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Isabela is a night person. It’s not exactly a new discovery; she’s always known she likes the quiet, the dark sky spattered with stars, the relief from the heat of the day. She just feels…better, more herself, more creative late at night. But with the exception of parties, when she’s expected to be up late entertaining guests, and the special treat that is midnight mass on Christmas Eve or the Easter Vigil, she’s always had to go to bed early. It takes time, even for her, to make herself beautiful in the morning.
She’s been letting up on that, bit by bit. Changing her look. Staying up late in her room, experimenting with different kinds of plants, making dyes for her hair and her clothes, and sleeping a little later in the morning. Coming down for breakfast with less-than-perfect makeup, and Mira grins at her and compliments whatever new plant is tucked behind her ear. Mamá saves her a plate before Camilo can devour everything. Abuela takes her by the cheeks and kisses her face just the same as before.
So she’s still awake at a little past one in the morning, when she hears Luisa’s heavy footfalls creaking past her door.
Luisa is not a night person. She still gets up before the sun most days; sometimes Isa wakes to the thumping rhythm of her jogging on casita’s moving tiles, and it’s a relief to roll over and go back to sleep. And her sister’s been taking more breaks, started learning how to say “no,” or at least “not right now” to some of the encanto’s requests; she’s not often out doing chores until past sundown anymore. So what is she doing attempting to sneak around at this time of night?
Isa hurries to her door; eases it open to peek out, and spots a flash of white ducking into an alcove at the end of the hall. There’s a balcony out there, with a comfortable bench—and a mahogany tree that overhangs close enough to climb down, if you want to come and go without being in view of abuela’s upstairs window.
She follows, and finds Luisa standing at the balcony railing in her nightgown like a ghost, or an unhappy widow. “What are you doing?”
Luisa startles and whirls. Her hair is down, falling damp around her face, and she looks caught. “Isa! Nothing. Just. Looking at the stars.”
“The stars.” Isabela joins her at the railing, raising an eyebrow; Luisa smiles, nervous and fake.
“Sure. Look, right there you can see Hydra. That one’s named after a nine-headed serpent that Hercules killed. But the constellation just kind of looks like a regular snake.”
Isa follows the line of her finger, and just sees clusters of stars. Plenty that could form a line like a curving snake. “Kind of a let down.”
“Right?”
Luisa’s still tense. She’s a terrible liar; it’s a little sweet. “So what are you actually doing?” Isa asks, and her sister sighs.
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“I promise.”
Biting her lip, Luisa sinks onto the cushioned bench, and Isabela settles next to her. “I’m watching for Dolores. She snuck out,” she whispers.
Now that’s juicy! Isa leans close. “To see Mariano?” Luisa nods.
“I was resting in the hammock earlier and I overheard her talking to Mom.” Her hands wring together, nervous. “About, um. What herbs to take to keep from getting pregnant.”
“Smart. She’s still pretty young for kids.”
“Well, I was worried, so I asked her about it. She said she’d been sneaking out at night to see him sometimes. To, you know. Fool around.”
“Good for her!”
Luisa looks surprised; her brows furrow a little. “Anyway, I just want to make sure she’s okay. When she gets back.”
“I’ll wait with you. I want to hear all the details.” Her sister’s face still looks pinched and awkward; Luisa turns away, looking out at the dark. A little thread of worry worms its way into Isabela’s stomach. “Did Dolores…say something to make you worry?”
Luisa shakes her head. “Not really. She seemed pretty giddy about the whole thing. I just didn’t know she was…”
“Having sex?” Isa offers, and Luisa’s ears go red.
“That.” Then she turns back to Isabela. “Are you?”
Isabela snorts. “When would I have had time? The whole encanto thought I was going to marry Mariano, that kind of puts a damper on other prospects.” Which is true! But…somehow, in the middle of the night, with her big-little sister sitting there looking at her all naivete-and-nerves, it’s easier to talk. “I’ve…been pretty occupied working on myself, to be honest. Figuring things out.”
“Yeah,” Luisa agrees, looking down at her hands. “But…you would? I mean, you’ve thought about it?”
“Sure, with the right person. Haven’t you?”
There’s that fake smile again. “When would I have had time?”
She has a point. But there’s something underneath the joke, the smile, the nervous hands, that Isa can’t quite put her finger on.
But she doesn’t get a chance to ask; there’s a rustling, down below them, and casita tips the banister out like a ladder to the mahogany tree, just in time for Dolores to climb up into view. She squeaks when she sees them waiting for her; then glares at Luisa. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I bullied her into it,” Isa cuts in; sheepish, Luisa reaches out to help Dolores across casita’s makeshift bridge and safely onto the balcony.
“I was worried.”
Dolores regards them both with hands on her hips; then she gives in and smiles, shaking her head. “Okay. Come on, let’s take this to my room before we wake anybody else up.”
***
They settle three abreast on Dolores’ bed, Lola propped against the pillows, Luisa perched awkwardly at the foot, and Isa flopped on her side between them. “Sooooo,” she drawls, and grins at Dolores, who looks about to burst. “Tell us everything.”
Two rapid squeaks; then Dolores wraps her arms around her knees and laughs. “He’s…he’s wonderful.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm hmm. So sweet. And gentle! He wrote me another poem.”
Isabela grins. “About?”
“Well.” Dolores’s face flushes dark. “Let’s just say it’s not the kind of thing I’d want my ma overhearing.”
“Incredible,” Isabela laughs, flopping onto her back. “He always seemed like such an airhead.”
Dolores chuckles. “He has his own talents. He’s also a very good kisser. And very, very nice to look at.”
“And good in bed?” Isa presses, and Lola squeaks again.
“Yeah.”
Luisa, who’s been unusually quiet so far, finally speaks up. “So…you like it?”
Dolores softens. “It’s sweet of you to worry about me. But yeah. I like it.”
“What’s it like?” Isa asks. She feels light with relief, like she’s dodged one of tío Bruno’s bad predictions. Dolores happy with Mariano, and more importantly, Mariano not still pursuing Isabela, is the best outcome she could have hoped for. The life of her dreams, stretched out ahead of her, and she’s only just begun dreaming.
Dolores squirms, but she looks thoughtful. “Well,” she says, “I’m sure it’s different for everyone. But…for me, it’s kind of…it’s fun, and a little messy, and…quiet. I can focus, just on what we’re doing. On…on how he touches me. It’s easier to block all the noise out, with him.” Then she sighs, and grins again. “And all of it feels really good. Better than I even imagined.”
“I’m happy for you,” Isa tells her, patting her knee. “Much better you than me!”
“Uh huh.” Dolores raises an eyebrow. “And is there anybody you have your eye on?” She leans in. “Anybody you…imagine?”
Ah. Maybe pestering Dolores, who trades in knowing everything about everyone, was not the best plan. Luisa’s eyes are on her too now; they’re both waiting, quietly expectant. Isa fixes her eyes on the ceiling, folding her hands behind her head. Casual. “Rosaria López.”
“Oh,” Lola says, soft. An agonizing beat passes. “Oh, Isa, she’s so beautiful. Good choice.”
“Yeah?” Isabela dares to look over, and finds Dolores smiling.
“Yeah.” She reaches out a hand, and Isa takes it; Lola laces their fingers together. “Is that why you didn’t want to marry Mariano?”
“There were plenty of reasons not to want to marry him. No offense.”
Dolores laughs. “Rosaria’s very smart, too. And I’ve heard her favorite flower is heliconia.”
“I’m not planning on making flowers for her anytime soon,” Isa protests, and her cousin squeezes her hand. “Just…thinking about things. You know? Getting to make romantic choices for myself is a pretty new idea.”
“Yeah,” Dolores assures her. “It’s great that you’re figuring out what you want.”
“Abuela won’t think so,” Luisa murmurs, soft, and…that stings, sharp as a cactus spine. When Isa looks at her, she’s staring at her hands.
“Then that’ll be her problem,” she hears herself snap; sees her sister flinch. “I can’t live my life around what abuela wants anymore. She’ll just have to take me the way I am.”
She finds herself breathing hard; Luisa still isn’t looking at her. Like she’s ashamed, and the hurt of it streaks through Isa’s chest, tingles out to her limbs like tía’s lightning. After a painful beat of silence, her sister stands.
“Sorry,” she says, choked—what is that supposed to mean?—and moves for the door.
“Wait!” Lola leans across Isabela to catch Luisa’s hand. “Wait.” Her sister pauses, as if Dolores could hold her in place. “It’s okay for you too, Luisa. No matter what abuela thinks. Whatever you want…it’s okay.”
Oh. Oh.
Luisa doesn’t move; then her shoulders start to tremble and she covers her face with her hand, and…oh no, and Isa snapped at her. She struggles upright as Dolores tugs at Luisa, drawing her back over to the bed to sit between them. She looks so utterly miserable, trying not to sob into her hand, and Isabela’s been a terrible sister again. She opens her arms, and Luisa curls into them, shuddering.
“I’m so sorry I yelled,” Isa murmurs, rubbing her back; on the other side of her, Dolores is cuddled close too. “You’re all right. We’re all right.”
“I didn’t mean it to come out that way,” Luisa sobs. “I’ve just been so scared—”
“Me too.” Isa squeezes her tighter. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Trying to be what everybody else expects. But we’re not doing that anymore, Luisa, we don’t have to.”
“I know.” She tries to breathe; Dolores produces a handkerchief and dabs at her face.
“Isa’s right,” she says, tender. “We just need to be who we are, now. You’re not alone, okay? And we love you. I love you both. No matter what.”
Finally Luisa smiles, wobbly; Isabela’s feeling a little wobbly herself. “I know,” Luisa says again. “I love you too.”
Isa smooths her sister’s hair back out of her face. “So Dolores spilled, and I spilled. Tell us what’s going on with you, huh? Who’ve you been thinking about?”
A snort. “Nobody, like that,” she says. Isa glances over at Dolores.
“So…what do you imagine, when you…” she asks, trailing off.
Luisa’s ears go red; she looks squirmy and awkward again. “Nobody specific. I mean…probably girls. Women. I think. I just.” Another heavy breath. “The whole thing seems kind of terrifying. And I can’t really imagine anyone who’d want to.”
“It’s okay to be nervous about it,” Dolores is quick to assure. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, with anybody. But…I really can’t say who, but there are more people than you think. Who don’t want what’s expected.”
Are there really? Isa’s seen Dulce Martínez dancing with Paola García at parties and wondered, but…it’s heartening to know there are more.
“Oh, I know it’s not just us,” Luisa says. She does? How? “And…I think I’d like to…do that with someone, eventually.”
“Luisa. You’re almost twenty. I hope you can at least say ‘have sex’ by now.”
Her face and neck have gone scarlet. “Knock it off. You know what I mean.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Fine,” she snaps, embarrassed, and now Isa feels guilty again. “Maybe I’d like to have sex with someone, I don’t know. But nobody’s going to want that with me, so I don’t really think about it much.”
Another terrible silence; Luisa looks between them like she doesn’t understand why they’re both staring at her, and finally Dolores squeaks. “Luisa! Why would you say that?”
“What do you mean?”
She looks at Isabela, confused, so Isa takes her hand and squeezes it. “Who told you nobody would want you?” she asks, and she can feel thorns in her voice, in her throat.
Luisa frowns like she’s been presented with a difficult math problem. “Nobody had to tell me. You’re the beauty, I’m the brawn. People don’t keep a donkey around because it’s pretty.”
That hurts worst of all, because Isa wasn’t expecting it. Didn’t know to be afraid of it, so it takes her by surprise. Suddenly Luisa blurs, and she realizes she’s crying.
“I’m sorry,” Luisa says, sounding a little frantic. “That came out wrong, I didn’t mean…I don’t know what I meant, forget I said that. You’re right, Isa, we don’t have to be anything anymore.” Then she’s wrapped up in a suffocating hug, the kind that will likely realign some things in her back. “And I still think you’re beautiful, you know, even more now that you’re doing all these cool things with your hair, and wearing different colors and stuff, you’re more you and I think that’s amazing—”
“Luisa,” she gasps, and the hug lets up just a fraction. “You’re not a donkey.”
“Well, not literally, it was a metaphor—”
“I think what she’s trying to say,” Dolores interrupts—Isa’s so grateful for her, her absolute favorite cousin— “is that it’s pretty upsetting to hear you talk about yourself that way. Maybe Isa feels like…” she pauses, careful. “Like being compared to her for so long…hurt you. But that’s not her fault.”
“No,” Luisa agrees. She sounds like she’s crying again, but Isa’s face is squashed against her collarbone, so she can’t actually see. “Isabela, that’s not…I mean, it didn’t feel great, but not because of anything you did. You were gonna marry Mariano and have a bunch of babies you didn’t want! That’s not okay, you deserve to make your own choices. Find a really great girl, and, you know, do whatever you want with her. I mean, as long as she wants it too, that’s important—”
Isabela has to laugh. Her little sister never changes, even when she does. “Slow down.”
“Sorry.” Sheepish. Luisa’s grip loosens, and Isabela pulls back, wiping at her face.
“What a night. And all I actually wanted to know was whether Mariano’s dirty talk is as corny as I think it would be.”
Luisa barks a laugh; Dolores squeaks. “I think it’s cute,” she admits. Then she yawns, and Luisa’s smile softens.
“I think it’s time for bed,” she says, and when she stands she picks Isa up with her like she’s light as a child. “Thanks, Dolores. And…I’m really glad you’re happy. And you can tell us, if you need help. Sneaking out, or…or with anything else.”
Dolores gets up too, stretches on her tip-toes to kiss Luisa’s cheek. “Thanks. You too. Both of you. We’ll talk about all this again, okay? Whenever you want.”
“Okay.”
“Goodnight.”
As quiet as she’s able, Luisa slips past the grown-ups’ rooms; when she pauses at Isabela’s door, Isa wraps her arms tighter around her sister’s neck. “Could I…”
“Sure,” Luisa whispers. “Do you want to get a nightgown?”
“I’ll wear one of yours.”
“You’ll be swimming in it.”
“Stop arguing with me!”
“Fine, fine.”
Luisa’s room is really different, these days, full of soothing ocean sounds and cool salt air, grand architecture and a corner with warm sunlight at any hour. Isa loves her own room, she really does, but Luisa’s feels…safe. Especially when Luisa is in it, rummaging through her dresser drawers. “Here,” she says, tossing out a nightgown. It’s so big that Mirabel could fit in there too; Luisa snorts a laugh when she sees her. “I told you.”
Isa tries to gather the waist in her hands, striking a pose. “Now I’m as pretty as my little sister.”
“Mirabel is very pretty.”
“Luisa.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m kidding.”
“I’m trying to—”
“I know,” she says, shoving back the covers on her bed and sliding to one side. “I know. I’m working on myself too, okay? Just…give me some time.”
Isa snuggles in beside her, and pulls the fluffy blankets back up over them. “Pick up the pace, then. You’re my sister, I want you to know how great you are.”
Luisa yawns. “What are you gonna do if I don’t? Sic a cactus on me?”
“I’ll cry.”
“You’re so—” She yawns again. “—mean.”
“Go to sleep,” Isa tells her, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear; Luisa, exhausted, is already out.
That’s all right. They’ll have plenty of other opportunities to talk. About life, and about girls, and about Luisa’s apparently abysmal self-esteem. She’ll make sure of it.