Chapter Text
Trinity pauses outside Lily's bedroom and gently pushes the door open just enough to peek inside.
"Are you still up, love?"
Warm light spills into the room behind her, joining the orange glow of the little nightlight beside Lily's bed.
For a brief moment, there is a second light too, hidden beneath the blanket where a flashlight shines through the fabric before disappearing quickly.
Trinity stays in the doorway for a moment, taking everything in.
The room already looks different from the one they had tucked Lily into only a few months ago:
Next to the wardrobe stands the new desk they had spent an entire Saturday assembling together. Beside it sits a backpack, ready for tomorrow morning, because her daughter has decided that becoming a schoolchild also means becoming the sort of person who prepares everything the evening before.
Apparently, she's also the sort of schoolkid who secretly reads beneath the covers when she is supposed to be asleep.
"Lily, love, at least put the flashlight away."
Nothing happens.
Trinity bites back a smile, closing the door behind her carefully before crossing the room.
The floorboards creak softly beneath her weight as she lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, one hand resting loosely against the mattress while she waits.
Eventually, the blanket begins to rustle.
Lily shifts beneath it with very unconvincing slowness before her head finally appears.
"Mom?" she asks around an exaggerated yawn, blinking at Trinity with an expression of practiced innocence that would probably have fooled absolutely nobody.
Before Trinity can answer, the flashlight rolls out from beneath Lily's pillow, bounces once against the mattress, then lands on the wooden floor with a loud metallic clatter.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moves.
Trinity feels laughter bubbling somewhere behind her ribs.
Her own mother would have shouted by now, turning the whole evening into a lesson about rules and consequences.
Or worse.
But now, in the reversed position herself, all Trinity feels is an almost painful wave of affection.
It isn't even eight o'clock.
And it turns out that discovering your daughter couldn't bear to stop reading after a cliffhanger is not the end of the world.
She reaches over and gently taps Lily's shoulder.
"Could you pick that up for me, sweetheart?" she asks, nodding toward the floor.
"Totally." Lily nods with immediate sincerity, pink spreading up her cheeks. "Sorry."
She leans over the side of the bed, retrieves the flashlight, and carefully tucks it away inside the nightstand drawer this time, before climbing back beneath the blanket.
Trinity smooths the comforter over her daughter's shoulder, tucking it back around before brushing an unruly curl away from her forehead.
"So," she asks, warmth lingering in her voice, "what was so interesting that it couldn't possibly wait until tomorrow?"
Lily shifts onto her side, all traces of fake sleep forgotten now.
"The fox found the cave," she whispers urgently, like the book's characters might somehow hear her.
"But there was a dragon inside, and the dragon wasn't actually mean, only everybody thought he was, and then..." She pauses dramatically, eyes growing even wider. "The chapter ended."
Trinity blinks once. "That was rude of the author."
Lily nods with complete seriousness. "I know."
"So now you have to know if the fox talks to the dragon." Trintiy inquires carefully.
Lily smiles. "And if they're friends."
"And if they're friends," Trinity agrees. Lily nods so enthusiastically that a curl falls into her face.
Silence falls over the bedroom again, and Trinity reaches out, palm upward.
"Next time," she says gently, "you can always ask if we can read to a certain stopping point together, or if you really want to finish one chapter. We can figure it out."
Lily slips her small hand into hers for only a moment before looking away. "I can do it by myself."
"I know you can." Trinity keeps watching her.
"You already have enough to do." Something in Lily's voice is different, almost apologetic.
Trinity studies her daughter's face for a second, noticing the way Lily keeps worrying at the corner of the blanket instead of looking at her.
"Enough to do with Maxi," Lily adds after a moment, her words coming much quieter now. "She still needs you more."
The sentence lands deep inside Trinity's chest. She had wondered if this moment would come eventually, with Maxine being a little more high needs than they were used to.
Carefully, Trinity shifts farther onto the bed and opens one arm. "Come here for a minute."
Lily hesitates only briefly before scooting across the mattress until she's tucked beneath Trinity's arm, her warm little body settling against her side with a familiarity that makes Trinity's heart ache.
"My clever girl," she murmurs, kissing the top of her head. "Have I made you feel like you're less important?"
Lily is quiet for long enough that Trinity already knows the answer before it comes.
"No..." The word is followed by a tiny shrug. "...just a little."
Trinity closes her eyes for a moment. "I'm really glad you told me."
"I know babies need more things." Lily mumbles into her shoulder.
Trinity nods. "They absolutely do."
Trinity brushes another curl away from her daughter's forehead. "But needing more help doesn't make someone more important, sweetheart."
Lily thinks about that without answering.
"When you were one," Trinity continues quietly, "you needed us a lot too. Mama and I carried you everywhere, fed you, changed you, rocked you to sleep, and followed you around because you tried to taste things that definitely weren't food."
"I still do that sometimes."
"Mhh, you do." Lily smiles again, a little smaller.
"The difference is that now you can tell us stories about dragons, and you can make your own breakfast when you're feeling like it."
"I make excellent toast."
"You make excellent toast," Trinity agrees. "Although you still somehow use every plate in the kitchen."
Lily shrugs. "I need the options."
"Mhh." Silence settles between them again, warm instead of uncomfortable.
Lily traces little circles against Trinity's sleeve before asking, "So... I'm still important?"
Trinity turns enough that Lily has to meet her eyes. "You could never stop being important to me."
Lily swallows. "But..."
"No buts." Trinity smiles softly and cups Lily's cheek.
"My heart didn't get cut in half when Maxi came along, love. It just got bigger, and it made room for both of you without loving either of you any less."
Lily studies her face, checking for truthfulness. "It really works like that?"
"It really does."
Another thoughtful silence passes before Lily finally leans forward, wrapping both arms around Trinity's middle.
"I still like when it's just us sometimes."
Trinity nods slowly. "So do I."
"You do?"
"I really do."
Lily relaxes against her, and Trinity feels some of the tension she'd been carrying melt away.
"And tomorrow," Trinity says, rubbing slow circles across her daughter's back, "is going to be entirely about you."
Lily tilts her head. "It is?"
"It absolutely is. The first day of school is a very big deal, and everyone who's coming over afterward is coming because they're proud of you."
"And Mama too?"
Trinity smiles. "Mama has already been pretending not to be emotional for three days."
"She keeps looking at my backpack."
"I noticed."
Lily's eyelids are beginning to droop now, her words slowing. "I think..." she mumbles around a yawn, "...she's excited."
"I think you're right."
"And you?"
Trinity kisses her forehead. "I've been excited since the day we signed you up."
Another yawn interrupts whatever Lily had planned to say next. She nestles deeper beneath the blanket until only the top half of her face is visible.
"Will you wake me up tomorrow?" She asks, blinking against sleep.
Trinity nods solemnly. "I wouldn't let anyone else do it."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Lily nods once, apparently satisfied, before reaching one sleepy hand toward Trinity. "One more hug."
Trinity leans down, wrapping her daughter in another long embrace and holding her there until she feels Lily's breathing begin to slow again.
"I love you, Mom," Lily whispers into her shoulder.
"I love you too, pumpkin," Trinity murmurs, kissing her temple. "More than every dragon, every flashlight, and every bedtime story put together."
"That's..." Lily yawns again. "...a lot."
"It certainly is."
By the time Trinity tucks the blanket securely around her shoulders and switches off the bedside lamp, Lily is already drifting toward sleep.
As Trinity reaches the doorway, she glances back one last time.
The new backpack waits beside the desk, and her daughter sleeps peacefully beneath the warm orange glow of the nightlight, looking impossibly small and still ready for the world at exactly the same time.
Trinity smiles to herself before quietly pulling the door closed, already looking forward to waking her in the morning.
The big school building had not seemed so enormous when they visited it a few weeks ago.
Back then, there had been empty hallways, friendly teachers, and plenty of time to peek into classrooms without anyone waiting for her.
Today, every corridor is full of people, parents talking over one another, and doors opening and closing somewhere farther down the hall.
Everything feels louder and bigger.
Lily tightens her grip around the straps of her new backpack until her fingers ache.
A strange feeling begins to bloom inside her chest, warm and sore at the same time, making it a little harder to take a full breath.
She has waited all summer to become a real school kid, telling everyone who would listen that she is ready, but now that that she's here, she suddenly wishes she could stand between her mamas for just another minute.
Mrs. Underberg gathers the new students together with a bright smile.
"Alright, first graders. Everybody follows me."
Lily knows she is supposed to go.
She even takes a dozen careful steps, follwoing the line of other kids.
Then she looks back.
The corridor between them suddenly seems much longer than it did only a moment ago.
Her mamas are still standing exactly where she left them, surrounded by dozens of other grown-ups, yet she finds them immediately. She always does.
Mama's hand is wrapped loosely around Mom's, and both of them are watching only her.
When Lily turns, two smiles appear almost at the same moment.
Without thinking, she smiles back. It helps, just a little.
The ache in her chest is still there, fluttering like one of the butterflies that sometimes lands in their garden before flying away again, except this one refuses to leave.
She wants to run back.
She also wants to keep walking.
Mom lifts one hand, holding up only her thumb, pointer finger and pinky, their little sign that always means I love you.
Mama catches the gesture, laughs softly, blows Lily a kiss across the crowded hallway, then points gently after the rest of the class with an encouraging nod.
You can do this.
Lily knows that look.
It is the same one they use before soccer games, before doctor's appointments, before trying something scary for the first time.
"Lily?" Mrs. Underberg's warm voice reaches her before she can look back again. "Could you stay with the line, sweetheart?"
Heat rushes into Lily's cheeks. "Oh. Yes, sorry."
She nods quickly, then twists around one last time.
Her throat suddenly feels too tight for talking, so she opens her mouth as wide as she can and silently mouths the words anyway.
'I love you too.'
They both smile again, and Mom presses a hand to her heart.
The weight inside Lily's chest shrinks just enough for her feet to move again.
She adjusts her backpack, squares her jaw like Mama does, and hurries after the other children.
The classroom feels smaller than the hallway.
Small chairs stand tucked beneath desks, each one waiting for somebody whose name is written in careful block letters on a folded paper card.
Shelves overflow with books that look newer than the ones at kindergarten, colorful bins hold pencils and glue sticks, and the windows let in broad stripes of late summer sunlight that make the polished floor shine.
Lily pauses just inside the door and takes a big breath.
("Feel your feet first.")
So Lily does.
She presses both sneakers firmly against the floor. One, then the other. The ground feels solid.
Next she quietly looks around the room, naming things inside her head.
Blue backpack. Big window. Red pencil case. Funny plant.
Her breathing has already slowed by the time Mrs. Underberg smiles at her.
"There you are, Lily. Let me see..."
The teacher glances down at her seating chart before pointing toward the second row.
"You'll be sitting right over there."
Lily follows her finger. Another girl is already standing beside the desk, hugging a backpack almost like a shield to hide behind.
She has neat brown braids and keeps chewing the inside of her cheek.
Mrs. Underberg beams at both of them. "Perfect. We are seating you alphabetically for now. Iva Hobbs."
The girl gives a tiny wave. "And Lily Garcia-Santos."
Lily waves back.
"Looks like you'll be neighbors."
Once Mrs. Underberg walks away, the two girls stand awkwardly beside their desks for a second.
"...Hi."
"Hi."
"I like your backpack," Lily says, because it has little foxes wearing rain boots.
Iva looks down at it like she'd forgotten she was carrying it. "Oh."
A shy smile appears. "Thanks. My grandma bought it."
"I have a dinosaur lunchbox." Lily nods seriously. "It glows in the dark."
Now Iva laughs, just a little. "I don't think lunchboxes are supposed to do that."
"They're not." Lily grins. "But this one does."
By the time everyone has found their seats, the knot in Lily's chest has almost dissapeared.
Mrs. Underberg begins introducing herself, telling them about classroom rules, how asking to use the bathroom works, and what the different colored folders are for.
Most of it sounds surprisingly simple.
School, Lily notices, seems to involve a lot of listening. She can do listening.
Every now and then she whispers little comments to Iva when Mrs. Underberg asks them questions.
"I already know where the library is."
"My Mama packed two snacks."
Each time, Iva whispers something back.
"My dad says I talk too much."
"I brought strawberries."
"I like drawing horses."
The conversation is hushed and secret, but it feels good.
By the time they line up to tour the classroom library together, it almost feels like they've known each other longer than twenty minutes.
Later, Mrs. Underberg unfolds a large calendar.
"So," she says brightly, "we'll all be together in this classroom almost every day until next summer."
Next to Lily, Iva goes very still.
Her fingers stop playing with the corner of her worksheet and her shoulders creep upward.
Lily recognizes how her smile fades.
Quietly, without saying anything, she turns her hand over beneath the desk until her palm faces upward.
"You can squeeze," she whispers.
Iva blinks. "What?"
"My hand." Lily wiggles her fingers a little. "When I get nervous, my mamas let me hold their hand."
For a moment Iva only stares. Then, carefully, she reaches across the tiny gap between their desks.
Her fingers curl around Lily's hand. They're small and colder than Lily expected.
Mrs. Underberg is still happily explaining recess schedules, completely unaware.
Iva gives one uncertain squeeze and Lily squeezes back.
"It's okay," she whispers so quietly only the two of them can hear. "It feels really big today."
Iva nods without looking at her. "My tummy hurts a little."
"I know." Another small squeeze. "But tomorrow it'll already be less new."
"How do you know?"
Lily thinks about that. Mom always says difficult things get smaller once your brain knows them and the first time is usually the hardest.
And her mamas were right about kindergarten.
She smiles.
"I just know."
Iva looks at her for another second before letting out a careful breath. "...Okay."
Her shoulders lower just a little and Lily smiles. Maybe she has already found her first new friend.
Emery once described the way Yolanda handles family gatherings as "running them like the navy."
Yolanda accepted it as a compliment.
She likes knowing where everything is, having enough chairs before somebody asks for one, enough drinks cooling in the ice chest before anyone gets thirsty.
She finds comfort in preparation, because preparation means fewer surprises, and fewer surprises usually mean everyone she loves can simply enjoy themselves.
Most importantly, it means Trinity can.
Large groups still exhaust her wife. Years ago the signs were obvious, but now Trinity has become frighteningly good at smiling through sensory overload until silently reaching her limit.
Yolanda has learned to spot the tells anyway: how her shoulders slowly creep upward, or the habit of unconsciously rubbing the inside of her wrist whenever conversations become too loud.
So Yolanda simply works around them.
If that means redirecting a conversation before somebody wanders into uncomfortable topics, she does it.
If it means guiding guests toward the drinks table instead of the kitchen so Trinity can breathe for five uninterrupted minutes, she does that too. None of it feels like work, it simply feels like loving her wife.
And contrary to popular (Emery's) belief, she genuinely enjoys hosting.
Today's crowd is comfortably small, just enough people for the backyard without anybody feeling crowded.
Across the lawn, Harrison and Kian are carefully testing the new swing set with Lily, who alternates between shrieking with laughter and issuing very serious instructions about taking turns.
Nearby, their mothers stay close enough to intervene if necessary while chatting with Trinity, whose smile looks easy today, her posture loose in a way Yolanda treasures after the difficult months Maxine's sleep has put them through.
Good.
At the grill, Emery has volunteered herself into command, tongs in one hand and an apron that reads Kiss the Surgeon tied crookedly around her waist. Samira and Victoria hover close by and Emery seems entirely too pleased by the attention to object.
Yolanda smiles to herself and drifts toward the drinks table instead, where her mother is pretending not to rearrange the glasses, even though Yolanda told her not to help.
Some habits simply cannot be negotiated.
Before Yolanda can ask her where Dennis and Andrés have disappeared to, the sliding patio door opens behind Carmen.
Her brother steps outside in the middle of a conversation with Dennis, while little Alba toddles after them, concentrating on keeping her melting ice cream upright.
Carmen's expression softens immediately.
"It's her turn next year already," she says, nodding toward her youngest granddaughter. "Can you believe it, Andrés?"
Her brother looks up at the sound of his name, pausing whatever conversation Dennis has been winning.
"I can," he replies with a grin. "She's so clever already."
Carmen beams before gently nudging Yolanda's shoulder. "That's because she spends so much time following her cousin around."
Yolanda smiles, finding herself unexpectedly in the mood to tease. "I don't think Maxi is teaching her very much."
Her mother swats her lightly with a tea towel while failing entirely to hide her smile.
Dennis rescues her before Carmen can produce another maternal lecture.
"Your little one is asleep," he says, catching Yolanda's eye. "I checked a few minutes ago."
Yolanada nods slowly.
He either knows her well enough to anticipate exactly where her thoughts have gone next, or Trinity quietly sends him ahead to intercept her before she disappears upstairs again.
Honestly, either explanation seems equally likely.
Carmen nods approvingly. "She's getting better at that."
The last several months have revolved around Maxine's stubborn insomnia, turning sleepless nights into something the entire family shares. Even if they try to keep it away from Lily.
Still, on the hardest evenings, when exhaustion hollows Yolanda out enough that she barely recognizes herself in the bathroom mirror, she never feels regret.
Only sympathy.
Nobody chooses to spend hours unable to rest. And Maxine simply needs them.
Whenever the exhaustion threatens to become too much, Carmen somehow knows from 3 hours away, before either of them asks. Sometimes she sends groceries. Or she arrives to collect Lily for an impromptu sleepover.
"She is," Yolanda answers quietly after a thoughtful pause.
Her gaze travels across the backyard again, automatically counting.
Children, food, drinks and shade.
Everyone seems comfortable. Everyone is here.
There are surprisingly few blood relatives scattered across the lawn, yet somehow it still feels like a family gathering.
Yolanda reaches for a can of soda, empties nearly half of it in one long drink, then glances automatically toward the sky.
The afternoon sun has pushed through the clouds again.
People will need more shade soon.
She sets the empty can aside and heads toward the storage shed beside the fence.
"Do you need—"
"Nope." Without even turning around, she lifts one hand to wave Dennis off. "I can manage a patio umbrella."
He laughs but wisely stays where he is.
Yolanda smiles faintly as she approaches the shed further down the fence.
She's already mentally working through everything that still needs doing before dessert, when an unfamiliar sound cuts cleanly through the comfortable rhythm of the afternoon.
A car, braking harder than necessary. Tyres scrape briefly against the curb in front of the house.
Yolanda looks toward the street, but car pulling up there means nothing to her.
But the woman climbing out of the driver's seat does.
The warmth of the afternoon drains straight out of the air as Yolanda stands motionless beside the shed staring, jaw locked with tension.
It takes just another moment, before she climbs over her own fence and hurries to cut the woman off before reaching the front door.
Dolores Santos has a fucking nerve.