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Darren and Mia have a list of names on standby, tucked away in the back of a drawer, in an envelope sealed with a kiss and a whispered incantation. It’s never touched, never opened, and survives every spring laundry with barely a thought. It will reveal its magic when it’s needed, and not a moment before.
They talk about the future a lot, the calls long distance, bisected by time and geography. They have the same conversations whispered in the dark, noses touching and hands and feet and hearts entangled. They agree on a lot, on more than they disagree on, and one thing is constant in every version.
Children.
They discuss the reality and the theoretical, the could bes and the maybes. Darren says, “My mom’s people -” and Mia nods, and runs her hands down his spine.
“It’s not unheard of for mine,” she agrees. “They’re rare, and dormant, but there’s a chance.”
On the list of things that actually scare them, wings aren’t even in the top ten.
The one thing that becomes apparent, as the months march into years, as she turns thirty and his 29th looms towards them, is that there’s no perfect time, only the time you make and the allowances you provide. It’s not ‘now or never’, it’s not that rigidly defined. But the conversation shifts from ‘when’ to ‘why not now’, and that’s the one that sticks.
Why not now?
They’re in a good place. They’re stable, solid, comfortable in their careers. They have enough going on to keep them busy, but enough time that they can put aside. Why not now?
And as if time has merely been waiting for them to clear space, it happens.
“As if by magic,” Darren says, and Mia shoves his shoulder and rolls her eyes.
“Shut up,” she laughs, her eyes bright and her posture soft, inviting him back in. “You’re such an idiot,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder. He strokes his fingers through her hair, lets each pink strand sit a moment before drifting back to her shoulder.
Outside, February is cold and dark. But between them, it’s a little warmer. They’re going to be parents. From here out, the world is different. It’s immense and terrifying and it feels like the planets are aligning. As if there were no other correct choice to make. It feels good.
She arrives in mid-September. The envelope in the drawer in their home makes its way into Mia’s hospital bag. They agree on Bowie as her name, and that’s when the envelope unseals itself, the name circled in blue on both of their lists. It’s perfect. She’s more than a little magical, and she, too, is made of stardust. She’s perfect, and they’re biased.
When Darren holds her, tentative but unafraid, in the crook of his arm, he can feel the tickle of invisible gossamer wings against the hairs there. He looks at Mia, who catches her lip between her teeth and curls up the corners of her mouth.
“Yeah,” she nods, and sees the tears that glitter in Darren’s eyes. “Like your mom’s.”
Darren nods, and pushes soft whispy black hair from her face. Their friends won’t know, won’t see, but his parents will. Mia’s family will. The people that matter will see the shadow of filigree wings in the sunlight, and know that she’s encanto too.