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Under the shade of very late night, very early morning, a woman huddled a bundle of blankets close to her chest to protect the precious cargo she harbored from the violent downpour that was attacking the peaceful city of San Angel. She looked around helplessly, taking a glance down at the blankets in her arms and sighed heavily. Then, her tired eyes caught a lavish looking manor- sunny yellow outer walls with a deep red tile roof. There were stables visible, with a few horses huddled together beneath the wooden canopy to protect themselves from the sky’s tears. The woman swallowed hard and managed to make her way up to the dark green gates surrounding the manor, running her trembling fingertips across the name engraved in gold across the plaque on the gates.
“Mondragon.”
The captain of San Angel’s army, a strong man with a big heart, known for his frequent giving to the poor and horse rides around town to speak to the families of his men personally. The woman sighed softly with relief, then coughed violently into her shoulder before carefully pushing past the cracked open gates. She made her way slowly up the pavement embedded with turquoise designs, looking around briefly at the surroundings she was making her way in to. She reached the tall oak doors leading into the household, then bit her lip softly. She had come this far, this was no time for second thoughts. With a heavy heart, she knelt down slowly, lying down the blankets carefully beneath the awning over the door in order to keep them dry. She whispered a soft blessing and gently ran her fingers over the threading of the blankets, then got to her feet shakily. She rapped her knuckles on the door, wiped her tears, and then quickly ran for the gates. She was just turning the corner when the doors creaked open, a maid peering out with a lantern in her hand, calling out, “Quien esta ahi?” into the darkness.
A sniffle, and then a whimper, broke through the pitter-patter of rain. The maid looked down and gasped softly, hanging the lantern on a hook by the door, then knelt down, carefully scooping the blankets into her arms. “Senor!” She shouted over her shoulder. “Senor Mondragon!” After a few moments, the captain appeared, his hair untidy and clad in wrinkled night clothes. “What is it, Benita?” He asked through a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his left eye.
“Mire,” the maid said, holding out the blankets. The captain’s eyes widened, and he quickly took the bundle into his own arms, ordering the maid to close the doors and check for milk in the kitchen.
“Hola, pequena,” he said softly, pulling the blankets back slightly. A little baby girl was swaddled in the royal red fabric- she had a thick mop of reddish-brown hair and pale green eyes, her cheeks were flushed with the cold, and though there were tears shining in her eyes she did not wail or scream. Benita returned with a bottle in hand, quickly apologizing for it not being warm enough. The captain shook his head and smiled softly, taking the bottle with a quiet word of thanks. He held the bottle down to the infant, who quickly reached up and grasped at it with her tiny hands. “Some desperate mother must have left her,” Benita said, looking down at the child as she ate.
“Must have,” the captain responded, focusing on the child, making sure she didn’t choke.
“I can take her to the orphanage in the morning-“
“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” the general said, a slight smile coming to his face as the little girl opened her eyes wide, staring up at him intently. “You are a strong one- aren’t you?” He muttered, tilting his head fondly as he maneuvered one hand to run his thumb carefully over her hair.
“She’ll make a great Mondragon.”
*
“Lieutenant Posada!” Captain Mondragon laughed heartily as his second in-command and good friend Senor Posada entered his manor garden. The captain was tending to the horses, and glanced down as he spotted something down by Posada’s leg. A little girl, a toddler hardly able to stand on her wobbly, fat legs, hid behind his leg. She had long dark hair, almost to her shoulders, and bright, caramel brown eyes. Mondragon laughed again, kneeling down to be eye-level with the girl. “And who is this pretty little thing?” He asked, plucking a small orange wildflower from the earth and holding it out to her. Posada chuckled softly, patting the back of the girl’s head, nudging her towards the captain. “This is Maria- can you say hello to the captain, mija?” The little girl, little Maria Posada, carefully walked forward and took the flower Mondragon offered to her carefully, not wanting to hurt the fragile petals. She didn’t say hello, but she did give the captain a great, big smile. The captain laughed, patting the top of her head before tilting his head. “Do you want to meet someone very special to me, Maria?”
“Si!” Maria suddenly chirped, bouncing up and down excitedly. The captain chuckled and looked up to Posada, who smiled and nodded to him. Mondragon got to his feet and offered a hand down to Maria, who wrapped her tiny fingers around his thumb. He carefully led her out behind the manor, to where Benita was sitting on a blanket supervising Mondragon’s own adopted daughter. “Josefina!” He called out- the little girl who was chasing a bug that skittered along the ground quickly looked up and giggled, running towards her father. “Papa, papa!” She shouted, tiny voice ringing out. Mondragon laughed, kneeling down and reaching out to pluck a pebble from Josefina’s hair, shaking his head. “Josefina, I want you to meet Maria,” he said, gesturing to the other child beside him. Maria smiled brightly, loudly announcing a “Hola!” as she held out the flower Mondragon had given her moments before. Josefina gasped, as if Maria was giving her some sort of precious stone, and quickly took the flower, giggling as she brought it to her nose.
“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Posada said behind Mondragon as he got to his feet once again. Mondragon laughed fondly as the two girls began to run around together, Josefina searching for what had previously had her attention. He sighed softly, placing his hands on his hips. “That’s because I didn’t. Someone left her on my doorstep, and I… I couldn’t bear to part with her.” He glanced over at Posada and chuckled, nudging his side with his elbow. “Maria is the spitting image of your wife. She’s going to grow up strong and beautiful.” Posada’s face fell at this comment and he breathed out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “That’s actually what I came here for.” He cleared his throat, dipping his head and turning away from the girls, keeping his voice low. “Nina, she… she left me.”
*
“Josefina, what are you doing?” Mondragon shouted, quickly rushing into his six-year-old’s bedroom. She had a pair of scissors in one hand, and her long auburn hair was cropped awkwardly and close to her head, pieces of it scattered about her feet. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she sniffled.
“Papa, I don’t want you to call me that,” she said, voice soft but unwavering. The captain knelt down beside her, running his fingers through her now short and uneven hair. “What do you mean?”
“I hate the name Josefina!” She suddenly shouted, throwing the scissors down angrily as tears began to flow down her face. “And I hate these dresses Benita makes for me! I…” She sniffled, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I-I want suits like yours, Papa. I want to be handsome like you.” She coughed softly and looked down, covering her face. “I’m sorry I cut my hair,” she whispered.
Mondragon stared at his child, utterly speechless for a moment then cleared his throat. “I’ll call Benita in tomorrow- she’ll fix your hair. I’ll have her make it look just like mine.” Josefina gasped, looking up at her father. “Really, Papa?” She asked, becoming excited. Mondragon smiled softly. “I’ll also have her make you some new clothes. Something more fitting of a young man, perhaps?”
“Si, si!” Josefina said, bounding up and down and reaching out to her father. “A-and… and call me…”
“You know, you look like a… Joaquin, to me, mijo.”
Tears began to stream freely down Josefina’s- Joaquin’s small face, and he nodded quickly. “That sounds perfect,” he said, then threw himself into his father’s arms. “Thank you, Papa,” he whispered, sniffling. Mondragon smiled gently and hugged his son tightly to his chest. “I will always love you no matter what, mijo. Always remember that.”
*
The battlefield was soaked in the stench of death. General Mondragon’s remaining soldiers kept behind him and Lieutenant Posada, shaking in their boots. Chakal was planning one last attack- if the soldiers of San Angel managed to defeat him and his army of bandits, he would retreat. If they lost, however…
“Lieutenant,” Mondragon said, tipping the brim of his hat up as he looked out over the field.
“Yes, Captain?” Posada answered, not bothering to look over at him.
“If you don’t make it, I’ll take care of Maria,” he said, clenching his jaw and swallowing hard. “However, if… I am killed in this battle-“
“Don’t say that,” Posada said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “You are stronger than any of us- if anyone’s going to make it out of here alive, it will be you.”
“Let me finish, Lieutenant,” Mondragon interjected, holding up a hand to silence his second in command. “If I do not succeed in winning this battle, you will become captain. And you will be one of the strongest captains that the city of San Angel has ever seen.”
“Y-yes… yes, sir,” Posada said, giving the general a brief nod.
“And I want you to look after my son,” Mondragon added. Posada lifted an eyebrow, looking back over at his commanding officer. “Son? You mean Josefina?”
“No, I mean my son, Joaquin,” Mondragon said seriously, looking over at the lieutenant. “He is one of the strongest boys I’ve ever seen. I want you to make him even stronger.”
Posada swallowed hard, but nodded. “Yes, Captain. Of course.” The two of them looked back over the battlefield; Mondragon cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, unsheathing his sword. He looked over at Posada, a sad smile coming to his face. “No retreat?”
Posada smiled back, nodding as he pulled his own sword from his belt.
“No surrender.”
*
As Joaquin grew older with only General Posada for a guardian, it seemed like each passing day was more difficult than the last. Though he’d had become accustomed to throwing his voice to sound more masculine, and binding his chest with bandages became part of his daily routine, life just wasn’t the same without his father. Senor Posada was accepting and caring, but no one compared to the father he’d lost. A man who was accepting from the moment Joaquin knew who he really was, who gave him his new name, Senior Posada understood him and treated him like a son, but there was a part of him that still resented him for sending one of his best friend’s an entire universe away. He still got to see Manolo, though, who knew Joaquin’s secret, but still cared for him like any friend would.
Manolo. Just the thought of him made Joaquin’s heart clench. He wasn’t sure when it happened- maybe it was when the baby fat in his face melted away, or when his voice dropped but his singing was still the sweetest thing he’d ever heard, or maybe when he grew taller and his hands grew bigger and the guitar Maria gave him years ago finally fight him just right. Maybe it was how his eyes were so sweet and light up when he sang, or how big and bright his smile was.
Joaquin wanted to slap himself whenever he began to think about his best friend in such a way. Manolo had been his friend for years, had comforted him when he broke down about his true self, had sat with him at his father’s grave and saluted the statue of him on his horse beside him. There was no possible reason for him to feel this way about Manolo- Manolo had his dark curly hair and his strong hands and his deep laugh.
Manolo was a songwriter, no matter how his own father tried to change him. And he often would come to Joaquin with songs he’d written for Maria, things he would sing for her when she returned from her studies abroad. These words of love and tenderness always broke Joaquin’s heart- they were beautiful and heartfelt and Maria was sure to love them, but that was the problem: they were for Maria, and even though Manolo was singing them to him, he wasn’t singing them for him.
It was hard for Joaquin to admit, but despite his attempts at changing his mind, he could not change his heart. He loved Manolo- maybe more than anything. But he loved Maria, too- he’d always loved Maria. He’d known her since before he could remember, and she was the second person to learn his secret (and she was absolutely elated, which made Joaquin’s heart melt in his chest.) But it was already painfully obvious that she loved Manolo just as he did.
All the feelings that swirled like storm clouds in his head and chest just made him wish that he was the only man on Earth- someone who wouldn’t have to worry about falling in love with not one, but both of his best friends.
*
“Manny? Can I talk to you?”
Joaquin had dressed in his father’s white suit for a second time, it fitting snugly due to the fact he had it altered to fit him perfectly just for this occasion. Manolo was wearing a well-fitting black suit, and had traded in the traditional black tie for the bright pink one from his traje de luces, in memory of his own father. After everything that had happened with the bandits and Manolo’s false death, it seemed like now, at Manolo and Maria’s wedding, was the perfect time to say what had been eating at him for so many years.
“Of course, mi hermano,” Manolo said, smiling as he straightened his tie, then turned to face Joaquin. “What’s on your mind?”
No retreat, no surrender.
And so Joaquin explained his feelings, everything he’d ever felt in regards to Manolo, Maria, everything. He explained how his heart shattered every day he knew that neither Manolo nor Maria would feel the same way for him, and how feeling this way ate up his insides like termites and a fallen tree. His eyes began to water at one point, but he refused to let himself break down. He had to stay strong, just like General Posada and his father taught him to be. Once he was finished, a few tears managed to slip down his face but he kept his voice steady, and pinched the bridge of his nose in hopes of staving off more tears. Manolo was silent, taking everything in. He wasn’t angry, nor was he upset, he was simply contemplating.
“Joaquin,” Manolo said after a long pause, keeping his eyes down. Joaquin kept his eyes fixed on his friend, swallowing hard and biting his lip. When Manolo finally looked up, his brown eyes were shining with tears, but a smile graced his lips. And then he said something that Joaquin had been waiting his entire life to hear.
“I am so, so proud of you.”
And then Joaquin finally let himself break down, a sob ripping through his chest as he threw his arms around the groom, holding him tightly against his chest.
“And don’t you ever think for a second that I don’t care for you, or don’t love you.”
“I-I love you, Manny,” Joaquin stammered, burying his face into his shoulder. He felt Manolo’s shoulders bounce softly as he chuckled, lifting his arms to hold his best friend close.
“I love you, too,” he said softly, turning his head to kiss his temple. “And I always will.”