The New Guitar

"I have no idea how that blessing worked," Rosa said, looking longingly at the white guitar resting against a wall. The memory of it shattering beneath her fingertips still haunted her. "I found no relation between our family and de la Cruz at the genealogical archives."

The possibility that she - that a part of her family - could be related to de la Cruz had also been haunting her until she'd worked up the courage to delve into her family's history. All branches of her family.

No ties bound her family to the former musician.

Miguel peeked up from his scribbled notes. "Then it means it was fate's hand that brought you back to the Land of the Dead. You were meant to return, so you did."

"I see no other theory either," she agreed, then her focus shifted to the scattered pieces of paper across his desk. She raised an eyebrow. "When are you going to tell me what you keep writing about?"

He grinned. "It's a surprise. But one that will take long to be ready."

She squinted, allowing a smug smile to spread across her face. "Are you writing a song, Miguel?"

"No!" His answer was too hurried to be genuine.

Her smirk only grew. "Don't worry, I won't tell a soul. For some time."

He pouted. "Rosa, I'm serious. I want this song to be a surprise."

"I get it, don't worry. I'll keep your secret." She winked. "Just like I've always done."

A shadow suddenly loomed over her heart. "How's your relationship with Abuelita?"

Miguel crossed a line of words with his pen. "It's improving. I'm still working on forgiving her, but it's better." When he glimpsed her face, he asked, seeing the smile she tried concealing with her hand, "What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Rosa... You wouldn't look this exhilarated for nothing."

"You'll see." She grabbed her violin, and started warming up. "Focus on those lyrics of yours, and I'll play. Who knows what you might come up with?"

All throughout dinner, there was an air of expectancy surrounding the Riveras, an air Miguel did not miss. It was as if they were holding their breath. Awaiting what, Miguel could only guess, even if the fact that they chose not to tell him anything - yet - drove him restless and insanely curious, even a little frustrated.

At long last, after dinner ended, Elena said to him, "Come, mijo. I - we - have something for you."

With his heart thumping in his chest, Miguel followed her, the rest of the Riveras trailing him. When they reached the living room, his eyes fell on a big wrapped box on the sofa.

"We really wanted to give this to you now as a present for Christmas, even if it's a little early. We could not wait."

While the family took seats around or remained standing, Miguel approached the box. He glanced at Elena, suddenly unsure. His grandmother's eyes were lined with tears; she jerked her chin to the present. "Open it."

"We thought you'd like this one best, mijo," Enrique spoke, his arm around Luisa's shoulders.

Unable to bear the lack of knowledge any longer, Miguel opened the box. What he beheld left him breathless.

"You did not..."

"It was your abuelita's idea, Miguel," Luisa added, smiling fondly at her son. "You deserve this."

Miguel shook his head, reaching inside the box. Rosa's breath hitched, even though she was well aware of what lay in there. When her cousin was finally holding the brand-new guitar he had laid eyes on in Blanca's shop weeks ago, the events of the past year flashed in her mind. How everything had played out, how all they'd been through had come to this moment.

With reverence, Miguel strummed the guitar, tears sliding down his face. He made no effort to wipe them. He moved his mouth, but no words tumbled out. He lovingly gazed at all his family members one by one, and was met with a smile every time. When he eventually beheld Elena, he embraced her fiercely.

"Thank you, Abuelita! Thank you so much!"

She squeezed him to her chest. "It was the least I could think to do for you, mi querido hijo. After hurting you the way I did. But it was a family effort." She pointed at Rosa, whose eyes were swimming in tears. "Your prima immediately knew what instrument you'd like."

"You remembered," Miguel whispered to her.

Her eyes sparkled. "Of course, I did. Only the best for my gifted cousin."

Miguel took the guitar again, admiring its every inch, the way it fit perfectly in his hold.

"Play for us, mijo," Elena asked. "Play the way Mamá's papá used to play for her and Mamá Imelda."

Miguel stared at his great-grandmother, Mamá Coco smiling at him warmly. "You got this, mijo."

A memory blazed before his eyes, a memory he held so incredibly dear, of a skeleton who had encouraged him in the face of his first ever performance.

Miguel sat on the couch. There was no place he'd rather be than here, surrounded by his amazing family. He tuned the beautiful instrument he could still not comprehend was his as Rosa sat beside him. He gave her a thankful grin.

Rosa looked out the window, and she could have sworn she saw the faces of their ancestors watching them with broad smiles. They were healing, just like her and the living Riveras. The road would not be easy, but their family was whole again, and they had each other.

That was all that counted.

Miguel laughed freely for the first time in his life, and she joined him. "For you, mi familia, I would play a thousand songs and more."

As he began to strum the strings and hum, a gentle tune drifted through the open window from outside.

This time, it was welcome.