Chapter 30: Worship and Return

The house was quiet in the soft light of early morning. Carla sat at the kitchen table in an oversized hoodie, her fingers wrapped around a mug of cinnamon coffee. She’d been up for almost an hour, unable to sleep past sunrise, her mind running slow circles around what the day would bring.

A low creak sounded down the hall.

Mama Caceres entered, robe tied loosely, her silver-threaded curls pinned up, skin dewy from her morning rinse. She gave Carla a long look before moving to the counter to pour herself coffee.

Neither spoke for a moment. The silence wasn’t heavy—it was expectant. Reverent.

“I thought I’d be more nervous,” Carla finally said, eyes still on the steam curling from her mug.

Mama settled into the chair across from her and arched a brow. “But?”

Carla smirked faintly. “I’m still nervous. Just ... in a different way. Like I’m finally about to open a gift I’ve been afraid to admit I wanted.”

Mama hummed. “A well-wrapped gift, that one. All those muscles and quiet eyes.”

Carla laughed softly. “Not just him, though.”

“I know.” Mama leaned forward, her fingers brushing Carla’s hand. “It’s what this means. For all of us.”

Carla’s lips parted, as if to speak, but she stopped. Looked down. “You ever wonder if we’re doing too much? Asking too much?”

Mama took a long sip of coffee, then set her mug down deliberately. “I used to wonder that every time your father touched me after I’d stopped needing him that way. And again, every time I found myself looking at someone else like I still had a body worth wanting.”

Carla looked up, startled by the frankness.

Mama gave a small smile. “This ... what we’re doing tonight ... it’s not about asking. It’s about claiming. Our joy, our desire, our choice.”

Carla nodded slowly. “I want that. I want all of it. But I want us—me and you and Yenni—to still be ... us. After.”

“We will be,” Mama said with a quiet certainty that settled Carla’s racing thoughts. “If we start from truth. From each other.”

Another pause.

Then Carla chuckled. “He’s gonna freak out when he sees us.”

Mama grinned. “Let him. We’ve earned the right to blow his mind.”

They both sipped from their mugs, shoulders relaxing.

Peaceful.

Connected.

And ready.

By midmorning, Carla had transitioned into soft leggings and a cropped tee, her earlier nerves tucked into the background. Mama Caceres was humming along to a Spotify bolero playlist as she folded towels in the laundry nook, hips swaying gently.

Then came the knock.

Three taps. A pause. Then two more—Yenni’s signature rhythm.

Carla opened the door and froze.

Yenni stood there in loose flared lounge pants and a fitted crop tank that showed just a peek of her ribcage. No bra. Gold hoops. A small pastry box balanced on her hip.

“You said we needed to talk logistics,” Yenni said, eyes glinting with something between challenge and apology. “And I brought guava turnovers because if we’re going to plan a threesome-slash-quasi-domestic-reunion, carbs are required.”

Carla let out a startled laugh and stepped aside.

Yenni entered like she belonged—which, despite the tension, she always had.

Mama emerged from the laundry nook with a towel still in hand and raised a single brow at the sight of Yenni’s outfit.

Yenni gave a twirl. “Don’t worry, Mama. I came dressed for tactical coordination and maybe mild seduction.”

Mama handed her the towel. “You also came an hour early.”

Yenni dropped her voice. “I missed you. Both of you. So shoot me.”

No one did.

They migrated to the kitchen and shared the turnovers while sitting barefoot on the floor, back against cabinets, laughter coming easier than expected.

Between bites and playful nudges, the conversation shifted.

“So, how are we doing this?” Carla asked, dusting powdered sugar from her thigh.

Yenni shrugged, suddenly earnest. “We’re not forcing anything, right? Just being ... open.”

Mama nodded. “Open. Honest. And slow. We don’t ambush.”

“Okay, but a surprise is different from an ambush,” Yenni countered. “And technically, he ambushed us by being an emotionally competent submissive nerd with thighs like that.”

All three laughed.

They talked timing, physical comfort, emotional boundaries. Carla voiced a brief panic about who would lead, and Yenni teasingly called dibs on “strategic mischief.” Mama reminded them both that Eli would need care as much as touch—that he would likely try to make it about them and forget himself again.

“We don’t let him,” she said firmly.

Carla leaned her head against Mama’s shoulder. Yenni leaned in from the other side.

The moment held.

Then Carla whispered, “You sure we’re ready?”

Yenni’s lips brushed her ear. “More than ready.”

Mama’s hand rested on both their thighs. “Let’s make tonight count.”

The light in Carla’s bedroom was soft and amber, filtered through linen curtains that muted the afternoon sun. The scent of jasmine oil mingled with warm vanilla from the candle burning low on the dresser. The three women had laid out their choices earlier—lace in earth tones, satin in shades of dusk, a trio of matching silk robes Mama had found in a boutique clearance bin months ago and never expected to wear together.

Carla stood before the mirror, her brow furrowed, adjusting the strap of her bodysuit. “Why do I feel like I’m going to a wedding and a job interview and a strip show all at once?”

Mama Caceres chuckled from her perch at the foot of the bed, legs tucked beneath her. “Because you are, mija. That’s what seducing a man as cautious as Eli requires—commitment, clarity, and a little cleavage.”

Yenni, kneeling on the rug while curling her lashes, glanced up. “And matching lipstick. Can’t forget that.”

They laughed—nervous but genuine.

It was a rare moment, all three of them sharing the same mirror space, spritzing perfume, checking angles. Yenni and Carla swapped earrings. Mama braided Carla’s hair loosely, then pulled her own up into a soft twist. At one point, Carla froze mid-lip-gloss and turned to face them.

“Are we really doing this?”

Mama Caceres nodded slowly. “Not because we have to. Because we want to.”

Yenni placed a hand on Carla’s back. “Because we’re not three women chasing one man. We’re three women who choose this. Together.”

The weight of that truth hung in the air like steam after a shower—warm, honest, and a little terrifying.

They didn’t speak again as they finished dressing. They just moved with quiet agreement, checking each other’s details, smoothing hair, adjusting straps, applying the finishing touches of scent and shimmer. Mama lit another candle and placed it in the hallway bag to carry.

When they were finally ready—dressed, centered, trembling—they gathered by the front door.

“I texted him earlier,” Carla said, holding up her phone. “He’s doing a late workout. I said we might stop by later.”

Yenni raised a brow. “So he’s expecting us?”

“Maybe,” Carla said. “But not this.”

They crossed the short walk to Eli’s house in the thick, warm silence of dusk. Fireflies blinked lazily above the grass. A sprinkler clicked somewhere in the distance.

Carla unlocked the door with practiced ease and slipped inside. The house was quiet except for the distant, rhythmic sound of weights being racked in the garage gym.

“He’s still finishing,” Mama whispered. “We have time.”

They moved quickly but reverently—turning down lights, fluffing pillows, lighting candles in the bedroom. Carla laid the soft blanket across the end of the bed. Yenni placed a glass of water and a folded towel by the nightstand. Mama stood near the hallway, listening for the water to start running.