Rowan Family Apartment
One random Tuesday in March, 11 months after Eli turned sixteen
Eli came home from school expecting the usual: his mom in scrubs or pajamas, hair in a messy bun, humming Bad Bunny while reheating pernil.
Instead he opened the door and walked into a TikTok thirst trap.
Elena Rowan (age forty-one, mother of two, night-shift hero of the MTA) was standing in the middle of the living room wearing:
A cropped baby-tee that said "Eli's Favorite" in glitterLow-rise sweatpants that should have been illegal on anyone over twenty-fiveOne of his NASA hoodies tied around her waist like a beltAnd a full beat face (winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass)
She was mid-WAP dance.
Not just doing the TikTok version. She was doing the full Cardi B choreography, complete with floor work and hair flips that defied several laws of physics.
The living room furniture had been pushed back. The coffee table was floating three feet off the ground, spinning slowly like a lazy record. The aquarium fish were swimming in perfect synchronized figure-eights. The string lights had arranged themselves into a glowing heart around her.
Reality itself was simping.
Eli dropped his backpack.
"Mom… what the fuck?"
Elena finished the last eight-count (hips rolling like she was trying to personally end the concept of gravity), then popped up with a grin that was pure teenage chaos.
"¡Ay, mijo! You're home early!" She hit a pose, one hand behind her head, the other doing a little finger-wave. "How do I look? Be honest."
Eli's brain went through several emotions at once:
ConfusionBetrayal (his own body, for noticing that his mom was objectively serving)Existential terrorA tiny, traitorous part that whispered damn, she kinda ate
He settled on the safest response.
"You're forty-one."
"And?" She twirled. The floating coffee table spun faster. "I decided I'm allowed to be hot. Sue me."
The Alexa in the corner started playing "Anuel AA – China" unprompted. The bass line made the windows vibrate in 7/8 time for some reason.
Eli took a step back. "Did you… break reality?"
Elena rolled her eyes (exactly like a sixteen-year-old) and snapped her fingers.
The coffee table gently lowered itself. The fish went back to normal swimming. The lights rearranged into their usual soft glow.
Then she walked over (hips still doing things that should require a license) and booped his nose.
"I didn't break it," she said sweetly. "I just asked nicely. The universe and I have an understanding."
Eli stared at her.
She stared back.
Then she grabbed his hands and started making him do the WAP arm thing with her.
"No— Mom— stop—"
"¡Vamos, Eli! You have rhythm! I felt you in the womb!"
He was mortified. He was laughing. He was losing the battle.
The front door opened. The harem walked in (Carol carrying groceries, Jean levitating a cake, Jen holding balloons, Gwen and MJ arguing about filters).
They all stopped dead.
Carol dropped the groceries. Eggs achieved terminal velocity.
Jean's cake hit the floor with a sad splat.
Jen turned green so fast her shirt shredded.
Gwen whispered, "I'm in danger."
MJ pulled out her phone and started filming. "This is going on the private story."
Elena didn't even stop dancing. She just winked at them.
"Girls! You're just in time. Eli's learning the choreo."
Eli (bright red, flailing) squeaked, "I am NOT—"
Elena paused the music with a finger gun. Reality obeyed instantly.
She turned to the harem, hands on hips.
"New rule," she said, voice suddenly back to Mom Voice but with an edge of pure menace. "I'm allowed to be hot. I carried this child for nine months, raised him on three hours of sleep and cafecito, and survived every single one of his meltdowns with hugs and Bad Bunny. I have earned the right to WAP in my own living room."
She looked at Eli.
He was staring at her like she'd grown a second head. A hot second head.
Elena softened.
"Baby," she said gently, stepping close and cupping his face. "I'm still your mom. I'm still the wife in your heart. But I'm also a woman. And sometimes this woman wants to remind the universe that she still got it."
Eli swallowed.
Then, very quietly: "…You really do."
The harem made a collective dying noise.
Elena grinned (full teenage gremlin) and kissed his forehead.
"That's my boy."
She snapped again.
The groceries reassembled themselves in the bags. The cake unmushed and floated back onto its stand, now perfectly frosted with "Eli's Mom Still Got It" in edible glitter.
Carol whispered, "I'm scared and turned on and I don't know what to do with that."
Jean's Phoenix was literally fanning itself.
Jen just muttered, "I need to speak to the manager of reality. This is unfair."
Gwen raised her hand. "Can you teach me the floor part?"
MJ already knew it and was doing it flawlessly in the corner.
Eli looked at his mother (his wife, his first love, his terrifying, radiant, reality-warping mom) and felt something settle in his chest.
He took her hand.
"Dance with me," he said.
And for the rest of the night, the most powerful beings in the universe watched Elena Rowan teach her autistic son how to hit a body roll while casually bending spacetime to the beat.
Eli discovered three things:
His mom was, in fact, the main character.Reality had been in love with her since before he was born.He was 100% okay with that.
(He still refused to learn the floor work. Some things were sacred.)
End of Chapter 8