Que Será, Será

When she was just a little girl, Rio Morales tried to ask a question. 

“Mami?” 

Instead of a response, all she heard was a quietly hummed tune, simple and familiar: 

“Mamá?” 

Again, no acknowledgement – an intolerable situation to an impatient child.   

“MADRE!” 

Such an ear-splitting volume for such a short distance – they were sitting side by side on the living room floor, after all.  Claudia Morales jolted and blinked.   

“Eh?”   

Mami’s hand continued to stroke something hidden in her arms.   

“¿¡¿Vas a decirme qué hacer ahora?!?  ¡No tengo idea de lo que estoy haciendo!” (Are you going to tell me what to do next?!?  I have no idea what I am doing!) 

And finally, Rio gained the full attention of her mother.  All humming ceased and Mami’s caressing hand stilled, revealing a tiny gray ground-dove, a wing held stiffly at an awkward angle.  

"Y si te digo exactamente qué hacer, ¿cómo aprenderás a pensar por ti misma?" (And If I tell you exactly what to do, how will you ever learn to think for yourself?)  Mami smiled a cheeky smirk – there were many in la familia who claimed that Rio’s own impish grin had been a genetic gift.   

And Rio was actually doing a fine job on her own – she just didn’t realize it at the time.  For the last ten minutes she had been building a makeshift hospital ward for their little avian patient.  With a harumph and a push, she punctured another air hole into the lid of a cardboard box.    

Two quick tuts, followed by a loving term of endearment.  “Mija…mi cielo.  No hay necesidad de hacer pucheros, lo estás haciendo muy bien por tu cuenta.  Ven, cambiemos para que pueda revisar tu trabajo.” (Mija…my dearest.  No need to pout, you are doing so well on your own.  Come, let’s switch so I can inspect your work.) 

She held out her chirping bundle to Rio and warned, “Cuidado.  Firme pero gentil, firme pero gentil.”(Careful now.  Firm but gentle, firm but gentle.) 

Rio’s skin tingled with the brush of delicate feathers.  For the first time in her life, she held a wounded creature in her hands – a surge of protectiveness welling from deep within as she looked into terrified eyes, darting to all points in the room.  Anywhere but her.   

A few seconds passed, with only the sound of shuffling as Mami inspected her handiwork.  But Rio barely heard it, such was her focus on the bundle in her hands.  

A cough.  Rio lifted her gaze to find the weight of a knowing glance and grin already upon her.  "Bien hecho, mi pequeña enfermera."(Well done my little nurse.)  Mami opened the lid and with a wave of her hand, invited Rio to place the bird within.  Upon doing so, a dam burst open and let loose a torrent of questions. 

“¿Qué pasa si ella no mejora?  ¿Qué pasa si su ala no sana?  ¿Y si nunca vuelve a volar?  Y si-"(What if she doesn’t get better?  What if her wing doesn’t heal?  What if she never flies again?  What if-) 

That flood was stemmed by a few more melodic notes from her mother’s oft-repeated tune: 

Followed by:   

“Sueño y tiempo, mija.  Sueño y tiempo.  Es la única medicina que podemos ofrecerle.  Está en manos de Dios ahora.  Cálmate, quédate tranquila y confía.”(Sleep and time, mija.  Sleep and time.  It’s the only medicine we can offer her.  It’s in God’s hands now.  Be calm, be still, and trust.) 

Rio did trust and yet…   

“¿Qué pasa si Dios no la ayuda?  ¿Qué pasa si Él no tiene tiempo?  ¿Qué pasa si Él no puede estar en todas partes para hacer todo lo que necesita?”(What if God doesn’t help her?  What if He doesn’t have the time?  What if He can’t be everywhere, to do everything He needs to?) 

A quiet chuckle.  “Si Dios puede prometer escuchar al gorrión que cae, entonces puede dedicar un pensamiento a nuestra paloma.”(If God can promise to hear the sparrow that falls, then He can spare a thought for our dove.) 

Mami’s face grew larger in Rio’s vision as she leaned in with a smile.  Her mother’s breath whispered against her ear, the warm current of air bearing an ancient secret.   

"Pero.  Incluso si fuera cierto que Dios no puede estar en todas partes al mismo tiempo...entonces es por eso que creó a las madres.  Y eso es lo que soy, y eso es lo que serás…”(But.  Even if it could be true that God cannot be everywhere at once…then that is why He made mothers.  And that is what I am, and that is what you will be…)   

A delicate hand stroked the top of the box. “…y juntos seremos eso para ella.  ¿Sí?”(…and together we will be that for her.  Yes?) 

Suddenly, Rio’s feet floated into the air as Mami swept and sealed her in an all-consuming embrace, nuzzling the crown of her head.  “Ahora es el momento de dejar de preocuparnos y dejar descansar a nuestro paciente.  ¿Le cantamos tú y yo hasta que se duerma?”(Now it is time to stop worrying and let our patient rest.  Shall you and I sing it to sleep?)   

She nodded into Mami’s strong arms and imagined one day restoring her dove to full health.  Releasing it, allowing her to fly away and find her future mate – perhaps with red-pink breast, contrasted against dark gray wings.  She imagined the two of them soaring together majestically, a duet in the air.  It would be a fine reward for her heroic work today.   

Together, mother and daughter re-sang their song, a quiet tune – simple and familiar. 

And finally, Rio Morales felt peace. 

“Rio Morales, my friend, you sound like a wreck,” declares Grace Nevlin, a fellow Brooklyn Visions Academy mother, its PTA President, and Rio’s frequent co-commiserator. 

A bone-weary Rio sighs.  “I feel like one.  Pulling a double-shift into the graveyard hours will do it.  Especially if it ends with a Pediatric Code 1.”   

She shifts her cheek to pinch her phone tighter against her aching shoulder.  It is an otherwise glorious late spring morning in Brooklyn with sunshine and birds tweeting overhead – but she couldn’t care less as she staggers along the sidewalk towards home. 

Almost there.  Just a few more blocks. 

“And what’s a Code 1?” Grace’s voice asks from the phone’s speaker. 

“It means EMTs are performing CPR inbound.  And then when they get here, it’s what you imagine.  The double doors bust open, people scrambling everywhere.  You’re running the cart into the room, pulling notes from the techs-” 

“And you said pediatric…?” 

“It was a little girl,” Rio confirms, her lips tightening into a grim line.  “And it was hours of chest compressions.  It’s harder than it looks on TV.  My arms and hands are cramping so bad right now, you have no idea.  But…we saved her.  So, the night wasn’t all bad.”                

“Rio, you’re a hero.” 

And as always, she deflects.  “Just doing my job, what was needed.”  A pause.  “But I wish my floor admin saw it that way.  The nerve of her…”  Rio starts over.  “So here I am, we just got done with the patient.  I’m drenched in sweat, you wouldn’t want to touch me.  I haven’t drank anything in hours, haven’t eaten anything all night, and Jasmine has the nerve to start yapping at me: ‘Rio, you forgot to fill out your whiteboard.  Rio, you know we can’t have drinks at the desk.  Rio, we just got a ton of new in-patients, why are you standing there eating a sandwich??’” 

“Wow...soooooo, she’s a bitch.” 

“I wouldn’t mind if Jasmine jumped off a cliff.  She’s a burócrata.”  And Rio mutters what she thinks is under her breath, “And she is a bicha.”     

“Oooh, what’s that mean?” 

“Forget it.  Why won’t this stupid crosswalk turn green?” 

Rio’s feet feel like they’ve waited ten minutes at this intersection and her shoulders do feel like they’re about to fall apart, strained as they are.   

“Rio.  You need a vacation.” 

“I need a vacation.  But getting one approved is complicated.” 

“Do not take ‘no’ for an answer.  Tell work that they can learn to live without you for a week…or two.  Summer break for the kiddos is just weeks away, and you gotta unplug too.  Right?” 

“It’s not work…it’s…how do I explain…” 

How do you explain your son, one Miles Morales, is a super-enhanced, teenaged superhero courtesy of an interdimensional Spider-Bite? 

How do you explain that son inherited your own damnable sense of duty for helping those in need, and devotion to the city you love so much? 

Rio can just hear that familiar stubborn voice now whenever she suggests a getaway:  Sorry Mami, but who’s gonna take care of the city if I let up?  I’ve…seen what happens when New York doesn’t have a Spider-Man watching over it. 

Rio continues.  “It’s…Miles.  He’s the sticking point.  He always claims he’s too busy for a ‘real life.’  Wants to stay dedicated, so he says.” 

“The typical story of a Visions student.  Trust me, I hear something similar all the time.” 

Relief and giddiness floods through Rio as she finally reaches her apartment building’s exterior entrance…but she’s giddy for another reason.  There’s no need to tell Grace, but she’s just been hit with a stroke of inspiration.  The key to unlocking Miles’s reluctance to go on vacation is to also invite a certain someone else.  And if that person says yes, it would be impossible for Miles to say ‘Sorry Mami’.  Rio positively flushes pink at the thought. 

Grace pops her bubble.  “Hey, we got off track.  You sound exhausted and I should let you go.  But I’m sorry, I gotta do my official PTA duty and ask: Jeff is going to deliver the goods tomorrow right?” 

Tomorrow is Visions’ monthly fundraiser.  A fact that Rio’s damned mom-brain had reminded her of right as her shift ended. 

Rio sighs long and deep, then looks down at many, many bursting grocery bags hanging off her trembling arms.  She mentally switches mom-hats to the one that reads: PTA Special Events Coordinator.  “Oh, there’s no question the goods are getting delivered.  Because I just wiped out my grocery’s lemon section.  I’m also standing in my lobby wondering how on earth I’m going to carry five lemon trees up my stairs.  Why doesn’t my apartment have an elevator?” 

“Jeff’s lemon bars will be so worth it.  They always sell out in minutes.” 

“But why did you need him to make two hundred???” 

“The robotics lab needs a new 3D printer.”  

Ah yes, the demand for the PTA Treasurer’s world-renowned lemon bars is borderline miraculous.  At the price they can charge for them, the school has already paid off the repairs to its prized molecular sculpture that Spot and…ahem…Spider-Man so carelessly destroyed. 

“Rio, what’s that noise?” 

“That’s me breathing hard.  You try carrying five lemon trees up five flights of stairs.  Bendito Dios dame fuerzas por favor.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

“It means if you hear a loud crash, call 911 and tell them to look for a woman wearing scrubs buried underneath five hundred pounds of lemons.”  Huff.  Wheeze.  “And five bags of powdered sugar.” 

“Soooo…Jeff will make it happen?”  Grace sounds worried.  Rio wishes her companion wasn’t always so on. 

“He’ll probably have to pull an all-nighter to make it happen by tomorrow but…”  Rio heaves a resigned exhale.  “…I’ll probably help him.” 

I’ll definitely help him.  There’s no way I’m letting Mi Rey suffer on his own. 

“That’s what being a mom’s all about right?  We do what we gotta do to support our kiddos.” 

“Miles knows I have his back.” 

Rio does and she shows it with deeds, not words.  She packs him patrol snacks.  She treats his wounds.  She repairs tears to his suit, which is made of fibers that look positively alien (once resulting in a panicked call to an elderly Floridian woman she’s never met, asking questions that sound insane to the ear such as Dios Mio how in the multi-verse are you supposed to sew with hybridized Nomex-Kevlar nanoweave???) 

She also does it by gamely biting her cheek, suppressing the strongest instinct in existence – the maternal – and sends her one and only son off into a murderer’s row of supervillainous claws, lightning bolts, and bombs each and every night.  All with only a pat on his cheek and a quick blessing. 

Damn, does Rio Morales ever deserve a vacation.  At least one week of reprieve where her son is hers and hers alone, sleeping safe and sound in a bed where she can just watch him be.   

She does get a reprieve in the present as she summits the last step of that torturous staircase.  Now just the hundred-mile hike down the hall to her home’s front door… 

“Actually, since we’re on the topic of Miles.”  Grace's voice drops low and tentative. 

“…Yes?”  Rio tries hard not to sound overly suspicious with her friend, but when any adult inquires about her special boy?  All the better to be alert.  Rio stops walking. 

“This might be a stretch.  And it might be overstepping my bounds.  But…does Miles have a date for Junior Prom yet?” 

“I’m sorry what?”    

“Just between you and me.  And don’t you dare repeat this in front of my daughter because she’d kill me.  But Layla thinks Miles is really cute.  And she was telling me she was hoping Miles would ask her.” 

Ay Bendito.  I thought I was done scrambling for today. 

“I…hate to say it.  But that might not be happening.  Miles has…a special friend.  She…and him…it’s complicated.” 

A very special friend.  With very complicated circumstances. 

“Ah.”  Poor Grace sounds hurt.  “This is the first I’m hearing of her.” 

“They…they try to play it off like it’s nothing.  Low key.” 

In private yes, they’re low key – most of the time.  But on duty?  The way they swing together in the sky like they’re weaving a story of their love, written into their webs?  Their aerial duets have been captured on camera far too often by news stations and YouTubers who love to speculate on the nature of their relationship.  Too high key for Rio and Jeff’s tastes.  

“Does she go to Visions too?” 

“No.” Rio hastily replies.  “They did meet at Visions.  But then she left town.  She’s…not from around here.”   

Technically she does go to Visions.  Just not this one.  Not in this New York.  But after a disastrous series of near foot-in-mouth missteps, Rio has resolved to just lie as hard as she can where the kids are concerned.  If this is a lie.  On tiring days like today, it’s hard to keep facts and stories straight. 

“Then are they together?  If this is long distance and not an official ‘thing,’ maybe she wouldn’t mind if Miles took Layla just as a friend.” 

Rio struggles with the right words to describe the status of Miles and his special ‘friend.’  “Well…they’re...”   

Definitely together together.  As long as Rio has known Miles as Spider-Man, they’ve been together. 

“…She’s…” 

Fiercely loyal.  Extremely devoted.  Is head over heels in love with Miles.  Gets…jealous. 

“…She probably wouldn’t like that,” Rio concludes.  “And who knows.  Maybe Miles will convince her to fly in for prom.” 

“Well good for him.  Her.  She’s a junior too?” 

“Kind of.  She’s repeating the year.”   

¡Diablos Rio!  Why’d you say that??  ¡Tan estúpida! 

“Oh.”   

This syllable Rio has heard plenty before.  It’s the typical response from an adult when Miles’ special friend is fabricating a set of circumstances that led to her being held back a year.  In reality, unexplained four-month absences will always lead to that.  Rio knows the situation annoys her.  But still, Rio tried to coach her into seeing it as a positive – that now, she and Miles are academically in the same year group.  There are advantages to this happenstance.  

And selfishly…Rio is glad for the academic delay.  She holds out a secret hope that Miles’ precious ‘HQ’ will get off their lazy culos and figure out how to let ‘civilians’ like her and Jeff go dimensional travelling.  So that she can go to a certain high school graduation, far far away and scream her head off with yells of ¡Vamos! and ¡Eso! as a certain someone walks across the stage to collect her diploma.  A selfish pleasure, truly. 

But this loaded ‘Oh’ rings in her ears and Rio jumps in quick to defend, as she does.   

“It’s not like that.  She took some time off to go visit sick family.  In…Ireland.”  It’s remarkable how easily Rio lies now.  She will have to block off extra time for confession later this week.  She continues to pour it on for her sake but this time there are no lies. 

“She’s actually super smart.  She gets straight A’s…well she keeps getting B’s in English for some reason.  A little blip.  She kills it in Chemistry and she’s already lined up a Bio-Chem internship for the summer.  Oh!  And she’s an award-winning ballerina, won a state championship as a gymnast, and I think she did Tae Kwon Do when she was a niña.  That means ‘little girl.’” 

Oh and just like my son, she’s a similarly-bitten, similarly-enhanced, crime fighting superhero. 

“Well Rio, when you put it that way, she sounds so mature.  Accomplished.  If she’s repeating, I suppose she’s older than him?” 

“Technically yes.  Fifteen months to be exact.  It’s really not all that significant.” 

Rio can practically feel the blue-eyed eyeroll from across time and space. 

“She sounds amazing.”  Grace’s inflection betrays that she’s partly awed and partly embarrassed to have offered her daughter against such competition.  Rio understands the awe perfectly well, firsthand. 

“She is amazing,” Rio confirms.  She resumes her walk. 

Rescuing Miles from an alternate dimension wins her that adjective.  Choosing to love him and watching his back just like Rio does, night after night for more than a year, cements it.  Saving him in an operation, just a few short months ago, nearly trading her life for his?  That makes her a heaven-sent miracle in Rio’s book.  She shudders at the thought of that dark night where she almost lost both children. 

Rio blessedly reaches her front door and starts juggling sacks of lemons for the keys in her purse. 

“Does wonder woman have a name?  Does it happen to be Diana?” Grace asks. 

“Hunh?  No, it’s-” Rio swings open her door.  “-Gwen-sita!” 

Pink highlights pop into Rio’s vision as she spies the back of Gwen’s head, seated on her living room couch.  Grace is a mere afterthought as Rio delivers a brisk, “Gotta go, bye!” and hangs up as the confused woman is asking what kind of name is Gwen-see-tah?   

Exhaustion?  What exhaustion?  Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy is here and Rio is about to celebrar la vida al máximo!  The blood in Rio’s veins thrum like she’s heard the opening trumpets of ‘La Vida Es Un Carnaval’ and it’s time to swing some hips.  She swiftly turns away to her pantry, her limbs blurring into a frenzy as she unloads her groceries in a chaotic mess that would make her own Mami tut.  A massive smile blooms on her face, to match the one that she knows is surely gracing Gwen’s. 

There’s zero time to waste.  Despite the springtime sun, Rio’s shoulder and hip are cold and lonely, and Gwen’s will warm them up quite nicely, as they often do sitting hip to hip.  She can practically taste the tea that she’ll be sipping with her nena in about sixty seconds.   

Since she’s facing away and can’t yet close the physical distance, Rio sends a hug through words. 

“¡Buenos días princesa!!  ¿Cómo estás??"  

Gwen’s not fully Spanish conversant.  Not yet.  But by virtue of her frequent Morales proximity, the girl has picked up a few phrases.  Unlike others, Rio doesn’t have to fully translate everything with her – the teen’s smart enough to pick up the context clues, and Rio can just be her full self.   

But she does switch to mostly English for Gwen’s sake as she kicks off with her most important topic: 

“Don’t let me forget nena, after I unpack, I need to run something by you…can you go ahead and pull out your phone so we can look at your calendar?”    

For a split-second Rio imagines a hot summer day, Jeff’s car loaded with suitcases, ‘El Cantante’ on full blast, and the two kids holding hands in the back seat with wide grins.  She thinks on it...and glows.   

Inspired by her vision, Rio ascends into euphoria and she puts more oomph into her normal welcome, letting it rip full throttle. 

“But annnnnyyyyways, you have no idea how happy I am to see you cariño!!  I have had a DAY – I need to tell you all about it-” 

Rio flails a hand at the ceiling.   

“-Did you have trouble when you landed here?  I’m sure you noticed last week that the Murdoch familia took over the roof for their upcoming fiesta.  I hope you were able to find another portal spot.  Oye, have you eaten yet?...”   

Rio flails a hand at the fridge.   

“...I have leftover plátanos from two nights ago, but ah!  Before you finish that off and get too full, I need you to try my new flan-”   

Rio flails a hand to the counter.  The very air is a tornado of hands and words, hands and words.   

“-I tweaked my recipe.  Yes, I know I know, you shouldn’t mess with perfección, and some would say I’m loca for changing three whole ingredients.  But I’ll make it work.  You know me, I love it when a flan comes together!  Get it?  You get it, right?” 

Rio chuckles to herself and sighs a light recovery breath, whereas a mere mortal would have passed out from oxygen deprivation.   

She resumes her chore and a few seconds tick by.  Rio stops and straightens.   

It’s the silence she notices first.   

Right where Gwen should be making a ‘krssssh’ noise (and pantomiming a cymbal crash behind her back), there’s nothing. 

There’s no ‘A flan is only as good as its execution, Rio.’  

Not even a snort and a ‘Pfffft I see where Miles get it from.’ 

Rio turns in the direction of her living room, curious.  And then she notices something else. 

“Gwen-sita…you’re earlier than usual.”  She looks at the wall clock.  “A lot earlier than usual.  We don't get Miles back from Visions for…at least another six hours.  Which means-” 

Dimensions don’t all share the same ‘time zone.’  Rio’s learned this by now, and taped on her refrigerator door is a handwritten cipher chart containing interdimensional day/time conversions for the likes of Hobart Brown, Peter B. Parker, and Señor Cerdo (or does he prefer Señor Jamón).  But Rio knows the math for Gwen’s dimension by heart.  Running the numbers she realizes: 

“¡Ay Bendito!  Gwendolyne Maxine!  Shouldn’t you be back in your world??  You didn’t show up for school today!  ¿Qué pasa?” 

“I, uh…I made up a note.  Called in sick,” comes the whispered reply, raspy and hoarse.  Gwen doesn’t turn around to look at her. 

“What?  Why?” 

“Th-there’s…” Rio can barely hear.  “I didn’t know who-” Gwen breaks off and a long pause settles.  She finally manages a faint “I needed to talk to you.  Just you,” aimed in the direction of the floor. 

Rio might not have a Spider-Sense, but she sure as hell has a Mom-Sense.  When it’s on, it’s a pull, a tug, a surety that something is off.  And at this instant it is urging Rio you have to sit next to Gwen.  Now. 

“Okay.  I’m here.  Let’s talk.”  She drops her bags to the floor, lemons spilling, and begins to follow that pull over to the couch.  Her approach is careful and measured.  She takes a seat right next to Gwen, as she normally does – who then shifts back to make room for her.   

“So…Gwen.  What’s going on?”  Rio reaches out a comforting hand to her shoulder and the teen flinches.  It’s not a big flinch, it’s not a complete retraction, but it rings loud enough. 

Her hand freezes and hangs mid-air.  That’s when Rio looks, really looks her over: 

Pale pallid skin, cheekbones prominent.  Not eating. 

Unusually unkempt, disheveled hair.  Distracted.   

Nails rough and course, chewed down.  Nervous. 

An oversized sweatshirt, one of Miles’ largest, hanging well down to the knee.  Hiding. 

And she’s hiding from me. 

Rio lowers her head, trying to catch Gwen’s eye from her downturned face.  From the side, she spies one blue iris and its dilated pupil, darting to all points in the room.  Anywhere but her.   

She settles her hand on the backrest, close by.  Not touching Gwen, but near enough to scoop up her skittish bird should the opportunity arise.  Rio waits as long as she can before asking, “Is it Miles?  Is…he okay?” 

He should be in school, but she knows all too well that duty can claim her son at any moment. 

A slow shake of the head.  “He’s safe.  I can tell.” 

“Alright...then...are Miles and you okay?  Did you two have a...fight or something?” 

A beat.  “No...it’s not that.” 

Rio releases a tiny breath she didn’t realize she was holding.  Teenaged romances are supposed to come and go.  But not this one.  It would be unthinkable.   

“Then, Gwen...honey.”  Rio infuses her next words with a light, calming tone.  “You’re scaring me, just a little.”  She smiles as encouragingly as she can.  “No hay mentiras entre nosotros.  You know you can tell me anything.” 

On ‘mentiras,’ Gwen’s eyes widen slightly.  On 'anything’, she cringes. 

Rio plays her trump card – her strongest possible term of endearment. 

“Mija, mi cielo-” 

Gwen grimaces, and her eyes squeeze tight. 

Rio’s pulse begins to pound.  Gwen’s mouth starts to move, her lips forming shapes as she tries to say the words. 

“I…” 

Gwen’s thumb digs into a knuckle, turning it white, then bright red.   

“I’m…” 

Rio can see her body tensing, ready to fly away.   

Gwen’s eyes open. 

“…I’m late.” 

The walls close in.  Rio’s head swims.  She knows what she heard but her world is spinning, spinning like the day Miles unmasked himself.  Is she still breathing?  Is this what hyperventilation feels like?  For her own sake, in order to…she…she needs…she needs a second.  She needs to stall.  “Okay.”  Shaky exhale.  “You’re late…for your…”  She trails off and nods to prompt Gwen to finish, cruel as that might be. 

“I’m late…for my period.  And I’m so fucking scared.”   

“Okay.”  Rio keeps whispering okay like it’s a crutch that can keep her from tumbling to the floor.  “Okay.”  She slips into nurse-mode – in part to get her breathing under control, in part to gather more information.  “Okay…so how…late is late?” 

“A week.” 

Rio struggles hard to not audibly inhale.  This…Not good. 

“Well…I think it’s been a week,” Gwen says. 

“You think?” 

“It’s…I’ve never…been able to figure out my days.  I’m…I’ve always been inconsistent.  Could never understand why.” 

“Your Papá didn’t…?” What begins as a question turns into a statement.  “…couldn’t really talk to you about the finer details of a woman’s cycle.” 

A quiet huff.  "Dad...he tried.  Mostly it was giving me a couple books to read.  Then an awkward-as-hell sit down on the couch, watching a video we both wished I'd watched by myself."  Gwen's lips thin into a wry twist.  "After that he was just all...'You know you can ask me questions anytime, Gwennie.'  But the way he said it?  He really hoped there wouldn't be any.  So...I never did." 

Her heart fills with sorrow yet again for the poor widower and little girl who had to muddle their way through life together without Mamá Helen.  Her passing was a rock thrown against a pane of glass, its impact causing fracture lines to splinter outwards, cracks begetting more cracks.  Rio can see the ramifications of this seismic event like a web of scar-lines, layered upon the young woman who sits before her.  

Rio's hand starts to slide further along the backrest, surreptitiously finding a position behind Gwen’s shoulders.  Rio yearns to lend comfort with a touch, but she’s not sure the girl wouldn’t scatter.  Or shatter. 

“I suppose I could fill in the gaps now.”  She sends the bravest reassuring smile she can muster in Gwen’s direction even though the teen can’t bear to look at her.  Rio holds out a slim hope that she could be reading this whole situation wrong.  Notes of Nurse Morales creep back into her tone of voice, as much for her own sake as Gwen’s.   

“So, there are actually quite a few medical reasons for a woman to be late.” 

But when Gwen’s head bolts up for the first time all morning, a shimmery spark kindling within sapphire eyes, Rio’s stomach drops and her own hope extinguishes.   

Now Rio knows, she knows. 

She’ll continue to talk through all the different possibilities.  But deep in her heart she knows where they’ll end. 

Here we go.  Bendito Dios dame fuerzas por favor. 

“The first reason a period might get delayed is extreme physical stress.  Constant exertion.  And I think we both can agree that you might have a little of that in your day-to-day, no?”  Rio lifts an eyebrow and attempts a defusing smirk. 

“Maybe.  The load’s gotten lighter now since Miles has been helping me in my world.” 

“Does that count as lightening your load if you’re always over here helping in his?”  Rio’s eye wanders to the breakfast table.  “And that brings me to my next point…” 

On the table, under a casual photo of the Spider-Band amigos, is one of Miles’ Spider Society mission planners – a simple notebook, old-fashioned, and off-grid.  It’s both his practical attempt to stay abreast of key missions and objectives, and a symbol of his ever-growing set of obligations within that organization.  Rio continues while looking at the book. 

“You know how I feel about that ‘HQ’ that you and Miles serve.  It’s not enough that you have to juggle your normal life while keeping your own world safe…but others too?  It’s not…fair to you two.  Children like you and Miles should not have that kind of responsibility.  I…I wish it wasn’t there.  The weight of so many worlds, all relying on you?  It’s a lot to carry for backs that are so young.” 

Rio points at Gwen.  “Mental stress can cause just as many problems as physical stress.”   

“But if we don’t step up…who else can do what we do?”   

“You and Miles are getting pulled into more and more ‘briefings.’  You’re always being consulted now.  When are you supposed to be a student?  A girlfriend?  A daughter?  A normal child?  Can’t the older Spiders handle most of the load?” 

Gwen tilts her head side to side, considering.  Rio continues. 

“Another reason to be late is…recovery from a severe trauma.”  Rio clears her throat to hide the crack in her voice.  “Like a bad injury.”   

The implication hangs in the air and both women grow contemplative of the recent night when Spider-Woman was almost found out to be mortal.  Rio’s hand grows ever closer to Gwen’s back, the fabric of her sweatshirt tingling her fingertips.  

Gwen shakes her head.  “For him...I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” 

“I know.  I know.  That’s what I’m-” Rio decides to let loose a long-held concern of hers, “We know you two can heal fast.  A special gift, yes.  But we still don’t know if there are medical impacts from your Spider-Bites.  From the healing properties they confer.  How does it impact other areas of your body?  We don’t know.  It’s not like we can consent to medical researchers really studying you and Miles.” 

Rio pauses, growing increasingly overwhelmed with everything she could say, by the terror she felt that horrid night, and by her lingering concerns for their futures.  She quickly moves along. 

“And well, sometimes there is no rhyme or reason, no explanation.  Sometimes, your body just goes crazy and says ‘not this week, not happening.’  And there’s nothing to it.”  

“Y-yeah?  Maybe this one’s the reason,” Gwen whispers. 

Rio’s fingers finally manage to curl around Gwen’s shoulder, and she isn't shrugging away.  Maybe she simply hasn’t noticed.  Rio lightly squeezes, then stills.  Firme pero gentil, firme pero gentil.   

“I hope so,” Rio replies.  “That would be a relief.  But.  Another valid reason for being late is…”    

She exhales slowly and steadies herself.   

“You’ve been sexually active.  With Miles.” 

Silence.   

Gwen’s eyes peel away from Rio, down to her hands on her lap.  Rio’s arm, wrapped around Gwen’s shoulder, rises and falls in time with her heavy breathing. 

Silence some more.   

Silence until Rio can no longer bear it. 

Gwen nods. 

Rio’s soul plummets, splintering into many pieces.  Some of her wants to faint.  Part of her wants to ask Miles and Gwen what were you thinking??  More of her wants to run into the bedroom and scream into her pillow.  To scream at fate and rail against the hardship that might be falling upon two families and their two special children.  But the strongest stuff of Rio pulls together – not for herself, but another.    

Por eso Él me hizo.  Para tiempos como estos. 

To see Gwen biting her lip and her face beginning to crumple unleashes a powerful, primal instinct.  Rio's arm pulls and seals Gwen into a tight, all-consuming embrace.  The teen’s stuttering breathing feels heavy against her chest, her hands.  Right now, Rio’s sole focus is on consoling, and her whispers of “Oh mija, mija, mija...” intermingle with Gwen’s strangled plea of “We were being safe!  At least…we thought we were,” that she utters against her shoulder. 

This is a dream turned nightmare.   

If Miles and Gwen have been together for over a year, then Rio has been secretly planning their wedding for half of it.  And in the last few months, she’s allowed herself to daydream about a future where she’s old, gray, and chasing tiny nietos and nietas down her hallway.   

Perhaps she shouldn’t have. 

She’s dreamed of being an Abuela.  But not like this. 

“Does your Papá know?” 

Rio’s voice seemingly breaks a spell, and Gwen breaks the hug. 

“No…I…I couldn’t.  He w-wouldn’t take it...”  She sighs.  “He can’t know about this.” 

Another flash of sympathy for Papá Stacy.  Rio knows enough about the past strain between father and daughter.  She understands – if she doesn’t agree with – the secrecy that played a part in so much misunderstanding and heartache.  She’s glad for their sakes that those days are seemingly a thing of the past.  But now this.  How many more secrets must Papá Stacy endure? 

“Does Miles know?” Rio asks. 

Gwen shakes her head.  “Figured I would test myself…know either way.  Then I’d tell him if it was positive, and if it wasn’t...I’d…well, I figured in that case why should we both get freaked out over this?  I don't want to put him through what I’m going through.”  A shuddering sigh.  “B-but.  But then…I couldn’t bring myself to go get one.  Didn’t have the guts to do it.”  Her face drops. 

Rio cups Gwen’s chin and gently tilts it back up.  “Guts enough to come here when you needed help.” 

Gwen breaks even this mild contact, Rio’s heart constricting as she pulls back. 

“I don’t need...I mean I-I could...” Gwen stammers, then quietly admits, “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“I can...go with you to pick up a test.  And be with you while you do it?”  It’s phrased as a question even though Rio knows full well why Gwen came here.  What she needs.  But Rio also knows Gwen won’t ask.    

“You…You–I can’t ask you to do that for me.”  

“You’re not asking, I’m offering, and you are not alone.”   

“I feel alone.” 

Rio makes the choice.  “I’m coming with you.  You are not doing any of this on your own.” 

This seems to ignite something in Gwen.  She looks up and her face is set, eyes determined and hard.  She's more alive than Rio’s seen all day. 

“If this is for real, I'm keeping it.  But I want you to know.  I won't ruin Miles' life.  I'll raise it on my own.” 

This too ignites something deep in Rio. 

“If my son would let you raise that child on your own, then he is not the son that I raised.” 

Rio’s taken aback.  The very idea of Gwen, left to fend for herself, facing an uncertain future alone?  Without the support and backing of Miles?  This family?  Without herself by the girl's side?  Inconceivable.  How could she think she’s this alone?  All this time together and yet the girl still feels... 

Gwen looks away to the window, sunshine pouring through.  Her face hides amidst the shadows created by the light. 

Rio wants nothing more than to have Gwen back in her arms – to hold a head upon her shoulder, to stroke blonde-pink hair, and utter promises of Todova a estar bien, it'll be okay.  But it seems none of that will be accepted this hard day.  She won’t stop trying, however.  For now, Rio will be calm and still, and perhaps Gwen will come back to her, in time. 

Rio sighs and stands, walking over to the counter to grab her keys and purse.  The exhaustion of the morning floods back into her body and weighs heavy on every limb.  And yet, as bone-weary as she feels, Rio stands ready to prove that she will have her Mija’s back with deeds, not words.   

She tilts her head in Gwen’s direction.  “It’s time to find out.  Are you ready?” 

“…No.  Are…you?” 

Silence.   

Then a slight smile, offering comfort and warmth. 

“No.  But I’ll be there.” 

“Mami?” asked Rio, when her mother had finished their bedtime tune, simple and familiar.  She clutched the blankets tightly as she lay in her bed. 

“¿Si, Mija?”  Fingers ran through Rio’s dark wavy curls, stroking, caressing. 

“Nuestro pájaro...la caja.  ¿Qué hacemos si se pone frenética...con miedo y no puede salir?” (Our bird...the box.  What do we do if she gets frantic...like she’s scared, and can't get out?) 

“Entonces la dejamos salir.  La dejaremos deambular por la habitación si así lo desea.   Mantendremos las luces tenues para mantenerla tranquila.  Pero permanecemos a su lado todo el tiempo.” (Then we let her out.  We’ll let her roam around the room if she would like.  Keep the lights dim to keep her calm.  But we stay by her side the entire time.) 

“Está bien, pero…¿Pero qué pasa si todavía le entra el pánico incluso entonces?  ¿Qué pasa si no puedo calmarla?  ¿Qué pasa si no puedo lograr que ella vuelva conmigo?” (Okay but...but what if she still panics even then?  What if I can’t calm her down?  What if I can’t get her to come back to me?) 

“¿Le diste un abrazo a tu pequeña paciente mientras estaba en tus manos?” (Did you give your little patient a hug while she was in your hands?) 

“Bueno…sí.  Por supuesto.  Pero ¿por qué importaría eso en caso de emergencia?  (Well...yes.  Of course.  But why would that matter in an emergency?) 

“Porque el abrazo de una madre dura mucho después de que ella la suelta.” (Because a mother’s hug lasts long after she lets go.)   

Brilliance and light.  Comfort and warmth.  Rio thought that Mami's toothy smile was the most beautiful thing in all the world.   

“Mija, mi cielo.  Cálmate.  Quédate quieta.  Y confía en que ella lo recordará.” (My darling Mija.  Be calm.  Be still.  And trust that she will remember.) 

-🕷-