymore.
Just included.
She glanced around the table—Marcos already distracted again, Camila mid-smirk as she told Yolanda a joke, Arturo still looking entirely too pleased with himself, Marisol calmly refilling someone’s glass like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Yolanda’s hand was still in hers under the table.
Trinity tightened her fingers slightly around it without thinking.
Yolanda leaned in a fraction. “You doing okay?” she asked under her breath.
Trinity nodded a little, a small smile forming before she could stop it. “Yeah,” she said. “I like this.”
Yolanda hummed softly, thumbs brushing over her knuckles once.
Neither of them let go.
The rest of the evening blurred at the edges gently after that.
More questions from Arturo and Marisol came and went—how Filipino food differs from Mexican, what she likes to do on holidays, whether the shirt she was wearing belonged to Yolanda (it did).
Marcos proudly presented his action figures and Pokémon cards as if they were museum pieces, even attempting to negotiate the gifting of one of his “rarest” cards before being gently vetoed.
Camila stayed exactly where she was—half teasing, half observing, occasionally glancing between Trinity and Yolanda like she was quietly filing something away for later.
When plates were finally cleared, Marisol pressed a container of leftover enchiladas and arroz rojo into Trinity’s hands, followed by a small, firm insistence that she also take a jar of salsa.
“Just in case,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Arturo insisted on making arrangements for the next dinner, promising a “less spicy” dish and dessert.
“When our schedules line up again,” Yolanda promised gently, and Trinity nodded in agreement.
When it was time to go, it was already past Marcos’s bed time. They left first, with Marcos fast asleep on Camila’s shoulder.
Camila adjusted him slightly as she turned to Trinity. “Take care of my hermana,” she said. Then she added, smirking, “Any more scalpel incidents and I’ll start getting suspicious.”
The door closed with a long creak, and they were left with a comfortable silence. Yolanda went to the kitchen to get a tote bag for the food containers, Arturo trailing beside her “just in case”.
Marisol guided Trinity on the couch again, a fond expression on her face.
“Sit,” she said gently, like it was already decided.
Trinity obeyed automatically, still half-laughing from under her breath. “Yes, ma’am,”
Marisol huffed out a soft laugh. “Don't ‘ma’am’ me,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not that old.”
Trinity smiled. “Sorry.”
Marisol waved a hand. “Mhm. Now.” she paused a beat, studying her. “You eat enough?”
Trinity blinked. “I—yes?”
Marisol narrowed her eyes slightly, not unkind. “You don't sound sure.”
“I’m sure,” Trinity insisted, already smiling.
“Good,” Marisol said, satisfied. “Because I will feed you again next time if I have to.”
Trinity let out a small laugh. “I believe you.”
Marisol reached out and lightly patted on her knee once, then stood again as if that settled everything.
“Yolanda is lucky,” she said simply, more to herself than anyone else.
Trinity went a little still.
“…Yeah,” she said quietly with a smile. “I think I am too.”
Marisol looked at her for a second longer, then softened into a smile.
“Mm,” she said. “Good answer.”
Yolanda and Arturo appeared in the hallway with the bag a beat later. Yolanda turned to Trinity, holding the bag open so she could place the containers inside. “Ready to go?” she asked.
Trinity nodded, still smiling. “Yeah,”
Arturo gently tapped Trinity’s shoulder, getting her attention.
“One more thing,” he said.
Trinity blinked. “Hm?”
Arturo pulled her into a quick hug before she could say anything else.
Trinity froze for half a second in surprise.
Then she laughed softly and returned the hug.
Arturo hugged the same way he seemed to do everything else—warmly and without hesitation. There was no awkwardness to it, no uncertainty. Just simple affection, offered as naturally as if she had been coming over for years.
Something in Trinity's chest tightened unexpectedly.
She wasn't used to this. To being welcomed so easily. To being folded into someone's family without having to earn it first.
When they finally pulled apart, she found herself smiling before she could stop it.
“Papá,” Yolanda said, sounding entirely unsurprised.
“What?” Arturo replied. “I'm saying goodbye.”
Yolanda shook her head fondly.
Arturo finally stepped back and gave Trinity's shoulder a squeeze.
“I'm glad you came, mija,” he said warmly.
Trinity let out a soft exhale, tilting her head to the side slightly.
“I'm glad I came too.”
Arturo nodded once, satisfied.
“Good. Next time, less spicy.”
Trinity chuckled, nodding.
Marisol turned to her this time, wrapping her arms around Trinity’s shoulders in a warm, motherly hug that she wasn’t used to receiving. Trinity placed her hands on Marisol’s back, leaning her head on her shoulder briefly.
“You’re always welcome here, mija,” Marisol said softly. “No invitation needed.”
Trinity swallowed. “Thank you, Marisol,” she replied, her voice quieter than she intended.
Marisol squeezed her once before letting go.
“Good,” she said simply. “Now go home.”
She hugged Yolanda next, and Arturo joined in before Yolanda could pull away.
Trinity and Yolanda stepped out on the porch, hand in hand. Trinity turned back one last time and waved.
“Take care, you guys,” she murmured, a small smile on her lips.
“You too, mija,” Marisol called back.
“Drive safe!” Arturo added from behind her.
“We will,” Yolanda promised.
Marisol lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, lifting a hand in one last wave before Arturo gently ushered her back inside.
“Vamos,” he said. “You already sent them home with half the kitchen.”
“No hice.”
“Marisol.”
The front door closed before Trinity could hear the rest.
For a moment, she and Yolanda stood side by side on the porch, listening to the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves overhead.
Then Yolanda glanced at her.
“You okay?”
Trinity looked down at the tote bag hanging from her wrist, packed with leftovers she definitely hadn't been allowed to refuse.
Then she thought about Marcos's interrogation, Camila's teasing, Arturo's endless questions, Marisol's hug.
No invitation needed.
Her chest tightened pleasantly.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I am.”
Yolanda studied her for a second, as if making sure she meant it.
Then she smiled.
“Good.”
Trinity huffed out a laugh.
“Your family is a lot.”
“I know.”
“They adopted me in under three hours.”
Yolanda's grin widened and she tilted her head. “That's actually kind of slow for them.”
Trinity laughed, shaking her head.
Together, they made their way down the porch steps and toward the car, their shoulders brushing in the cool evening air.
Then her smile softened slowly.
“Yoyo,” she muttered, tapping her thumb against Yolanda’s hand.
“Hm?” Yolanda hummed, squeezing her hand once.
Trinity paused for a beat before speaking. “They never asked me about my parents,” she said quietly.
Yolanda glanced at her, eyes softening a fraction. “Oh,” she whispered.
Trinity twisted the tote bag in her hand. “You told them,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“A little,” Yolanda said simply.
The answer came so easily that Trinity almost laughed.
“I didn't tell them anything you wouldn't have wanted me to,” Yolanda added after a moment. “Just enough.”
Trinity stilled.
Just enough.
Enough that nobody had pushed.
Enough that Arturo asked about Filipino food.
Enough that Marisol asked about her brothers.
Enough that she’d been allowed to spend an entire evening being herself instead of explaining things she didn’t want to explain.
The pleasant ache in her chest returned.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
Yolanda squeezed her hand.
“Of course.”
The tote bag bumped lightly against Trinity's leg with every step.
For once, she didn't mind carrying the extra weight.