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"...yeah, and they made me breakfast in bed." Trinity replies with a smile she has to force in place.
Her gaze slips automatically to the rear-view mirror.
Lily is tucked into her car seat behind them, one socked foot resting against the side, happily occupied with her newest picture book. The morning sun flashes through the houses, catching in the frills of her daughters new dress.
The sight should be enough to anchor her. It almost is.
The morning had been wonderful. Yolanda and Lily had apparently been awake together for almost an hour, quietly conspiring in the kitchen while Trinity pretended to still be asleep upstairs.
She had heard muffled giggles through the floorboards, the occasional cupboard closing a little too loudly, Yolanda whispering something that made Lily squeal in delight.
When they'd finally come upstairs balancing an uneven breakfast tray between them, Lily had looked impossibly proud of herself, as though she'd personally cooked every pancake.
It had been perfect.
Maybe that's why she'd answered the phone.
Some childish, bruised part of her had wanted her mother to know that someone celebrated her now. That someone woke up early because they loved her.
"How old is she now?" her mother asks, her voice carrying that familiar, unsettling calm.
"Almost three."
Silence settles over the line. For one hopeful second, Trinity wonders if the call dropped.Then her mother speaks again.
"So she is starting to look more and more like that random man whose baby you birthed."
The words slide neatly into every place they know will hurt. Trinity's throat closes before she can stop it.
Her mother has always had an instinct for finding weak spots, quietly collecting them over the years until she knows exactly which one to press.
She knows.
Even though carrying Yolanda's egg had always been the plan. Even though they'd talked through every possibility together.
Still there has always been that tiny, irrational voice.
The donor shares some of Trinity's features. They deliberately chose someone with similar complexion, similar interests, similar quirks. She knows every logical reason behind that decision.
"Do you need anything else?" Trinity asks after a long pause, carefully keeping her voice even.
"A card would've been nice," Dolores replies coolly. "But what am I doing, expecting you to think of your mother for once."
Trinity bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. Then she nods to nobody.
"You have a great day too," she says, gathering every last scrap of composure she can find. Then she ends the call.
The silence inside the car feels suffocating afterward. Trinity presses her eyes shut for a second and curls her fingers around the passenger-side grab handle.
When she opens them again, Sunday noon still rolls quietly past outside the window.
The city slowly gives way to wider roads and larger yards. Brick houses sit behind blooming shrubs and warm light glows behind front windows where families are probably already setting at tables.
Even at thirty-one, she still finds herself wishing she'd grown up behind almost any one of those front doors instead.
A warm hand settles gently against her elbow.
Without looking away from the road, Yolanda lets it slide lower until their fingers naturally find one another.
It takes Trinity another moment before she manages to look over.
Yolanda is driving one-handed with the same quiet confidence she brings into an operating room, sunglasses resting low on her nose, the other hand wrapped securely around Trinity's.
The radio still buzzes softly beneath the engine.
"I shouldn't have picked up," Trinity murmurs at last.
Yesterday she'd called three separate times so she wouldn't have to do exactly this today. Nobody had answered.
Dolores Santos has never cared much about birthdays, especially Trinity's. Missing one usually earns little more than passive disappointment.
Mother's Day, though... is sacred.
And Trinity already knows how these conversations unfold before they begin:
First she gets compared to her brothers.
Then comes the catalogue of her father's newest ailments, the only reason she keeps calling in the first place.
Then the guilt. For years it had been because she hadn't given her mother grandchildren.
In the last two years she'd discovered that somehow... Her child still doesn't count.
The constant scrutiny always worms beneath her skin eventually, leaving her feeling twelve years old again instead of thirty-one.
Trinity hates how easily it still happens, gets a reaction out of her. But then, who should you're allowed to be childish with, if not your own mother?
Yolanda's thumb brushes slow circles across the back of Trinity's hand, grounding her without asking anything of her.
"How's your dad?" The question lands somewhere entirely different. Trinity lets out a slow breath.
"Mostly fine," she says, her voice still rough around the edges. "His arthritis is getting worse, though, and he missed his last neurologist appointment."
"Mmh."
Yolanda keeps her eyes on the road ahead, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, the other still laced with Trinity's as though letting go simply never occurred to her.
A while later, road stretches out before them in long ribbons of pale asphalt, bordered by budding trees whose fresh green leaves shimmer in the late-spring sunlight.
Every so often another family car passes them, loaded with flowers or coolers or children pressing their noses against the windows.
They have another hour to go.
Trinity rolls her shoulders back.
She can do this. She's done harder things.
She has mastered the art of swallowing tears since she was four years old. First comes holding her breath until the ache disappeared, then loosening her jaw, then unclenching every muscle one at a time until nothing showed on the outside.
She's disturbingly good at it now.
Trinity stretches her neck.
Breathes in through her nose.
Lets it out slowly.
Again.
(smile for the judges. wave to the crowd.)
The knot in her throat loosens only enough to remind her it's still there.
Fuck.
Trinity closes her eyes for a heartbeat. She cannot arrive at the Garcias' Mother's Day lunch looking like she's spent the drive crying because of a phone call.
She refuses to let Dolores take that from her too.
The gentle vibration of the tires beneath them suddenly changes. The engine quiets. Trinity opens her eyes in confusion just as the car begins slowing.
"...Yoli?"
Without saying anything, Yolanda flicks on the indicator and steers them off the highway.
A small roadside truck stop appears between the trees, little more than an empty gravel lot with a weathered picnic table, and a line of tall pines shielding it from the traffic.
The SUV rolls to a gentle stop. In the back seat, Lily lets out a sleepy little groan. "There?" she mumbles, still half asleep. "Grandma?"
Yolanda glances into the rear-view mirror and smiles so warmly that Trinity's chest tightens all over again.
"Not yet, love," she says softly. "Just a moment."
Before Trinity can ask what she's doing, Yolanda is already unbuckling her seat belt. The driver's door opens and cool spring air rushes briefly through the car.
Blinking, Trinity watches her disappear around the front of the SUV before reappearing beside the passenger door.
Yolanda opens it, then simply holds out her hand. Patiently.
Trinity frowns. "...What are you doing?"
"Come here." The answer is gentle enough that something inside Trinity threatens to crack again.
She unclips her seat belt with fingers that suddenly feel clumsy.
Yolanda steadies her as she climbs out onto the concrete, one hand settling automatically at the small of her back. Then, before closing the door, she leans into the back seat. Trinity can't quite make out what she whispers to Lily.
Whatever it is earns a small, drowsy nod before their daughter looks down into her book again.
The door clicks shut. For a second, Trinity simply stares at the cracked pavement beneath her shoes.
She focuses on the dandelion pushing stubbornly through the edge of the curb. Then, the scent of warm pine carried on the breeze. Anything except the pressure building behind her ribs.
Yolanda steps close enough that Trinity can feel her body heat before she feels her touch. Then strong arms wrap carefully around her waist. "C'mere, cariño."
Trinity swallows. She tries, for one last second, to keep herself together.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles against Yolanda's shoulder, her voice already watery.
Yolanda only shakes her head. One hand slides up into Trinity's hair, fingers scratching lightly against her scalp in that absent-minded way that always makes her feel impossibly safe.
"It's okay," she murmurs, pressing a slow kiss against Trinity's temple. "You don't have to apologize for hurting."
That is all it takes. The careful wall she'd spent the last twenty minutes rebuilding gives way completely.
Her forehead drops onto Yolanda's shoulder. A sob escapes before she can swallow it back. Followed by another.
Yolanda simply holds her tighter. "I've got you," she whispers into her hair. "I've got you, Trin. Take all the time you need."
Lily knows being sad isn't something bad. Crying isn't bad either.
Still, every time she sees someone cry, something heavy appears inside her own tummy too, like she's swallowed one of the smooth stones from Grandma's garden.
(not that shed ever do that.)
When you're sad, she has learned from her mamas, you have choices:
You can cry, with or without a hug.
You can also talk about it, which she's getting much better at now that words come easier. Or you can ask to be alone for a little while.
The most important rule is to tell someone safe. Mostly her mamas, or Huckleberry. Sometimes Aunt Vic.
Lily thinks those are very good rules.
She closes her picture book and carefully lays it beside her on the car seat before looking down at Ellie.
Ellie has never cried before. That could be because she doesn't have a mouth that moves. Lily has spent quite a bit of time thinking about that.
She pats the elephant's head thoughtfully.
A few days ago, she'd also noticed that Ellie's left ear isn't exactly the same colour anymore. It's a bit lighter. Her tail doesn't stick out as wildly as it used to, either.
Mama doesn't know.
But Lily knows, because she's smart. She smooths one finger over Ellie's ear just as the front doors open again. Both her mamas climb back into the car.
Mom turns around before putting on her seat belt.
Her smile is there again. There are still a few tears on her face, though. "I'm okay," Mom says softly. "Already feeling better."
Lily studies her for another moment. Her eyes are still a little shiny. But she looks different now. Like after Lily cries because she falls down or has a scary dream and then gets held for a while.
The heavy feeling in Lily's own tummy becomes smaller. She nods.
Good.
Usually, after crying, cuddles help, but cars make cuddling difficult.
Maybe later. Grandma's couch is very soft and therefore very good for cuddles.
"Lets go, cariño," Mama says to Mom as she starts the engine again.
The familiar vrooom fills the car, warm air comes in from the vents while the trees outside begin sliding past once more.
After a moment, Mama glances into the rear-view mirror. "Ready to see your cousin, little flower?"
Warm excitement bubbles up inside Lily so quickly that she forgets about being worried altogether.
"Yesss, Mahal," she says happily.
Mama laughs. "For you, it's Mama."
"Oh right." Of course. People have different names depending on who's talking.
Mom is also called cariño. Grandma is also Carmen.
Huckleberry sometimes is called Dennis and Aunt Vic's other name is Crash. Lily finds that very funny.
She herself is also called Emilia.
Sometimes Little Flower, or Love.
Sometimes Pumpkin, when Huckleberry is being silly.
There are lots.
Mostly, she knows someone means her because of the way they say it. Not just because of the name.
"Sorry," she says quickly, because people should be called what they want to be called.
"It's okay, love," Mom says, twisting around just enough to smile at her again. "I know it can be confusing."
Lily nods seriously. It is a little confusing.
She looks down again at Ellie resting in her lap.
The elephant is the only one in the family who only has one name. But that probably makes things much easier. Lily hugs the elephant close enough that her trunk squishes against her own cheek. "Don't worry," she whispers. "It's okay."
Then she looks out the window again. The fields look familiar now.
Long stretches of green roll past beneath the bright sky, dotted with wildflowers that blur together whenever the car goes faster.
She recognizes the old red barn and the bend in the road where Mama always slows down.
They're almost there. Grandma's house isn't far now.
Letting her daughter sit on Yolanda's shoulders had seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago. But somewhere during their walk around the block Lily had started drooping sleepily, little hands tangled in Yolanda's hair for balance.
Which is probably a good sign.
When neither of their toddlers had wanted to settle after lunch, Yolanda and her brother, Andrés, had volunteered to take them outside for a little walk while everyone else lingered over coffee.
Lily had managed perhaps a few hundred feet before she'd stretched both arms toward Yolanda and declared, that she needed to be carried.
That becomes a little more challenging every month, every centimeter Lily grows. Yolanda has no intention of giving it up. She simply adds another set of shoulder exercises to her gym routine.
"Mama?" The sleepy little voice breaks the comfortable quiet.
"Yes, little backpack?" Lily giggles, but the sound fades more quickly than it usually does.
"Why was Mom sad earlier?" Yolanda swallows.
They'd made themselves one very firm rule before Lily had even been born. If possible, they would never lie to her. Some truths, though, belong to grown-ups until children are old enough to carry them.
Lily doesn't need to know that somewhere out there exists another grandmother who refuses to acknowledge her, who has called her names she will hopefully never hear.
Not today.
Not for many years, if Yolanda can help it.
"She was on a phone call," Yolanda says carefully. "And someone was very mean to her." That, at least, is true. Above her, Lily grows quiet. Yolanda can almost hear the tiny gears turning.
"Oh," Lily finally says. "Did they call her bad names?"
A helpless smile tugs at Yolanda's mouth. "A little worse than that."
"Mmh." Lily shifts again, steadying herself with both hands buried gently in Yolanda's dark curls. "Can I ho- hold her later, too?"
Beside her, Andrés glances over with an expression that already says he understands far more than the conversation itself.
His own daughter, Alba, had fallen asleep two streets ago. Now he carries her carefully in both arms like she's a princess, blonde hair bouncing lightly with every step.
"You can," Yolanda replies. "If...?"
"If I ask," Lily finishes proudly before another enormous yawn interrupts her.
"There you go."
As they round the final corner, Carmen's street comes into view again, lined with familiar flowering shrubs and broad trees whose leaves rustle softly in the afternoon breeze.
"She's a smart one," Andrés says, nudging Yolanda lightly with his elbow. "Must get it from her other mother."
Yolanda rolls her eyes. "Says you."
Sometimes it still feels surreal seeing the little brother she'd once convinced to eat sidewalk chalk walking beside her carrying his own daughter home from a family lunch.
Life has a strange sense of humour. Then again, he probably thinks exactly the same thing whenever he looks at her.
"Hey," he says with a grin, reaching ahead to pull open the garden gate. "I fully admit Lena is much smarter than I am. You, on the other hand, could never settle for second place in anything."
Yolanda chooses not to dignify that with a response. Instead, she carefully lifts Lily down from her shoulders and settles her into her arms.
The little girl helps just enough while Yolanda eases her out of her light jacket, although the increasingly heavy eyelids tell Yolanda she won't stay awake much longer.
First things first. They stop in the downstairs bathroom to wash sticky little hands.
Only then does Yolanda carry her into the living room.
She stops in the doorway. On the sofa, Trinity sits tucked against Carmen, her head resting comfortably on her mother-in-law's shoulder while Carmen's arm circles her gently. Neither of them says much now.
Yolanda feels herself relax. Trinity looks different than she had beside the road, and after lunch. Lighter.
"Hey," Yolanda announces softly. Two familiar faces turn toward her.
Lily stirs immediately. "Down, Mama. Down," she mumbles, stumbling over sleepy words. "Please?"
Yolanda lowers her carefully onto the thick carpet.
Lily gathers every last scrap of energy still living inside her tiny body before breaking into a determined little sprint toward the sofa.
"Cuddle! Mom! Grandma!"
Only inches away she remembers herself, skidding to a halt and leaving tiny sock prints pressed into the carpet.
She clear her throat and lifts both arms toward Trinity. "Mom, can I?"
The smile that spreads across Trinity's face could probably cure half the world's sadness.
For Yolanda, it simply steals the air from her lungs.
God, she is beautiful.
"Up," Trinity says warmly, reaching down to lift Lily into the narrow space between herself and Carmen.
"Graaandma," Lily sighs happily before another yawn overtakes the word. "I'm tired."
Carmen laughs softly and smooths one hand through Lily's curls. "That's okay, cariño. You can sleep here."
Lily blinks, confused for a moment. She looks at Trinity, then at Carmen. Deciding there is no reason she can't have both, she simply melts backward against them with a tiny contented sigh.
Within seconds, her eyes drift closed. Yolanda smiles before she even realizes she's doing it.
"Ever thought about getting her a little sibling?" Lena's quiet voice comes from beside her.
Yolanda startles just enough to glance over. "I... uh..."
"Sorry," Lena says immediately. "I know that's a little more complicated for you two." A little. Yolanda almost laughs.That is an extraordinary understatement. Still, she appreciates the kindness behind it.
"I think I would," she admits quietly, her eyes returning to the sofa where Trinity absentmindedly strokes Lily's back even after she's fallen asleep.
"But it's completely her decision whether she ever wants to carry another baby." She swallows. "It wasn't easy."
Lena nods with quiet understanding. "Yeah. I remember."
For a while they simply stand there together.
"So, for now," Yolanda says softly, "I think I'm really happy with what I have." Her gaze lingers on the little family gathered on the sofa.
For a moment she remembers being twelve years old, sitting in this very living room wondering when she was finally supposed to develop a crush on a boy. Or sixteen, leaning against her mother's shoulder after finally understanding why she never would.
Eventually, at thirty-three, crying on this same couch after the woman Yolanda had insisted was only a casual situationship had ended things.
Thankfully, Trinity had given her a second chance. And eventually, a family.
Lena gives her a wink. "Happy Mothers day, Yoli."