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It was the night of Nochebuena. La Familia Madrigal had just finished their final novena de aguinaldos, and eleven of them had gone to the kitchen to heat their dinner. While cheerful voices and the clatter of dishes sang across the courtyard from the kitchen, Bruno lingered in the sala where he waited for Aya to relight all five candles on the Advent wreath. A gust of wind from the window had blown out the flames shortly after the family said the final Amen. Bruno admired the Advent wreath. The structure was built by Isabela out of the green branches of a Caribbean pine and mounted on a thin but strong trunk. Vivid poinsettia bracts popped out of the green alongside yellow ribbons shaped to resemble butterflies. The trunk was decorated with ornaments representing members of the family. The candles and butterflies already signified Abuelo, Abuela, and Mirabel while the vibrant wreath itself signaled Isabela’s gift. A miniature sun and a rainbow represented Pepa and Félix. A toy beehive represented Agustín. A chameleon represented Camilo. A cluster of herbs represented Julieta. A winged donkey unicorn represented Luisa. A spectacled bear represented Antonio. A red cardinal in a nest represented Dolores. At the base, a plush rat embraced a cluster of mushrooms, representing Bruno and Aya.
His heart fluttering, Bruno smiled as the light of the flame glinted off her wedding ring. This would be their first Christmas as husband and wife. She carefully lit the candles one by one, starting with the shortest violet candle, then, violet, pink, then violet again, mounted on the wreath, and then, the white Christmas candle in the middle. After putting out the match, she paused to admire the wreath for a moment. While she was lost in thought, Bruno admired her. Her deep evergreen-colored dressed seemed black in the evening dimness. The hem of her skirt was embroidered with a pattern of dormidera fronds and flowers while the hem of her sleeves and neckline were embroidered with shamrocks and pink clover blossoms.
The gentle glow of the flames accentuated the shape of her face. A trick of the light made her look younger as her wrinkles and gray hairs were blotted out. Bruno’s smile widened as he recalled those years when their love was new. Their passion blazed in those secret encounters. But it didn’t compare to the constant, comforting warmth of finally having her in his arms and surrounded by their family.
“Tío Bruno! Tía Aya! Come on! I’m hungry!” Camilo called from the kitchen. The rest of the family laughed as Bruno and Aya joined them at the table. The space was filled with the smell of delicious food.
Bruno’s heart melted whenever the kids called Aya their tía with so much ease. It was like they had been waiting to say it for as long as he had yearned to hear it.
The table was set, and most of the food was laid out. Mirabel and Camilo were serving the platters of buñuelos. Luisa was carving the lechona. Félix was distributing bowls of ajiaco. Antonio was eyeing the natilla on the counter, to be served later.
Aya helped Isabela and Dolores serve the chocolate. Seated at Mamá’s left, Julieta and Pepa looked at Aya with joy. The triplets with Félix and Agustín were likely going to stay up late after the Midnight Mass. Bruno didn’t need his gift to envision them chatting until the early morning, getting buzzed on wine or sabajón, to make the most of Aya’s first Christmas as Señora Madrigal. Aya placed down mugs of chocolate for Bruno, herself, and Abuela, who was grinning brightly as she beckoned Aya to take the seat nearest to her at her right. Bruno filled his plate and sat between Aya and Mirabel. Bruno and Mirabel always sat together.
Mamá’s affection toward Aya surprised Bruno. Bruno remembered his late 20s, when his sisters had gotten married, and Mamá had revealed that she had been aware of his tryst with Aya. Bruno had then confessed that he couldn’t marry his lover because of a terrible vision. Mamá had been almost as heartbroken as he had been. No matter how much Bruno had clashed with his mother growing up, she had always cared about his happiness. She wanted him to have what his sisters had. But his gift had taken it away from him, but only for a time.
It had taken a very long time, granted, but Aya and Bruno finally got to where they wanted to be. After twenty years as paramours and then eleven years with walls and mountains between them, they found each other again and picked up where they left off.
Aya held Bruno’s hand on the table. Their eyes met. Her eyes shone in the candlelight, shimmering with tears of joy. Bruno’s heart clenched, remembering that this was not only her first Christmas as his wife, but also her first Christmas surrounded by a large family since losing her own immediate family decades ago. Bruno kissed her hand. While they both wished they had gotten married earlier, they were grateful to be here now. They were grateful to be with their family. And they were determined to stay this way for as long as they lived.
Abuela gently tapped her mug, calling everyone’s attention. She made the sign of the cross, and everyone did the same. She prayed, “Niño Jesús, we thank You for Your blessings—our loving family, our warm home, our growing community. With your grace, our family has grown too.” She glanced at Aya and Bruno before continuing: “All we ask is for Your continued grace, that we overcome our shortcomings in order to keep loving each other.” Everyone at the table was smiling and nodding gently. In unison, they recited: “Dios es grande. Dios es bueno. Le agradecemos por nuestra comida. Amen.”
“Buen provecho, mi familia,” said Abuela. “Feliz Navidad.”
The family chorused, “¡Feliz Navidad!”