Chapter 3After a drive back to Detroit, I parked my car in the lot and opened the passenger door for Mami.
“Yes, finally, no more reggaeton!” she cheered with sarcasm.
I laughed. “Psh, come on, it was the pop kind of reggaeton, and you were jamming to it inside your head.” I smirked.
“Ay, por favor, whatever. We’re playing bachata on the way back.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We ambled toward the entrance of the building, my anxiety gradually kicking in the closer we got to the double doors. I hadn’t gone to church since I’d been a teen in Puerto Rico, and I’d had quite the frequent confessions to ramble about to the unfortunate priest. However, this particular church was Protestant, and the straight pastor fully supported l***q rights without judgments of how the members lived their lives outside
