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The Madrigal triplets’ quince was - in Doña Mercedes Guzmán’s opinion - one of the greatest social disasters to ever occur in the Encanto. Not for her, of course, but for them, and the worst part was they didn’t realize it. Or worse still, didn’t care.
Dios la salve de los nuevos ricos.
It had begun awkwardly: with no older male relatives to dance with, no papá or tíos or abuelos,the sisters had waltzed together and seamlessly traded off the lead after each pass across the square before stopping in the middle. On cue their brother joined them, and the triplets circled the spot together like the Three Graces (or the Fates, depending on who was asked). Then as one they turned to their mother, smiles bright as Julieta held a nosegay of herbs aloft, Pepa gestured to the rainbow over their heads, and Bruno placed a hand to his brow as if looking into the distance.
“La familia Madrigal!” they called, joyous and proud and Doña Mercedes cringed. The whole spectacle was embarrassing, a sharp reminder to the town that a big house and good fortune does not equate to class, and if Señora Madrigal had any sense she’d let the ground swallow her on the spot.
Instead she tearfully echoed the cry and ran - ran! - to embrace her children and the crowd around the square burst into cheers, whistles, applause, some going so far as to repeat the phrase. Someone from los Martinez, it must have been, and Doña Mercedes leveled a glare in their direction even as she dutifully clapped and affected a delighted smile while the quartet at the center of the square posed for a photograph.
Yes, yes, she was well aware that if not for the sacrifice Pedro Madrigal had made and the miracle that followed it was likely that she, her husband, one son in her arms and another in her belly would have died that night. She was also very aware of the fact that if she and her family had left Cali a week earlier and fled to Buenaventura as her sister had instead of literally heading to the hills with her brother, she’d probably be at the opera in Lima tonight. Instead she found herself listening to the town’s only band play an off-tune cumbia while a hoard of peasants danced in honor and praise of a glorified baker, a walking natural disaster, and a prophet of doom.
…who should be on the sidelines, honestly. It was a fiesta de quinceañera, why couldn’t he be like the rest of the boys, get drunk, and find whichever girl had been unlucky enough to draw the short straw to make him a man?
Clearly there was a lack of a good male influence; Alma should have accepted her brother Diego’s proposal when she had the chance. Too stubborn, too proud, too mired in performative grief to seize a generous opportunity, and her children suffered for it.
And Doña Mercedes would never forget the slight. If she could help it, there would never be a union between the Guzmáns and… la familia Madrigal.
As if to answer her renewed conviction a flash of blue caught her eye and she saw Julieta spinning through the crowd, laughing in the arms of her younger son, Cesar, and she drew a sharp, strangled breath.
No. Absolutely not.
*
Two years later brought the quince of Osma Martinez, which promised to be nearly as overwrought an affair but thankfully Doña Mercedes was under no social pressure to attend directly. This didn’t mean she wasn’t obliged to watch, of course, and the balcony of her home provided an excellent vantage point from which to observe and make her calculations. Jose was old enough to seek a bride, and Cesar was not far behind, so tonight she’d have her own visions of the future.
At first it was not as promising as she'd have liked.
Osma herself was pretty enough, with the rich dark skin and lively personality that seemed to infuse all of her family. Tonight she wore pale pink and had beads in her braided hair while she danced with her endless parade of hermanos and primos and dios if they were going to breed like rabbits why didn’t the Martinezes have the decency to have more daughters? Vittoria would do as well, but Jasone was far too young.
Competition for the Martinez girls’ attention was slim, and Doña Mercedes spied two of them on the edge of the crowd because of course that’s where they’d lurk. Agustín Cordoba was about Osma’s age but he wore glasses and was awkward and his mother dressed him like a fancy city boy. Dislike for that tiny family was one thing she let herself have in common with Señora Madrigal, even if hers came from scorn and Alma’s pure, paranoid mistrust of newcomers.
Next to Agustín was Bruno and… no. No, no. The thought that Roberto and Beatriz would probably welcome a match between their niece or daughter and la mala suerte caused her to shudder and take a long sip of her wine. Cesar would likely rescue one of them.
Maybe the Cruzes would get desperate and send their youngest, frail little Lora, up the hill to Casa Madrigal. Hopefully they’d get lucky and she’d catch the eye of literally anyone else, even Juan Pezmuerto.
She supposed she had to consider where the Madrigal girls would land, just for the sake of completion. Based on odds alone and the close ties between the families at least one would pair off with a Matinez, and her instincts told her it would be Julieta, and the lucky man would be Ricardo. He was a little old at twenty-three but he was more laid-back than his brothers, which meant he was very nearly tolerable. Félix was closer in age but too wild, she doubted any woman would be able to put up with him for long.
Which made him a mirror image of Pepa, who by then had been attached to and then quickly parted from several boys. Not enough to sully her reputation - her “gift” was more likely to do that - but it would be ages before she settled. Maybe she’d pick the Cordoba boy, just to infuriate her mother.
Doña Mercedes smiled, pleased by her planning. Jose and Osma, Cesar and Vittoria, Ricardo and Julieta, Agustín and Pepa, Félix and bachelorhood, Bruno and poor Lora. She couldn’t wait to watch it all unfold.
*
One year later Jose informed her he wished to devote his life to God and would be leaving the Encanto to study with the Benedictines. No, he would probably not return, he had a vis- a calling, and that was that.
Two years after that, the morning after the twentieth Fiesta de la Noche del Milagro, Señor Roberto Martinez and his massive hangover appeared at her door to respectfully inform her that if Cesar ever laid an uninvited hand on his daughter Vittoria again, he’d unfortunately have to break his arm.
Three years after that Doña Mercedes found herself dazedly sitting in a pew, fanning herself in the heat the blazing sun outside was producing as she stared at Félix, who stood at the altar with a gleeful smile. The procession was mostly complete when suddenly the windows darkened and an ear-splitting crack of thunder shook the church.
“You asshole! You...fucking idiot!” the bride screamed from outside.
Doña Mercedes turned around to catch the show and blinked upon discovering the Cordobas had been seated behind her, Agustín gazing at the bridal party with a besotted look on his face, apparently oblivious to the brewing chaos. She followed his look and caught Alma and Julieta - matron of honor and bridesmaid respectively - both pinching the bridge of their noses, but Julieta glanced up first, returned Agustín’s gaze with a warm smile, and shrugged helplessly.
No. Absolutely not.
The doors opened with a blare of trumpets and some startled cries as wind-lashed rain blew in, accompanied by the still-cursing Pepa whose arm was looped through her brother’s as he escorted her down the aisle. Bruno was laughing.
“Ay, Pepi!” Félix called. If anything his grin had widened. “¿Qué sucedió?”
“This…this mald-” Pepa caught herself, seemingly realizing she was in a house of God, and smacked her brother with her bouquet, which only made him laugh harder, which made the winds outside shriek. “This brujo loco!”
That apparently got Bruno to sober up, or maybe it was the glare from his mother. Either way he managed a respectful bow as he placed his sister’s hand in Félix’s and received a firm clap on the shoulder from his soon-to-be brother-in-law before he retreated behind the other groomsmen.
Doña Mercedes’ eyes gleamed with delight. See, again, they could all see: a big house and good fortune does not equate to class.
Then at the reception she saw Cesar dancing slowly with poor, fragile, delicate Lora Cruz and her mood soured.
*
In short order Cesar and Lora married, as did Osma and Juan Pezmuerto, and the gossip around town became about the fact that there was not a new Madrigal - because of course Félix was mad enough to thumb convention and take that witch’s name - yet. Perhaps Pepa was too volatile to fall pregnant, or the famous Martinez fertility blessedly skipped generations, or maybe Señora Madrigal’s precious miracle did not approve of the match as much as she did.
No matter, the point was by the time Julieta and Agustín were allowed to marry, Lora delivered a son who was named Mariano after his late abuelo. She decided it was best not to analyze why beating Alma to this - to becoming a grandmother - was so satisfying.
In the year that followed both Madrigal sisters had daughters, and during the party after Dolores’ christening Beatriz Martinez leaned close to her and winked.
“So,” she began, taking a sip from her rum cocktail and nodding to where Alma and her family were gathering for a portrait. “Ready to start planning again?”
Beatriz had been one of the few people in on her speculations - mostly because she’d had her own theories - and Doña Mercedes tilted her head, considering. Yes, yes, they were all infants now, but by God they all knew a lot could change in fifteen, twenty years. Maybe by then she’d be more open, maybe by then she could see it, maybe-
“La familia Madrigal!” And the bright burst of a camera flash.
“No,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “Absolutely not.”
*
Then one day, on the eve of Isabela’s quince, Abuela Alma Madrigal came to her.
Her son had been gone for years, the shock of her nieta Mirabel’s failed gift ceremony still had her shaken, and the steel in her spine had become cold iron. She suggested that perhaps it would be good - for the community, of course - if after Isabela danced with her papa and Abuelo Philipe Cordoba, that she might dance with Mariano.
Ah. There it was.
Doña Mercedes listened, considered, nodded, then folded her hands neatly in her lap before she gently replied that surely that decision would be up to the quinceañera herself. A clear sign that Alma would get no help from her.
In the end Isabela and Mariano did dance, and she let herself be objective and decided that they did look like a match, that perhaps it would be a good idea to align her family with the Madrigals if the gifts were indeed hereditary…mostly. Eighty percent of the time.
Still, nothing was official until years later when she and Alma took time away from Helena Cordoba’s funeral to decide that courtship could formally begin…if they could get Mariano away from his bedridden mother’s side, and if Isabela would spare him more than a cursory glance.
And if Pepa’s unexpected toddler managed to get a gift.
Those last few months, punctuated by Mirabel’s painfully subdued quince - during which the usual cheer-and-portrait were somehow forgotten - were agony. By now Doña Mercedes was convinced that this would be for the best, that Mariano would thrive with a strong young woman like Isabela at his side, that Isabela would…make…very good-looking children with Mariano. And when little Antonio proved that the magic was indeed still as strong as Alma kept insisting it was? All that was left was a proposal.
Well.
Really, all things considered, she should have been less surprised by how that went.
*
Her first thought after getting word that Casa Madrigal had apparently collapsed under the weight of family drama was that she finally, after fifty years, could say with complete certainty that she had the finest home in the Encanto.
After that, though, when the Martinezes began to rally the town to help rebuild, she leaned into the concept of philanthropy and rose to the occasion. She offered shelter for the family under her roof and was rewarded for her kindness by finding Julieta, Pepa, and maldito Bruno clumped together on her sofa, all three speechless and weeping.
Of course.
Thankfully construction on the new house went quickly, many hands making light work, and before long her guests were back where they belonged, gifts restored, music playing, Mariano and Dolores a good distance away dancing under the stars-
Wait. No.
Absolutely not.