Generations of Miracles

Isabela

"Rosa, do you know how long until la ceremonia starts?" Isabela said to her wife.

"Ay, mija!" Rosa said, batting her wife's hands away from where she was fiddling with her hair.

A smile crept onto Isabela's face. "Mija? Mi amor, we've been married for twenty years. Mija? My girl? My daughter?"

"Not directly daughter, Isa," Rosa said.

Isabela smiled as Rosa walked across the room to pick up the accordion she was tuning. She let down her silky locks. Rosa was perfectly imperfect, just like her. Despite their two children being adopted from the orphanage in the centre of the encanto, she could see Rosa in Albert's smile and Frida's eyes.

It had been Rosa who had insisted Frida have the ceremony when she came of age ten years ago. Abuela had said that you needed Madrigal blood to get a gift, but Rosa had told her profusely that it was not blood, but love that gave you a gift.

And when Frida had been given huge amounts of plant control and growth, then two years later Albert's super speed, Rosa hadn't been wrong.

"Answer la pregunta, mi vida," Isabela said.

"Carla said something about a half hour?" Rosa responded.

Isabela did a double take. "Aye! Rosa, get Frida and A- Frida."

Tears clouded her eyes. Rosa clutched her wife, and they shared a moment of desperate grief. When Albert had died of malaria, it had been like the most precious flower had not only wilted, but been weeded.

In the two years since their son's death, it had grown to be more like the flower had been composted. It was not as good as the flower remaining in the soil, but there was a happy, wistful memory of the flower's growth.

"Come on, I'll get our hija and you go check the nursery?" Rosa said, smiling. Isabela left the room and made her way to the nursery across the corridor to the nursery.

When Isabela opened the door, Bruno Jr. and Ana were jumping on the bed whilst Lola and Jose played pretend at being la mancarita. All these children were 5 or less! Isabela knew it was tradition to tell your children the ancient myths, but she thought Mariano's bedtime stories of the myths to his twin 5 year olds, passed onto Ana, who was three, and Jose, two? Dios, it was too wrong!

As soon as they saw her, the children lined up, holding their breath. Isabela sighed. "Ay, dios! I had a bad upbringing, but I'm not like Abuela was! Infierno, Lola, Bruno, tu papi tells too many stories!"

"Lo siento, prima segunda Isabela," Lola said, eyes down.

Isabela crouched down to Lola's height and held her hands. "Aye, sobrina. Mi amor, you've got nothing to apologize for." She took Bruno Jr.'s hand too. "Oye, this night is for you. Don't let me spoil that. And just call me tía or segunda Isabela, or just Isabela!"

"She's my tía anyway," Ana said, sticking her nose in the air.

"Aye, sobrina!" Isabela said, picking Ana up, her niece squealing. "I don't care if your Mirabel's daughter. I love your just as much as everyone else, direct sobrina or not."

Ana nuzzled her in the neck. "Sí, tía."

Isabela put her down, and squeezed Lola and Bruno Jr. tight. "Pasar, mi estimados! Go to tu mami, get ready! White and gold, mis pequeños alborotadores. Remember that. White and gold, colores más puros for you to shine as you are blessed. Never ask me what that means. Preguntar bisabuela. Vamos!"