As the date of Angela’s family’s arrival approached, she got more and more nervous. To help distract herself from the stress, she spent a ton of time making sure everything was just right. She stocked the fridge up with Colombian fruits and vegetables, and stacked plenty of Latin canned and packaged foods in the pantry.

“How much cooking are you planning on doing?” I asked, amazed at how our shelves had gone from barren to stocked in such a short period.

“Me? I’m not going to cook a thing,” Angela said with a laugh. “No, this is for Mamá.”

“You’re going to make your mom cook on her vacation?”

“Nobody makes Mamá do anything,” Angela replied, smiling. “No, she’s gonna cook because she loves to do it, and she’ll want to show off for her daughter’s new, um… girlfriends.”

“Baby,” I said, taking her into my arms. “To me, you’re not my girlfriend. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my wife. I know it’s not legal, and I know you’re worried about how your parents are going to deal with all of this, and I want you to know that Emmy and I will support whatever you want to tell them. Call us your girlfriends, your wives, your roommates, whatever. That’s up to you, and we’ll follow your lead.”

“I know,” Angela said with a sigh, leaning her head on my chest. “I told them that we are in a committed relationship, and I am wearing a wedding ring. They say they understand, and they want to come and meet the two of you, but I’m still so…” she said, holding out her shaky hand.

Holding her tight, I said, “It’ll be O.K., babe. You know they’ll love Emmy- everybody does. And me, I’ll do what I can, too.”

“I know, and I’m not worried that they won’t like you. I just worry that the whole idea of us being a… a threesome. It just may be too strange for them.”

“It is pretty strange,” I admitted. “But I’ve gotten used to it. When they see how normal it can be, hopefully they’ll understand. I mean, our home life is actually pretty typical in most ways. When they see that we’re actually sort of boring, it’ll take a lot of the strangeness out of the situation.”

“Boring? Us? Ha!” Angela said. She gave my butt a slap and stepped out of the hug and looked up at me. “There is nothing boring about us!”

Even though Angela’s parents were flying in that night, she wanted to go out driving with the crew that Saturday morning. Of course, she insisted we take the Porsche, too. When I had the Gulf team wrap peeled off and saw the Sapphire Blue Metallic paint, I liked it enough that I had it re-wrapped in a clear protective film so the blue would show. Angela just loved the color and loved the way the car looked, and she wanted me to show it off to my driving buddies. Of course, she dolled up all sexy, too- she enjoyed the attention, and enjoyed letting the boys know that she was all mine.

We got to the Starbucks first and got our coffees while we waited for the others to arrive. Watching them through the store window, we laughed as every single one walked over and eyeballed the Spyder before joining the others. When most of the guys had assembled, we left the Starbucks and joined them where they were standing by Stephen’s AMG.

“Lizzie!” Jimmy brayed out when he saw us. “And sweet, sweet Angela! Hey! Where’s you guys’ car?”

“Hey, Jimmy, guys. I got a new ride. Anybody in the market for a lightly used BMW M6?”

“Whadja get?” Jimmy asked, looking around.

“I got myself a Porsche. Hey,” I said, shrugging. “I liked the color, alright?”

“Welcome to the club,” Geoff said, looking around for a 911 like his. “What color?”

“Metallic sapphire,” I said, as casually as I could.

It only took moments for realization to hit all of the guys, and they all turned to stare at the 918.

“Oh, you fucking didn’t,” Stein said. “Seriously? You liked the color so you bought a two million dollar car?”

“I got a good deal on it,” I said. “And besides, it’s a hybrid, so I get to use the carpool lanes.”

“Fuck me sideways,” Jimmy breathed, going over to look at the car again. “I mean, seriously, fuck me sideways. Twice.”

“You’re pulling our leg, right?” demanded Geoff.

I took the key fob from my pocket and showed them the Porsche logo.

Geoff looked at it, then pulled his out of his own pocket. “You’d think a two million dollar car would have, I don’t know, but something fancier than any other Porsche fob,” he said, and sure enough, there was no visible difference.

“I guess Porsche figures that nobody cares, right?” I said.

I don’t think he was convinced until I walked over and opened Angela’s door for her and she slid in.

“Who’s leading today?” I asked.

They all looked around at each other, but Stein said, “Well, it’s obvious. You are.”

“ACH and AFH, then,” I said, climbing into the low-slung car. “I want to hear this baby in the tunnel.”

“Fair enough,” Stein said.

We stopped at the traditional viewpoint turnout on Angeles Crest to let the guys check out the car. I had no problems with letting them sit in it and I probably would have even let any of them drive it for a little bit if they’d asked, but none did.

The car did sound glorious in the tunnel, and since we had the top off, we could hear it perfectly. As odd as it may seem, that was really the highlight of the morning’s drive. Even though I was leading out and therefore had clear road ahead of me, I couldn’t actually let the car run, since that meant I’d drop the other guys like bad habits within a couple of turns. The level of precision the 918 afforded me, and the mind-warping acceleration and speed, put the Porsche in another realm entirely from the other cars in our group. I could see how it could be a heck of a lot of fun out by myself, just letting the car rip, but that fun would be happening at speeds well beyond ‘get a serious ticket’ range and into ‘probably die if you crash’ territory.

Angela was oblivious to these thoughts, though. She was having the time of her life, enjoying the sound, the feel of the acceleration pushing her back into the seat, the stunningly high G forces we could manage in the turns, and, from what I could tell, really, really enjoying the other guys’ envy.

Angela wanted to have lunch with the boys, instead of bowing out to go get more done at home. Our collection of high-end to exotic cars half filled the tiny parking lot at the Japanese restaurant I chose, and I made certain I parked between Jimmy’s Ferrari and Stein’s McLaren. Neither of those guys were going to ding my doors, that was certain.

After we’d ordered, Stein pointed out that my parking had been strategic. “You’re gonna find that a car like that is a point A to point A vehicle,” he said, sipping his Sapporo. “A door ding, or somebody keying the car, something like that- it’s a really huge deal on a million-dollar-plus car. So you’ll only go places where you know there’s enough parking you can make sure nobody’s next to your car, or that have valet service, or something like that. You won’t take it to go out to the movies, or go grocery shopping, the usual.”

“There’s also a strong incentive to keep the mileage as low as possible,” Geoff said. “That car has appreciated something like fifty grand a month in the last year. Just parking it in your garage for the next few years could offer an incredible return on your investment.”

“That car isn’t an investment,” Stein snorted derisively. “Leah didn’t buy it because she thinks it’s a good way to double her money in two years.”

“No?” Geoff asked, rising to the bait.

“Hell no,” Stein said. “She bought it to drive it. It’s a shiny toy to her. End of story.”

Teddy Bear sighed from his end of the table. “Must be nice,” he said, to nobody in particular.

Angela glanced around, then leaned over and kissed me, right there in front of everybody. She turned back to look at the guys and said, “Leah gets all the best toys,” causing Stein to cough up his last sip of beer, and about half of the other guys to break out laughing.

Geoff blushed at first, but then joined in the laughter. “Yeah, I guess I deserved that,” he said ruefully.

Before everybody left, I reminded all of them about the upcoming party at our house, and they all promised to attend- even Geoff. I think he was still at least half convinced the fifty-thousand square foot house thing was bullshit and wanted to see it for himself, but that was fine.

That evening, driving to the airport in the Escalade I’d rented, I was in a great mood. I was looking forward to meeting Angela’s parents and little sister, sure, but mostly I was riding on a really good high from the fantastic sex earlier. Angela had been very demanding, saying that she wanted to get her fill (so to speak) before her parents came to town. She didn’t think she’d be able to have sex knowing they were just down the hall, so she wanted to get a half-month’s worth in four hours, and Emmy and I did our best to help her out. I certainly felt willing to oblige, and so was Emmy. As I drove that giant land yacht to LAX, I couldn’t help but smile, thinking about Angela’s enthusiasm in the bedroom. She’d been on fire in all the best ways, and although I was a bit sore, it was the very best kind of sore.

“What are you smiling about?” Angela asked as I turned onto Century Boulevard.

“Just thinking how much I love you,” I replied, reaching over and putting my hand on her thigh. If my arms had been any shorter that would have been an impossible task, that car was just so damned big.

I’d rented it so we could all travel together in one car. Four Castros plus Emmy and me would be way too much for any of the vehicles in our fleet, which were mostly two-seaters anyway. This behemoth had three rows of seating, and even full-sized adults could fit in the back row just fine. It would be perfect for carrying everybody here or there in comfort, even if it was a real bitch to park and sucked down gasoline like it was going out of style.

“I love you, too,” Angela said, putting her hand on top of mine. “Thank you for coming to the airport with me.”

I understood that it wasn’t merely the driving she was thanking me for, but the moral support in facing her parents.

“Ange, I’ll always be there for you,” I said.

The wait for the international passengers to exit customs was painfully long. Angela’s sister had texted the moment the plane landed, but it was almost an hour and a half later before Angela spotted her folks exiting the security zone, looking around for a familiar face.

Angela waved so they’d see us, but I was pretty sure they already had, since they were headed directly towards us.

They say that if you want to know what a woman will look like in twenty years, look at her mother. It might be true in a lot of cases, but certainly not in Angela’s case. Sure, there were some similarities between the Castro women, but Angela got most of her looks from her father. He had the same coloring as Angela, his blue eyes and pale skin contrasting with his dark hair just as they did in his daughter.

His striking looks weren’t passed on to Angela’s little sister, though. She took after their mother- pretty, but in a more typical Latina way.

As the trio made their way through the dispersing crowd to where Angela and I stood waiting, I saw Angela’s mother glancing down at our interlaced fingers. I’d told Angela I would follow her lead as far as PDAs in front of her family went, and she insisted that they see us showing signs of affection toward each other right from the start.

“I have told them that we are in a… romantic relationship, so they understand that we’re lovers, but I want them to see that it’s, well, like you said. Boring, normal, same as it would be if we were boyfriend and girlfriend,” Angela said. “So we will not hide it, but we won’t be very…”

“Obnoxious about it?” I suggested.

“Yes. They need to see it, but not have it shoved in their faces.”

“You’re the boss,” I said, so we did as she suggested and stood there holding hands while we waited. I’d long ago gotten used to the occasional stare, but I could tell that Angela wasn’t at that point yet. She was trying, though. I have to give her credit for that.

“Mamí! Papí! Cecy!” Angela cried out as they got close. She rushed forward and gave them each a hug, then turned to introduce me. I’d taken Spanish in high school, but had never really gotten that far with it. Still, I understood that when Angela referred to me as her ‘amor’ that she was outright saying that we were in love.

This didn’t seem to surprise the Castros at all, and they greeted me warmly. Angela chattered away in Spanish far too fast for me to follow while we waited for the luggage, only every now and then switching to English for my benefit when the subject pertained to me or Emmy.

Angela’s little sister kept stealing glances at me but was too shy to ask whatever it was that she wanted to ask, and I didn’t press the matter. They were going to be staying with us for two weeks, and that would be plenty of time.

“This is a nice car you have!” Mr Castro said when I opened the rear door of the Cadillac for all the luggage.

“Thanks,” I replied, hefting Mrs Castro’s amazingly heavy suitcase into the back. “But it’s just a rental for while you guys are here. We didn’t have any cars big enough for everybody.”

It had become apparent hat Mr Castro spoke good English, and Mrs Castro and Cecilia spoke English well enough to hold a conversation, so I didn’t feel that there really was much of a communications barrier, but Angela insisted on translating and explaining every now and then anyway. It was a bit annoying, but I guess it was better than having any misunderstandings crop up.

I could follow along well enough to understand her explanation to her dad that we have a lot of cars, but most of them are two-seaters. When I asked her later why she called the BMWs “BMVs,” she just shrugged and said that’s what they’re called in Colombia. Easier to say, she suggested.

“Is Disneyland near your house?” asked Cecilia as we drove east on Century.

“It’s about an hour’s drive,” I replied. “We should definitely go this week or next.”

“And Universal Studios?”

“That’s much closer. It’s about 15 minutes from the house.”

“Is that downtown?” Mr Castro asked, pointing off to the right as we headed north on 405. “It doesn’t seem very big.”

“No, papá, that’s Century City,” Angela replied from the back seat. “That’s where we used to live. You can’t see downtown from here.”

“How many people live in Los Angeles?” Mr Castro asked.

“In the city itself, maybe three million. In the metropolitan area, it’s almost thirteen million,” I replied.

“A little bit bigger than Bogotá, then,” he said, continuing to look out the window. “Bogotá has almost eleven million people in the metropolitan area.”

“I didn’t realize it was that big,” I said, surprised.

“Yes, it is very crowded,” he confirmed.

“Is this Sunset Boulevard?” Mrs Castro asked when I exited the freeway.

“Santa Monica,” I said. “Sunset is just a little bit north.”

“Can we go that way?” she asked. “I have always wanted to see Sunset Boulevard, and Hollywood Boulevard, too.”

“Sure,” I said. “It’ll take us a little longer to get home, but if you’re O.K. with that,” I replied, turning left to get back on the freeway.

Santa Monica would have been faster, but Sunset was definitely better sightseeing and I wanted the Castros to have as enjoyable a time in LA as possible, so I didn’t mind. I pointed out UCLA, the Beverly Hills Hotel, and the Viper Room.

As we progressed, Cecilia asked, “Do all these rainbow flags mean that they are…” she trailed off, lacking the vocabulary.

Thankfully, Angela bailed me out. “This area is called West Hollywood, and it has very many gay people,” she explained. “The flags mean that the business is gay-friendly.”

“Can people who aren’t, digamous, maricónes, go there?”

“Claro,” Angela replied. “The flag means that they do not discriminate, and if you are not gay,” she said, emphasizing the word so Cecilia would learn it, “You must expect that there will be people there who are. Nothing more.”

“Discrimination is illegal in Colombia, is it not here?” Mr Castro asked, surprised.

“It’s illegal here, too, but society is slow to change,” I replied. “Many gay people prefer to go to places they know they are welcome, not simply tolerated because it’s the law.”

Nodding his head, Mr Castro said, “In truth, it is the same back home.”

“Things are getting better,” I said. “I hope that someday soon it simply won’t be an issue anywhere.”

Mr Castro looked over at me, thoughtfully. After a long moment, he said, “I hope that, too.”

I pulled into the motor court at the front of the house instead of the batcave entrance just to make unloading easier, but it had the side benefit of allowing the Castros to see the size of the place.

“This is your house?” Mr Castro asked, craning his neck forward to see it all through the windshield.

“That is a hard question to answer,” I said with a little laugh, so Angela broke in and in rapid-fire Spanish explained that most of what we could see was the movie and recording studio, and the house was hidden mostly behind.

There were a few other cars in the lot- I recognized Riggo’s old El Camino and Viper’s Beetle, but the others were unknown to me so I figured they were using the studio. I realized that this was going to become the case more and more often as word got out and the place booked up, but it was still a bit novel to me.

I’d texted Emmy when we left LAX, so she was waiting by the front door and came to the car to greet the Castro family as they exited the Escalade. Of course, her Spanish was pretty good (from what Angela had told me), even if she did have a Barcelona accent. She greeted everyone in Spanish and invited them in, seemingly very pleased to have them in our home.

The Castros had obviously seen photos and videos of Emmy, but I could tell that seeing her in person was still a bit of a shock. She looked nothing like anybody they had ever seen, after all, and photos and video just can’t capture how unusual Emmy really was. They recovered quickly, though, and didn’t make any sort of fuss, to their credit.

Emmy led them inside, and Angela and I grabbed their luggage and brought it in behind them.

“You must be very tired,” Emmy said. “Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”

“It was a very long flight,” Mrs Castro said. “But the food was good, so we are not hungry.”

“Please let me or Angela know if you are,” Emmy said. “Or just help yourselves to anything in the kitchen.”

While Emmy was showing the Castros around, Angela and I carried the luggage downstairs to the guest bedrooms.

“I think it’s going to be just fine,” I told Angela when we’d dropped off the suitcases. I took her in my arms and held her for a minute, kissing the top of her head. “I think your dad might be O.K. with us,” I said.

“I’m more worried about mamá," Angela said. “She’s more, um, old-fashioned, and I think she’ll be upset if she thinks I won’t give her grandchildren.”

“Talk to her about that,” I suggested. “Tell her that you plan on having our baby, so grandchildren are definitely in her future.”

“Are you… Do you really want to raise a baby with me?” Angela asked, surprising me with her uncertainty.

“Ange, honey, of course I do. I get teary-eyed with emotion every time I even think about you holding our beautiful little baby in your arms.”

“Oh, Leah,” Angela said, looking up at me, and I could see her eyes were glistening with incipient tears. “I want that so much.”

There were no good words, so I just leaned down and kissed her, trying to put my feelings into action rather than mere talk. We were locking lips like that when the elevator door opened and Emmy and the Castros saw us there in the hallway.

“There you are!” Emmy said, cheerfully. “I wondered where you two had gone.” Without any ceremony, she walked up and gave us each a kiss. “We should show everyone their rooms.”

Understanding that the kiss was a way to show that we were in fact three people in love, I appreciated Emmy’s ability to take advantage of a situation.

Emmy led Angela’s parents to the first guest room and showed them the king-sized bed and the en suite bathroom and walk-in closet. “If there is anything wrong with the room, please let us know. You are the first to stay here since the remodel, so there may be some problems we do no know about yet.” She showed them the remote controls for the shades and the TV, and told them the wifi password.

Satisfied they were O.K., Emmy showed Angela’s little sister to her room, just one door down the hall. Cecilia’s room was a bit smaller, but still nice. It shared a Jack and Jill bath with the adjoining room and had a standard closet, but also had the floor to ceiling glass wall facing south with sliding doors onto a balcony, just like the room her parents were staying in.

Leaving them all to get settled in, Emmy, Angela and I returned to the kitchen to talk.

“Thank you for the kiss,” Angela said, taking Emmy into her arms. “That was perfect.”

Emmy kissed Angela, tenderly and slowly. “Your family needs to see that we are in love,” Emmy said when they broke the kiss. “You are mine, just as you are Leah’s, and we are yours. It as simple as that.”