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It starts as just another normal morning in Yolanda’s apartment.
That’s the thing, Trinity muses as she trots sleepily into the hallway—barefoot, hair a mess, sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder.
It is normal now.
They are.
Not a one-time thing. Not casual. Not something fragile she fears she might lose if she breathes wrong.
Just them.
Outside, the city is quiet in that particular winter way, snow muffling traffic, light filtering pale and cold through the windows, but inside, the apartment is warm. Lived-in. Familiar.
Heat hums softly through the vents, chasing away the sharp edge of December.
Ever since they made things official with HR, Trinity has the distinct feeling that the scheduling department has started syncing their shifts more often, like the universe quietly conspiring in their favor.
So a lazy Saturday morning at her hot girlfriend’s apartment is just that: normal.
The thought makes a wide smile bloom across her face, and she makes no effort to hide it.
Still half lost in dreamland, she follows the smell of coffee by instinct alone. Maybe she should become a detective, because it leads her exactly where she expects, straight to Yolanda.
Her smile only widens when she steps into the kitchen, the cool tile a shock against her bare feet, and hears faint humming over the sound of mugs and beans. Yolanda stands at the counter, sleeves pushed up, intent on her task, hips swaying just barely with the tune.
Yolanda is one of those people with a fancy coffee machine. It’s undeniably better than anything Trinity has ever owned coffee-wise.
For a moment, Trinity just leans against the doorframe, undetected, watching her flutter around the kitchen.
When did she start humming?
Garcia doesn’t hum.
Garcia barks orders at interns and is scarily competent in the OR—even with a scalpel in her foot.
Subconsciously, Trinity fidgets with the ring on her finger. And it doesn’t seem possible, but her already stupid grin somehow widens as she shakes the memory away.
If time travel was a thing, she'd take a photo of this exact scene, just to show her sixteen year old self.
Hell, herself two years ago.
“It’s rude to stare, you know,” Yolanda says without turning around, startling her.
Trinity is almost too sleepy for a clever comeback. Only almost.
“I’m just appreciating…” Her voice is still rough with sleep, but that won’t deter her from flirting. “My beautiful, smart, hot girlfriend.”
She pushes herself off the doorframe and steps fully into the room. Yolanda sets two mugs down and meets her halfway, slipping a hand around Trinity’s waist as if by reflex.
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she says.
She leans down and kisses the smugness right off Trinity’s face, slow enough to linger, warm enough to make Trinity’s hands curl into the fabric at Yolanda’s sides.
Then, eyes still closed, Trinity suddenly feels herself being lifted.
“Whoa—”
Instinctively, she clings to Yolanda like a koala the entire way, arms tight around her shoulders, nose brushing her jaw.
Before she can say anything else, she’s placed carefully onto one of the chairs at the counter.
“Stay there,” Yolanda says, brushing her thumb once across Trinity’s cheek. “I’m gonna get you some socks.”
Confused, Trinity looks down at her feet, then back up at her girlfriend, who’s already disappearing into the hallway.
“You really don’t need to—” she calls after her, then sighs.
She’s stubborn that way.
Instead of arguing further, Trinity inspects what’s been set out in front of her: one black coffee, one cappuccino, and, curiously, a small container with... toppings? She recognizes funny shaped marshmallows and cinnamon drizzle.
Snow-dusted daylight glints off the counter, making it all look a little softer, a little slower.
Suddenly, like she’s learned to teleport, Yolanda reappears beside her, already crouching down, hands warm against Trinity’s ankles.
“C’mon.”
“I can put on my own socks—”
“Humor me.”
Yolanda looks up at her, eyebrows raised, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary once the socks are on, and who is Trinity to deny a request like that?
Admittedly, it’s a little hot. And she feels cozier immediately, warmth seeping in where the cold tile had lingered.
When Yolanda straightens again, Trinity pulls her in for another kiss, softer this time, familiar, noses bumping slightly as they smile into it.
“Thank you, baby,” she sighs, still close enough to feel her breath.
She’s promptly rewarded with a stern eyebrow and another quick peck, followed by Yolanda’s forehead resting briefly against hers.
“Can’t have you getting cold on my watch.”
“Says you,” Trinity shoots back automatically.
Her girlfriend has the infuriating habit of dressing too lightly when they go out and powering through the cold without complaint—no matter how many times Trinity offers her jacket like a proper gentlewoman.
The perks of dating an independent woman.
Yolanda ignores the comment and sits down beside her, thigh pressed warm and solid against Trinity’s, reaching for her own cup.
“I bought some of those toppings you like,” she says, nudging the container toward Trinity with her elbow. “They’re… seasonal?”
Trinity almost laughs.
(“Sugary abomination,” Yolanda has called them in the past, anything other than cream in coffee. Sue Trinity for not wanting her coffee to taste like burnt coal in her free time. She gets enough of that in the ER already.)
“Are you going to try some too?” Trinity asks, reaching for the little star-shaped sugar pieces, their shoulders brushing.
Yolanda grumbles, softly and adorably, cearly weighing how stubborn she wants to be this morning. Eventually, she reaches for the cinnamon.
Internally, Trinity fist-pumps.
“Only,” Yolanda says, already holding up one finger in warning, “because I have to ask you something.”
Oh.
“Um. Okay.” Trinity takes a sip of her perfectly tempered coffee. “If you’d said that earlier, I could’ve thought of more fun ways to let you bribe me.”
One of her hands drifts up to Yolanda’s shoulder, drawing lazy, suggestive circles against the bare skin under her sleep shirt, thumb tracing a familiar line she knows relaxes her.
“I’d rather not,” Yolanda says, grimacing slightly.
Trinity pulls back immediately, hand retreating but staying close. “Sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Yolanda takes a long sip, and doesn’t seem to hate the cinnamon as much as she expected. “It’s just…”
She sighs.
“It’s about my mother.”
Shit.
Trinity turns fully toward her, knee angling in, lightly touching. It can’t be that bad, otherwise there wouldn’t have been humming earlier. Right?
“What about her?”
“So… no pressure, of course.” Yolanda reaches out and takes Trinity’s hands in hers, thumbs rubbing slow, grounding circles over her knuckles. “But she’s coming to visit next weekend.”
Trinity swallows.
“And she would like to meet you.”
□ □ □ □ □
She thinks about it throughout the week.
Thankfully, Yolanda hasn’t promised her mother anything.
On the contrary, she’s told her—almost reflexively—that her girlfriend has to work. A kindness so instinctive it barely registers until Trinity notices it for what it is.
Historically, Trinity is not very good with mothers.
First, her own.
Then, Marcella’s.
Of anyone that came after her best friend (her first love) she never even made it to the 'meet the parents' stage.
So this is, simply put, a terrifying proposition.
Yolanda knows that.
“It’s alright if you don’t want to, baby,” she tells her as they step out of the car in the PTMC parking lot on Monday morning. The cold bites immediately, sharp and clean, snow crunching faintly beneath their shoes.
Yolanda can sense Trinity stressing about it —not only about meeting her family, but about the fact that she’ll probably never be able to return the favor.
Not when her Catholic parents don’t believe in… well. Sin.
Trinity tells her about it when they go to bed on Wednesday. Lets herself cry a little, face tucked into Yolanda’s shoulder.
But it’s the conversation on Friday that finally convinces her.
They’re in the car, driving home from yet another day shift. Snowflakes dance wildly through the cones of the headlights, while the windshield wipers work furiously.
“Soo,” Trinity starts, "purely hypothetical."
She watches the snow instead of Yolanda, watches the way it blurs the world into something softer. Asking this feels pathetic. Necessary, but pathetic all the same.
“How…” She grimaces as soon as the question leaves her mouth. “How does your mother feel about me?”
“Well,” Yolanda considers, tone serious, eyes still on the road, “she seems to think you’re pretty badass—”
“That’s the word she used?”
Yolanda lets out a small laugh. “No, well. I told her about our first day... recently.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” One of Yolanda’s hands wanders over, palm open between them, an offering.
Trinity takes it immediately, threads their fingers together like it’s instinct.
“She told me two things.”
Yolanda swallows. A shadow flickers across her face before she focuses back on traffic.
“Firstly: ‘Cupid couldn’t hit you with the arrow, so he had to give your soulmate a knife.’”
Trinity’s laugh bursts out a little too suddenly.
Soulmate, huh?
Whoa—
“Secondly,” Yolanda continues, slipping into the accent without thinking, “‘She must be pretty brave, going against you to do the right thing about the...’” She sighs softly. “The drugs.”
Trinity bites down on her lip. Of all people to be on her side about that first day, Mrs. Garcia had not been on the list.
“So,” Yolanda goes on, squeezing her hand, “she said I must’ve met my match then.” A dry chuckle escapes her. “She used to worry I’d be too… intense.”
Intimidating. Badass. Strong, Trinity adds internally, squeezing back. Yolanda’s hand is warm. A little sweaty.
“Too intense to find a girl who’d stick with me.”
The car goes quiet for a while. Snow thickens, muting the city, the world shrinking down to the cocoon of the car and the steady hum of the engine.
“Then,” Yolanda says, shifting in her seat as they stop at a red light, “she told me off for not making it official sooner. For ‘playing around’—”
“Well.” Trinity exhales, breath fogging the glass faintly. “I think that’s both of our fault.”
A curt nod. “Yeah.”
Traffic inches forward, then stops them again at the same light.
“I know we’ve talked about it,” Yolanda says, finally turning toward her. In the dim interior, her face is hard to make out, softened by shadow and dashboard glow.
“But I agree.”
She lifts their joined hands between them, presses a thumb gently over Trinity’s knuckles. “What you did was pretty brave.”
Trinity is not going to cry. She was already halfway there hearing what Yolanda’s mother thinks of her, but this—
“I know,” she manages. “Thank you.” The tears come anyway. Just a few.
“Oh, baby.” Yolanda leans over without hesitation, brushing them away with her thumb, tender and familiar.
Then she presses a long kiss to Trinity’s mouth, grounding, warm, lingering just enough to remind her she’s safe.
Honks erupt behind them. Yolanda pulls back with a huff and makes a rude gesture at the rearview mirror.
Trinity laughs wetly.
Intense, alright. But hers.
When they start rolling again, she reaches for Yolanda’s hand, holds it tight.
“I love you so much.”
□ □ □ □ □
“Do you have everything?” Yolanda is already halfway out the door.
Standing in the doorway in her thickest coat, blinking between her beanie and scarf, Trinity looks back at her girlfriend. Yolanda is wearing a very chic felt coat and a matching headband, elegant, put-together, effortlessly stylish.
They look like they belong in entirely different climate zones.
Trinity is not having this argument right now. Not when Mother-related nerves are already crawling under her skin.
“Yes, I do—” she replies, tugging at her tote bag as if to double-check by force alone.
They’ve agreed to take the bus downtown to meet Yolanda’s mom. As soon as they step outside, snow begins to dust them again—soft flakes at first, then steadier. Trinity is immediately glad she’s holding her girlfriend’s hand, because the sidewalk is also fucking slippery.
“Whoa, careful, baby,” Yolanda says, as Trinity, very undignified nearly loses her footing and has to haul herself upright with Yolanda’s help.
This is going great already.
Trinity lets out a long breath and convinces herself this is not a sign.
“I just got a text,” Yolanda says, hooking her arm under Trinity’s as they keep walking, her thumb rubbing a small, reassuring circle against Trinity’s sleeve. “She says she’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“Mm,” Trinity hums, eloquent as ever.
“Baby.” They reach the bus stop and come to a halt. Yolanda turns fully toward her now, eyes searching her face.
“Just like we talked about. The moment you want to leave, we do. She can also take what she gives out, though I imagine she’ll hold back for now.”
Trinity huffs. “I should’ve known that roasting as a love language runs in the family.”
“Not roasting,” Yolanda says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Trinity’s snow-dusted beanie, warm and quick. “Just poking fun. A little.”
Trinity hums in response. The knot in her chest loosens, just a bit.
Despite the weather, the bus ride goes smoothly. Which is, inconveniently, not what Trinity needs right now. Because she now has no extra time to rehearse greetings or contingency plans before the doors hum open again.
She hooks her arm under Yolanda’s once more, partly for balance, partly for courage, as Yolanda guides them toward the meeting point.
This corner of the city is more quiet and decorated beautifully, strings of fairy lights crisscrossing overhead.
It makes sense for a vintage outdoor Christmas market. At least, that’s what Yolanda told her they’d be going to.
As they round a corner, Yolanda lets out a content little hum.
A shorter woman in a bright red coat approaches them. Early to mid-fifties, Trinity estimates.
Her hair is hidden beneath a stylish beret that perfectly matches the coat, appropriate to the weather, in sharp contrast to her daughter.
Trinity takes one long breath.
Then Yolanda is already being tugged away from her arm and into a fierce hug. Trinity instinctively hangs back, giving them space, as the two women murmur to each other in Spanish. It sounds familiar and fast.
Eventually, they turn to her.
“Mama,” Yolanda says, still smiling, “this is Trinity, my girlfriend.”
That earns her a smile and an eye roll from the shorter woman that very clearly says I know, duh.
“And Trinity,” Yolanda continues, unbothered, “this is my mother.”
Trinity holds out a hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
The grip is firm. Then she feels herself being gently pulled closer—before the older woman stops, almost apologetically.
“Is a hug okay?” she asks.
Startled, Trinity nods.
She’s pulled in again, firm, but not invasive. Over her shoulder, she glances at Yolanda, who gives a small nod of reassurance.
Trinity’s heart makes a stupid little leap.
Yolanda must have briefed her touchy mother, about her... preferences.
They separate, and Trinity swallows.
“But please,” the woman adds kindly, “call me Claudia.”
Trinity nods, a little dazed.
Then she remembers something. Reaching into her tote, she produces a small, delicate box of very dark chocolates with seasalt.
Yolanda once complained about them, how they were the only kind her mother ever kept in the house when she was younger.
“Um…” Trinity holds them out and suddenly feels a little foolish. “These are for you.”
Behind Claudia, Yolanda’s eyes go wide as she smiles in disbelief.
“I heard they were your favorites,” Trinity adds as Claudia takes them.
Claudia turns to her daughter. “See? At least one person has taste.”
Yolanda groans, but Claudia turns back to Trinity. “Thank you, darling.”
She tucks the chocolates into her purse and gives Trinity another hug, shorter this time, but warm. “Now I can say they’re prescribed by the doctor.”
She smirks, hooks her arm under Yolanda’s, and starts walking.
Trinity smiles and slips in on Yolanda’s other side, the three of them pressed together against the cold.
“Mama—” Yolanda groans again.
“I like her already,” Claudia interrupts lightly. “Don’t start complaining now, Yoli.”
Yoli?
Interesting.
“It starts just down there,” Claudia says, pointing with her free hand toward the glow of stalls and lights further down the street.
“Come on, girls.”
She tugs them along, leaving them no option but to follow.
□ □ □ □ □
Mothers, Trinity has learned, are inherently curious. To the point of nosiness.
But she learns today that they can also be kind. And careful. And surprisingly perceptive.
Also, Yolanda was not kidding about the roasting part.
“Yoli,” Claudia says with a pointed side-eye, “why are you dressed for the beach again, hmm?”
They’re standing in front of a stall overflowing with sweets, candied nuts, chocolate bark, sugared apples, arms still linked in a neat little row that makes them an absolute obstacle for other visitors trying to pass.
Not that either of the Garcia women gives a shit.
“I’m not dressed for the beach,” Yolanda protests. “This is—”
Claudia waves her off. “I don’t care if it’s Versace if you’re cold.” Then she leans closer to Trinity, eyebrows raised. “Don’t you agree?”
Two very similar pairs of eyes land on her, intense and expectant.
Trinity’s stomach flips. She wasn’t expecting to be drafted into this, but she straightens just a little, courage bolstered by the way Yolanda’s arm tightens against hers.
“I mean... yes,” she says, carefully. “I don’t want you getting sick.”
She looks directly at Yolanda when she says it, heart thumping, feeling braver now that Claudia is so clearly on her side.
“See?” Claudia says triumphantly.
Yolanda groans and rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She tugs them forward. “You already got sweets for free. Let’s look somewhere else.”
“Yes, Yoli,” Claudia fires back instantly. “Maybe somewhere with scarves and gloves.”
Trinity lets herself be tugged along into the festive chaos: fairy lights glowing overhead, snow crunching softly underfoot.
Yolanda’s hand slips into hers as they walk, fingers squeezing once, grounding her.
They drift through the market at an unhurried pace, stopping here and there without a real plan: Claudia commenting on ornaments she definitely doesn’t need, Yolanda pretending not to already know exactly which stalls have the best food.
Trinity mostly listens, chiming in when she can, her nerves easing as the rhythm of their walking settles her.
Yolanda keeps her close without making a show of it, fingers brushing her wrist, a hand at the small of her back whenever the crowd thickens. Each quiet touch feels like a reminder: I’ve got you.
Eventually they stop at the patio area of a café. Trinity spots a free table tucked under a heat lamp and guides them there.
They set their things down and shuffle into place, until they realize it’s self-order at the service window.
“I can go—” Trinity starts immediately.
Claudia shoots her a look. “Yoli will get it, right?”
Yolanda is already standing, but her gaze flicks to Trinity first, asking, checking.
Trinity nods. “You know what I like.”
She squeezes Yolanda’s fingers before letting go.
Five minutes. She can survive five minutes alone with her… girlfriend’s mother. Not mother-in-law. Something else. Something undefined but suddenly very real.
Yolanda hesitates, then heads for the line.
“Sooo…” Claudia says lightly once she’s gone.
Trinity braces herself. This is it. The interrogation.
But Claudia leans in instead, lowering her voice like she’s sharing a secret. “Is she good to you?”
Trinity’s throat goes dry.
That is not what she expected.
She nods slowly, eyes drifting, inevitably, to Yolanda across the yard. As if summoned, Yolanda looks back at them, brows knitting slightly, watching.
“You can’t imagine,” Trinity says softly, forcing her gaze back to Claudia.
“That’s right,” Claudia replies, more serious now. “Sometimes it’s hard to imagine. That’s why I ask.”
“Oh. I—no, I mean—”
Claudia’s gloved hands slide across the table and pause there, open, waiting.
Trinity takes them.
“I’m not being mean when I say this, child,” Claudia continues gently. “But she can be… hard. Intense. Especially when she was a student.”
Trinity nods. She thinks of those first few 'casual' months—how hard Yolanda had been to read, how much Trinity had second-guessed herself.
“But she’s also very sensitive,” Claudia adds. “On the inside.” A small smile. “Don’t worry. I asked her the same about you.”
Cool.
Cool, cool, cool.
“Yeah?”
“Of course.” Claudia nods. “A mother needs to know her baby is safe and happy.”
“I can guarantee...” Trinity bites her lip. “I’m doing everything in my power to make that true.”
“She told me the same,” Claudia says warmly. “But what about you?”
What about her?
The question hits heavier than Trinity expects.
She exhales slowly. “She’s very… gentle. Loving.” Her voice wobbles just a bit, and she decides not to pull back. “I have… some scars from the past. And she helps me with those. A lot.”
Her eyes sting.
“She’s patient,” Trinity continues quietly. “She takes care of me.”
“She better,” Claudia says firmly, already producing a tissue from her coat.
Then, without missing a beat: “I gather she makes more money, so that’s how it should be—even with… lesbians, no?”
Trinity snorts, startled, and takes the tissue.
“Yeah,” she manages. “Sure. That’s… exactly how it works.”
“But also not just material,” she adds quickly. “Otherwise, too.”
Claudia’s smile turns sly. “Oh, I don’t think I need details.”
It takes Trinity a second.
Then her face goes red.
“I didn’t—”
Claudia winks and squeezes her hand. “I know.”
Trinity lets out a long breath. This woman is… a lot. In the best, strangest way.
Her gaze drifts back to Yolanda, who is at the ordering window now. When Yolanda looks up and sees Trinity’s slightly red eyes, she frowns.
Trinity lifts a hand in a small wave and mouths, 'It’s okay.'
Yolanda doesn’t look entirely convinced.
“By the way,” Claudia says softly, drawing Trinity’s attention back. She slides another tissue across the table. “I wrote my number on here.”
“Oh.” Trinity takes it automatically. “Thank you.”
“Just in case,” Claudia adds. “If there's ever an emergency, or you need tips for a gift, recipes...” she trails off.
“Text me. Or call.”
Trintiy nods eagerly, because words are not really working right now. Thankfully Claudia doesnt press. Maybe good mothers sense these things.
Where they're needed.
Trinty is still looking at her phone, studying the contact information when determined footsteps approach them and a tray is set down.
“Did you behave yourself, Mama?” Yolanda asks, pointed.
Trinity looks up as Yolanda slides in close beside her on the bench, thigh pressed to hers, an arm draped lightly behind her back, protective, checking in.
“I did, Yolanda,” Claudia replies sweetly.
Full name. Uh oh.
Trinity nods quickly. “We had a lovely conversation.” Her voice is still a little shaky, but Yolanda seems reassured, for now.
Under the table, Trinity sends Claudia a text with her name.
Then she sets the phone aside, leans into Yolanda’s warmth, and lets herself breathe.
□ □ □ □ □
The sky has gone a deep, dusky blue by the time they start back toward the hotel, streetlights flickering against the snow-speckled sidewalks. Trinity’s coat is zipped high, her hands buried in pockets, but her eyes never leave Yolanda.
She notices the way her girlfriend’s steps grow smaller, the subtle hunch in her shoulders. There are tiny tremble she tries to disguise as she adjusts her sleeves.
“Yoyo,” she murmurs gently, sidling closer, letting her arm brush along Yolanda’s. “You’re shivering.”
Yolanda shakes her head quickly, a sharp little smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine,” she says, but her voice carries the faintest wobble.
Trinity doesn’t argue. She knows better than to push. Instead, she reaches into her tote, pulling out the small hand warmers she’s been carrying all day, along with a spare scarf.
It matches her coat.
“Here,” she says softly. “For you. Just… take it.”
Yolanda hesitates, biting her lip as if she’s weighing some internal argument, but the chill wins eventually.
She accepts the scarf, sliding it around her neck, then lets Trinity slip the hand warmers into her gloves.
Their fingers brush, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and Trinity feels the familiar flutter of warmth, not from the heat packs, but from the closeness.
Claudia’s raised eyebrows catch Trinity’s eye, subtle but unmistakable, and she feels a small rush of reassurance.
Trinity returns the lift of the brow with a slight nod.
“Thanks,” Yolanda murmurs, finally letting herself relax against Trinity’s side as they continue. She leans into her a little more, the scarf soft against Trinity’s coat.
“You’re welcome,” Trinity whispers, brushing a gloved hand along the curve of Yolanda’s arm. “I've got you.”
They say quick goodbyes to Claudia, who is remarkably quiet, penisvely watching them through the lobby's glass door as they leave.
By the time they reach the bus stop, Yolanda is adjusting the scarf with a small, self-conscious smile. “Better,” she admits. “Much better.”
Trinity laughs softly. “Good. That’s the plan.”
No need for snark, or 'I told you so'. Just one quick kiss to frosty lips as Trinity leans up and smiles.
Yolanda checks the bus app on her phone, and Trinity feels her own vibrate in her pocket. A quick glance reveals the message.
from: Claudia García
[7:27 pm] Text me, when you need the family ring.