Gay af

“They’re your brothers.”

“I know exactly whose brothers they are,” Trinity kept her eyes on the horizon and tried to keep her voice as level as she could. “I raised them”

“Don’t start with that again.” Her mother’s voice was taut. “Do you even know what you’ve done? Luca has been crying and Theo hasn’t been sleeping–”

“You shouldn’t have even told them,” Trinity hissed. “You shouldn’t have even put it in their heads about the school without having the money for it."

“I told them the truth!” Her mother was loud on the other end of the phone. “You have the money.”

Trinity shut her eyes. “I have the money for school.”

“You have money,” her mother said, like the rest of the sentence didn’t matter. 

“It’s for medical school,” Trinity tried to explain even though she knew better. Even though she knew exactly where this conversation would go. “I start at the end of August.”

“You can go next year.”

Trinity rubbed her eyes with her free hand.

Her mother's solution was Trinity could give up one more year.

Except, Trinity knew what one more year meant. 

It meant staying responsible for her two brothers. It meant Theo needing cleats and Luca needing therapy and her mother needing cash for rent again. 

One year would turn into Trinity at thirty-three telling people that she got into medical school once.

“No,” she said. It even surprised her a little at how firm it came out.

“You’ve always been selfish,” her mother replied. “Even as a girl.” Right, right on time. Even though she had heard it before, too many times that it had lost all meaning, the word still hurt each time. “And none of this would even be a problem if you had just kept your scholarship for college,” her mother continued. “A full ride handed to you. And you threw it away."

The world tilted. Her grip tightened on the railing.

“I didn't throw it away,” her voice was barely recognizable. “I turned it down and you know exactly why.”

“Oh, here we go–”

“It was his program,” the words dislodged something in her chest. “I would have had to be in his locker room for four more years. I would have owed him my entire education.” Trinity didn’t know when she had started shaking, only that her arm were vibrating against the railing when she looked down. “I told you and you said I was being ungrateful, that we owed him.”

She was seventeen again sitting in the passenger seat of her mother’s car with the scholarship papers folded in her lap trying to explain why she wouldn’t go. She tried to tell her why she couldn’t spend four more years near him. She remembered her mother’s hands on the steering wheel and how disappointed she looked when she asked Trinity, do you know what girls would give for an opportunity like this? She had looked at Trinity like she was spoiled, like Trinity was a difficult child who hadn’t gotten her way.

There was silence on the other end of the phone for long enough that Trinity could hear her own pulse in her ears. 

“You always twist things,” her mother started. “You have always tried to make yourself into a victim.”

“I was thirteen,” Trinity’s voice cracked.

“You were just upset because of where we were living.”

Her stomach dropped.

“I was a kid.”

“You were emotional. You were fine once we moved out.”

Trinity laughed, “yeah because he was touching me. Great fucking parenting.”

The silence was longer this time. Trinity could feel the old panic inside of her rising as she knew she had said the wrong thing. There was a reason she hadn’t gone back to her mother after telling her for the first time. 

“You have no idea what it was like for me,” her mother’s voice was thin on the other end of the phone. 

Trinity closed her eyes.She knew life had been hard for her mother too. Everything in her life had to have that caveat. 

If her mother were smart, she would have gotten abortion at 15 and saved Trinity all of this trouble. 

“I’m sure it was awful for you.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” her mother hissed. “You think I had choices? You think I could just pull money out of thin air? I had two kids to feed.”

“Three.”

Her mother went quiet. 

“You had three kids to feed.”

“You’re different.”

She let out something that was almost a laugh, but also a sob at the same time.

Trinity was different.

Trinity wondered if her mother had held her on her chest as an infant and decided that Trinity had been born to handle it all. She had been born into this world with different rules attached to her. She was the oldest. She was the one who could handle it. She was the one who didn’t need protecting because she was the protector. 

Another ugly laugh escaped her before she could slap her hand to her mouth to contain it.

“What is funny?”

“Nothing,” Trinity said, but she was still laughing, one hand pressed against her mouth. 

“Don’t laugh at me, Trinity.”

They were always going to end up here.

It didn’t matter what Trinity said or how she tried to explain it. It didn’t matter to her mother that it was medical school she was asking Trinity to give up. Her mother would never stop asking Trinity to give things up.

That was her function in the family. 

“You’re right,” she dropped her hand from her mouth. “I am different. I’ve been different my whole life. I was the one who got up early. I was the one who made the lunches for the boy’s daycare. I was the one who didn’t have a lock on my door because the man you moved us in with–”

“Trinity, stop.”

"Why? Because it's uncomfortable? Imagine how it felt at thirteen."

"We are not doing this—"

"No, we're not."

The shaking had moved from her arms into her chest and she could feel the tears starting, hot against her cheeks. She could feel panic pressing at the back of her throat. "We're not doing this. We're not doing any of this anymore."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I’m done. I’m not paying for the boys' school. I’m not sending you anything else. I’m not making this work because you promised them something you couldn’t give them.”

“Trinity–”

“I don’t want you to call me anymore. If there’s an emergency, one of the boys can call me. Other than that, I want nothing to do with you.”

Her mother made a small noise. “You don’t mean that.”

She did.

There was nothing left for Trinity to give. She had poured herself open countless times for her mother. She had given everything she had and still it wasn’t enough. 

Still, her mother would come asking her for more. And Trinity couldn’t do it anymore. 

“I do.”

“Your brothers–”

"I know," Trinity stopped her. Her mother paused, not used to being interrupted, but Trinity didn’t need her mother to tell her what she already knew. "I know that's what's going to happen." Her voice was breaking and she let it happen. "I know you'll tell them whatever you want to tell them. I know Luca's going to keep hating me. I know Theo's probably going to stop calling." The tears were falling freely now, dropping off her chin onto the railing, and she didn't even try to stop them. "But I can't do this anymore."

“Trinity–”

"I'm done." She said it again, and this time it sounded less steady. “Tell the boys I love them and I’m sorry.”

"You are making the biggest mistake—"

"Goodbye, Mom."

She hung up. Trinity folded forward over the railing with the phone still in her hand, her other arm pressed hard across her stomach. The first sob came out of her before she knew it was coming, and then she couldn’t stop the next one or the next.

She didn’t hear the door slide open behind her.

“Trinity?” Baran’s voice questioned behind her. Trinity shook her head without turning around. She didn’t want Baran to look at her. She couldn’t look at her like this. She wanted to be the girl that sung to them on their anniversary. She wanted to be the good part of their trip. 

If they saw her like this, if they knew how close to the edge her bank account was—

"Go back inside," Trinity said, but it came out choked and barely there. "Please. I just need a minute."

It came out broken and humiliating. There was no hiding that sobs were still forming in her chest and she had just cut the line that had once been the most important to her. 

Baran didn’t go back inside. Trinity could hear the door opening further and two sets of feet coming closer to her. Then Baran was beside her at the rail. 

“I’m fine,” she tried but Baran didn’t even bother responding. It made Trinity cry harder, which she hated. Yolanda didn’t ask what happened. She just put her hand on Trinity’s back and Trinity could feel her thumb rubbing circles. 

When Baran’s hand reached out and touched hers, pulling her curled hands and holding it in her own, the sobs that she had been fighting could no longer be contained. They poured out of her. Trinity turned and buried herself into Baran before she could think twice about it. 

Baran wrapped her arms around her with no hesitation. Yolanda moved closer, one hand steady on Trinity’s back while the other wrapped around her waist as Trinity cried and cried into Baran’s shoulder.

They didn’t say anything.

Trinity had chosen herself.

For the first time in her life, she had chosen herself. So, why did it feel so wrong?

---------------------------------------------------------------

They somehow got her back into the room.

She didn’t remember most of it. 

In the end, she ended up in Yolanda’s arms as Baran had gathered the things from the balcony before bringing her inside. Yolanda’s arm wrapped around her ribs and Baran’s hand was steady rubbing her back. She remembered them steering her out of the sun and into the doors across the room, murmuring things she couldn’t quite hear over her own sobs. She remembered the cold of the floor under her bare feet and then the softness of the bed against her back. 

She lay between them for a long time without saying a word.

Baran had brought over a water bottle and brought it to Trinity’s lips herself until Trinity had drunk some. Yolanda pressed a cool washcloth to the back of her neck that Baran had handed her. She had stopped crying a few minutes ago. It left her feeling worse. Baran had plugged her phone into the charger on the nightstand. Trinity never wanted to look at it again. 

"It was my mom," Trinity said finally, to the ceiling. Her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. "She needs money."

She felt Yolanda's hand go still on her neck.

"She always needs money," Trinity continued. "That's—it's not new. She's called me for money since I was eleven. There's always something. I always send it."

"But this time is different," Baran said. She was on Trinity's other side, propped on one elbow, watching her.

"This time it's the boys." Trinity's throat tightened. "They got into a private school, both of them. It's across town, but it's actually good. It has real programs. Theo's coach says he could get recruited from there." She pressed her palms against her closed eyes. "Luca would be so happy. He'd love it there. They both would."

"And she wants you to pay," Yolanda said.

"Yes," Trinity dropped her hands. "But I can't. I have money saved but it's—it's spoken for. It's the only thing I've ever kept for myself and if I give it to her, it's gone, and I know exactly what happens next. Something else comes up. It always comes up. And I'm still sending checks at thirty and I never—"

She stopped and swallowed the rest of it.

It’s not that she doesn’t want this for her brothers. If she could snap her fingers and do it, she would. They were already softer than Trinity ever was. She had already shielded them from so much. Why was it that she had to be the one to teach them this lesson?

"If I could help them, I would," she said, and her voice cracked on would. "If there was a way to do both—if I could split myself in half and give them the school and still—" She pressed her lips together. "I would do it without thinking. I wouldn't even hesitate. They're my brothers. I raised them. I love them. And now they won't–” her voice broke.

"Now they won't?" Yolanda asked, quiet, right against her ear.

Trinity's face crumpled.

"My mom told them," she said. "She promised the boys I could send them and I won't. And Luca—" Her voice broke. "Luca's eleven. He hasn't answered a text in days. He used to send me forty a day, about football, and now there's nothing, and he just—he thinks I don't love him. He thinks his sister picked herself over him."

"Trinity," Baran voice sounded so sad.

"And the worst part is he's right." She had started crying again. "I did pick myself. For the first time in my whole life I picked me. So she was right. I am selfish. She's right."

“No, she’s wrong.” Yolanda’s voice was so strong that Trinity had to look at her. Yolanda, on her other side, was watching her with red-rimmed eyes that Trinity hadn't expected to see.

"He'll come back to you," Yolanda said. "Luca. When he's old enough. They always come back."

"You can say that."

"Because my brother did." Yolanda's hand found her jaw, pulling her to look at her. "He didn't speak to me for two years after I married Baran. Now he calls me every Sunday and cries about his girlfriend. They come back, Trinity. The ones who love you come back."

Trinity wanted to believe her. She turned her face into Yolanda's palm and closed her eyes. Baran's hand found its way into her hair again, slow and gently like Trinity was something worth tending to.

Like caring about her was the easiest thing in the world.

"I went to that awful school," Trinity said, her voice fading at the edges. "The one she wants to get them out of. I went there for four years and nobody tried to move me. She never once cared about getting me out." She swallowed. "But for them, she'll call me until I break."

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

"Somebody should have protected you," Baran said quietly.

The words landed somewhere so deep Trinity couldn't even cry about them. She just felt them settle, heavy and warm, into the exact place that had been empty her whole life. Another phrase for her lock box of opinions that mattered.

They didn't ask her anymore questions. Trinity didn't have to explain what else had been said on the phone with her mother. They stayed pressed against her and just were.

Trinity laid there and took deep breaths.

She had told them more than she had told almost anybody else about her mother. More than she had told Victoria or Cassie. More than she had told the counselor she had seen once at eighteen after freshman orientation had given her a brochure before never going back.

She hadn't even told them the worst of it and they still looked heartbroken for her.

They still looked like what she had said was enough for something inside of them to be broken because of it. Trinity couldn't examine that too closely.

Nobody had ever been angry for her.

She had seen the flickers of it on both of their faces when she was talking about her mother.

But even with the anger, their hands were gentle on her. Baran was humming something in her ear as Yolanda rubbed her hip soothingly. Trinity hadn't even reached out for them and still, it was like they needed to touch her for themselves as much as it was benefiting her.

She fell asleep between them. She didn't mean to. Everything was just so warm and quiet with Yolanda's breath slow against her neck and Baran's thumb moving in circles over her knuckles.

It should have felt humiliating. She'd spent her whole life making sure no one ever saw the inside of her like this. Instead she just felt tired and warm.

And, for one absolutely terrifying stretch of time, taken care of.

---------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, Baran took her to dinner.

“Just us,” she said, when Trinity asked where Yolanda was. “She has a call to make, she’ll join us after. Please, you’ve been inside all day. Let me feed you something that isn’t room service and get you some fresh air.”

The restaurant was not fancy like the one the night before. It was tucked into one of the narrow streets by the hotel with just a small sign out front that allowed for Trinity to wear her own clothes that Crash had packed. There was a hostess that greeted Baran by name and took them to a table in the back that felt far more intimate than what Trinity was starting to think maybe wasn’t just a fling. There were no prices on the menu either. Baran ordered for the both of them after noticing Trinity’s eyes drifting off the menu a few times. The fight with her mother had taken a lot out of her.

“Yolanda and I always share dishes, so if you don’t like it, we can always swap.”

Baran ordered wine that Trinity was sure cost more than her flight home at the end of August and drank none of it.

Baran was soft with her all evening, attentive in a way that made Trinity want to open up. Her hard shell already open with damage from her mother and Baran was so inviting. She asked about the boys. She wanted to know all about them: what position Theo played, whether they looked like Trinity, what her favorite signs at the airport said. Trinity, a little wine drunk and tingly from the novelty of being asked, told her all of it.

Trinity glowed under her attention like a plant finally turned towards the sun.

Yolanda arrived at the end of the dinner, right before they ordered desert, sliding into the seat beside Trinity with an apology for the call running long. She pressed a kiss to Trinity’s temple before waving over their server to get a wine glass herself. She rested her hand on the back of Trinity’s neck. Trinity felt warm with affection.

There was a small, satisfied smile on Yolanda's face.

Over the table, Yolanda caught Baran’s eye and something passed between them, quick and private. Baran tilted her head just slightly and asked her wife, “everything sorted?”

“All taken care of,” Yolanda said, her thumb moving against the back of Trinity’s neck,