PERSEVERANCE

I.

“Mom, I would like to introduce you to Rose. Rose, these are my parents. This is my mother, Anjelica, and my father, Robert.”

Nineteen-year-old Rose stood before two people she knew would play a part in her life -- though uncertain how large or small they would be. They could be her child's future grandparents or footnotes — people she met once upon a time, who pop up in a memory fifteen years down the road that you spend more time than you wanted to try to remember who they were.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Rose extended her hand, her boyfriend Brian standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders. She’d warned him that meeting parents wasn’t really her thing, that she would be more nervous than it was worth, and she would ultimately make a bad first impression, thus ruining any positive goodwill that could transpire.

“Dear, the pleasure is all ours,” Anjelica greeted her in the warmest tone possible.

She took Rose's hand into both of her own, enveloping it in a gentle but firm grasp that somehow conveyed both welcome and scrutiny. Her eyes, sharp yet twinkling, seemed to be dancing, sizing Rose up yet simultaneously inviting her into the fold.

Robert stepped forward, a tall man with graying temples and a friendly smile that reached his eyes. "We've heard so much about you," he said. His voice was deep and carried a resonance that filled the space around them, making Rose feel as if she were wrapped in a soft blanket of sound.

Brian squeezed Rose's shoulders slightly, an unspoken sign of support as they faced this new frontier together. "Mom, Dad, Rose has been looking forward to meeting you as well," he added, giving Rose an encouraging nod.

The small group moved into the cozy living room from the entryway, where light spilled across plush sofas and armchairs. Anjelica gestured for Rose to sit near the fireplace while Robert poured tea from a delicate porcelain teapot into cups adorned with floral patterns.

"So, Rose," Anjelica began as they all settled in with their cups of steaming tea, "Brian tells us you're studying pre-law. That must be quite fascinating."

“Law, but yes,” Rose responded, gathering looks from both mother and father in the process.

“I told you that Rose finished high school early and started taking college classes while still in high school,” Brian interjected, trying to ease the mix-up and smooth the conversation.

Anjelica cleared her throat, her earlier demeanor hardening into something akin to caution. "That's quite impressive, Rose. It takes a lot of discipline and hard work to manage that. It sounds like you’re eager to have quite the career, I would imagine, with someone as smart as you.”

Rose felt the weight of Anjelica's words, aware that they were both compliments and examinations. She sipped her tea, feeling the warmth spread through her fingers to her core, calming her nerves slightly.

"Yes, I am," Rose replied with a polite smile. "I've always been passionate about law and justice. I hope to make a significant impact someday, perhaps in human rights."

It was Robert’s turn to clear his throat. “Does that zest for knowledge come from your mother or your father, you think?”

Rose glanced at Brian quickly before diving into the question. “My mother died when I was young. My father was a professional wrestler.” As the words tumbled out of her mouth, Anjelica seemed to choke on her tea slightly.

“Professional wrestler, did you say, my dear?” when Anjelica managed to gather herself. Rose suspected the coughing fit wasn’t simply due to an errant liquid in the wrong area but more of surprise and suspicion. Rose began to feel Brian’s parents disapproved of her.

“I did. Was one of the best in the world to do it, actually,” Rose trumpeted, perhaps embellishing her father’s career a bit. She took a quick sip of her tea, relishing the silence that hung in the air, before placing the cup back down on the saucer. “You may have heard of him. Dusk. In PRIME. Only the best in the world competed there.”

“Well,” Robert interjected. “That’s a noble profession.” The word noble was said in a way that irked Rose as her chin raised slightly and her eyes narrowed. Brian looked on, realizing the next moment could put a topper on the event.

“No—” Rose began before Brian rubbed his fingers on the back of her right arm.

“Sorry, do you mind coming to the kitchen to grab some napkins?” Brian suggested, slightly pulling at Rose as he stood up.

Rose released a breath she didn't know she had been holding as they stepped away. The kitchen was bright, starkly contrasting the suddenly tense atmosphere in the living room. Brian began rummaging through drawers for the napkins, but his actions seemed more like a pretense to give them both a moment away from his parents.

“Rose, I’m sorry about that,” Brian murmured, finally finding a stack of napkins but not turning to hand them to her immediately. “I can’t believe my parents are acting like this.”

“How dare they?” Rose shot back, though her voice wavered slightly. “Your mother was halfway to suggesting I should spread my legs and be a good mother while your father. Your father. Noble? My father made millions doing this. Probably got more money in the bank than he does.”

Brian faced her then, his expression earnest. “Fair, and I should have prepared them better. They have their...opinions, which aren’t fair.” He handed her the napkins, their fingers brushing briefly—a tiny spark of comfort.

“Maybe we can just get through dinner,” Rose suggested with a half-smile, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Yes, let's keep it light. We can do this,” Brian agreed, squeezing her hand gently before they walked back into the living front room.

II.

The cobblestone streets of Lisbon were alive with the hum of daily commerce, bustling with vendors who lined the narrow roads with colorful stalls. Rose and Adeline found themselves amidst a cacophony of voices—shouts from the vendors selling their wares, the laughter of children, and the chatter of tourists mixing with locals. The air was rich with the mingling aromas of sizzling chouriço, sweet pastéis de nata, and the salty breeze from the Tagus River.

Rose held Adeline’s hand tightly as they navigated the vibrant chaos of Feira da Ladra, the famed flea market where treasures and trinkets awaited eager seekers. Adeline’s eyes sparkled with the wonder of a thousand Christmas mornings as she darted her gaze from one stall to another, each vendor’s setup more inviting than the last. Antique azulejos tiles, handcrafted jewelry, vintage books, and an array of eclectic artifacts spread as far as her young eyes could see.

Upon reaching an exceptionally crowded market corner, they came across an old man seated behind a table laden with various mechanical toys and intricate brass instruments. His hands were weathered and wise, moving expertly as he demonstrated a tiny mechanical bird that chirped a hauntingly beautiful melody when wound up. Adeline was mesmerized, her small frame leaning closer to get a better look.

“Oh, can I try?” she asked eagerly, her voice hopeful.

The old vendor nodded gently and handed her the delicate toy. Adeline’s fingers trembled with excitement as she took it, winding it as she had seen him do. The bird sprang to life in her hands, its wings fluttering and a soft tune spilling from its beak, filling the air around them with its sweet notes. Rose watched as Adeline’s face lit up with pure joy, the mechanical bird casting a spell over her.

“Do you like it?” the old man asked, his eyes twinkling with kindness.

“Yes, very much!” Adeline replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she remained captivated by the toy.

Rose reached into her purse, pulling out a few coins. “How much for this little marvel?” she inquired, her heart warmed by the happiness it brought her daughter.

“For you, twenty euros,” the vendor said with a nod towards Adeline. “It is rare to see such genuine delight.”

Rose handed him the money and thanked him. Adeline clutched the mechanical bird close to her chest as they walked away from the stall, afraid that even the slightest misstep might rob her of her new treasure.

They continued wandering through the bustling market, each turn and corner offering new wonders. They passed stalls brimming with handmade ceramics painted in vivid hues, stacks of woolen sweaters against the chill of the ocean air, and leather-bound journals waiting to be filled with unwritten stories.

As they made their way through another row of vendors, Adeline's curiosity was caught by a display of old cameras and photographs. Each snapshot captured a moment frozen in time, telling silent tales of days gone by. She looked up at Rose.

“Mommy, can we take a picture here? With my bird?” she asked eagerly.

Rose smiled and nodded, directing Adeline to stand in front of a backdrop of lush, hanging ivy that draped beautifully near an old camera stall. The camera's owner, a lady with a silver streak running through her hair, set up an ancient-looking camera on a tripod and adjusted the lens to capture Adeline and her prized possession. Adeline posed with the mechanical bird, her smile as bright as the mid-morning sun. Just as the shutter clicked, a sudden gust of wind swept through the market, knocking over a nearby stand of pottery that crashed with a startling sound.

Startled, Adeline jumped, inadvertently squeezing the mechanical bird. A sickening crunch followed; the bird's delicate mechanics were no match for her frightened grip. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked down at the broken toy, its wings now silent and askew.

"Oh no," she whispered, her heart sinking as fast as the broken pieces seemed to weigh in her hands.

Rose quickly knelt beside her daughter, putting an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay, Addie," she said softly, though her heart ached for the sudden loss of joy in her daughter's expression.

"But Mommy, I broke it," Adeline sobbed. "It was so beautiful, and I ruined it."

Rose tightened her embrace, pulling Adeline close. "Listen to me, love. Sometimes things break—whether toys, plans, or even hearts—but we fix them. Maybe they won't be the same, but sometimes they turn out even better."

Adeline sniffed and wiped away tears with the back of her hand. "How do we fix it?" she asked, looking up at her mother with hopeful eyes filled with tears.

Rose examined the bird gently, her fingers tracing over the intricate metal wings and the tiny gears now jumbled inside. "Well, first, we see what can be repaired, and we learn from it," she explained, her voice filled with an optimism she hoped would encourage her daughter.

She held Adeline’s hand, and they returned to the old vendor’s stall. The man looked up as they approached, his smile fading into concern when he saw the tears on Adeline's face and the broken toy in her hands.

"We had a little accident," Rose explained. "Is there any chance you could help us fix this?"

The old vendor took the mechanical bird from Rose’s hand and looked it over carefully. His fingers moved with practiced skill as he assessed each piece. After a few moments, he glanced up at Adeline.

"It's delicate work," he said thoughtfully. "But not impossible. Come, let us see what we can do."

He led them to a small workbench cluttered with tools and parts of other toys and instruments. Adeline watched intently as he began to disassemble the bird carefully, meticulously laying out each piece on his work surface.

"See here," he pointed to a snapped spring and a bent gear. "These are the parts that need replacing."

He rummaged through a box of spare parts, eventually pulling out a few similar items. He then set to work, his hands steady as he replaced the damaged parts. Every so often, he would glance up at Adeline, offering a reassuring smile as she watched the transformation of her beloved toy with a mix of curiosity and concern.

The old vendor worked with quiet concentration, his tools making soft clicks and clinks as they touched the delicate parts of the mechanical bird. The sun shifted in the sky, casting dappled shadows over the market as time seemed to slow down around them.

“There,” he finally announced, holding up the bird. It was not exactly as before; there were subtle differences where he had made adjustments. He wound it up and set it gently on the table. The bird chirped again, its melody slightly altered but no less beautiful.

Adeline’s face lit up, her earlier despair washed away by the waves of music from her mended treasure. "It sounds a little different," she observed.

"Yes," the vendor nodded. "Sometimes repairs bring a new voice to our treasures. It's unique now, just like you."

Adeline beamed, taking the bird carefully in her hands. "Thank you, sir," she said gratefully, her eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness.

“You are very welcome, young lady.” The vendor’s eyes twinkled as he watched her admire the bird. “Remember, nothing truly loved is ever truly lost; it just sometimes takes on a new form.”

Rose thanked the vendor profusely as they prepared to leave. She tucked a few extra coins into his hand, which he tried to refuse but eventually accepted with a humble nod.

As they walked back through the market, Adeline clutched her precious bird close, its song mingling with the sounds of the market.

III.

Adeline sat on the couch of their three-bedroom hotel suite in Lisbon. Tropical Turmoil was on the horizon, and Lorelai could see Rose shifting into ‘performance mode.’

“How was the market?” Lorelai inquired. “Adeline seems to have made a new friend.”

“She did! It was a great market, something I could explore every single day if I could. The little bird, though, was a great treat for her. We had an incident where the mechanical bird broke, and I thought this little girl would melt into the floor,” Rose explained.

“Poor Addie,” Lorelai remarked, clutching her chest. The little girl had found a particular spot in Lorelai’s heart and hated seeing pain or anguish grace her presence.

“I know. I had to talk to her about perseverance. We don’t just fold under pressure but must figure out a way around it. It reminded me of the first time I met Brian’s parents.”

Lorelai leaned forward. “They didn’t like you?”

“Definitely not. Here I was, nineteen years old, going to law school with a professional wrestler as a father. They saw me as wanting this career, which would delay them from having any grandkids anytime soon — if ever. My father was beneath them in their eyes, despite his net worth being probably more than theirs. They just looked at me like I wasn’t good enough — that I was from the wrong side of the tracks.”

Lorelai rolled her eyes. “Gross.”

“Agreed,” Rose retorted with a slight laugh.

“How did you get them to come around on you?”

Rose shook her head. “They never did. Didn’t like me; I didn’t care. It’s come out a bit more recently, but I have a pretty ‘fuck you’ attitude if you rub me the wrong way.

“What? No way,” Lorelai jested while drinking from her water bottle. “I always wondered where they were.”

“They tried to stay involved after Brian passed, but between my father taking us to Montana shortly after that, they didn’t have a great way to stay in touch, which worked fine for me. I never saw Adeline in them — Brian was nothing like those two. And I don’t think Adeline is missing anything by not being there.”

“Well, I think you’ve built a pretty good family around them,” Adeline offered.

“Thanks,” Rose responded. After a moment, “I think that worries me most about Kenny. He perseveres when others would fold with the record he has.” Her mind turned towards her Tropical Turmoil opponent, knowing in less than 48 hours, she would be opening her third massive event.

“For someone with a bit of a winning streak, you seem still nervous,” Lorelai suggested.

“O’Neill was riding high after his War Games victory. Gamble was about conquering a nightmare. Freeman, he’s different. Everyone looks at him, thinking they don’t have to take him seriously. He’s dangerous, though. He competes every step of the way. When you think you can count him out, he pulls a fast one over you. He’s always thinking, always looking at things from a different angle. Too many before me have underestimated him and found their back on the canvas, wondering what just happened.”

Lorelai momentarily let the words hang in the air before she rose from her chair, sleep getting the best of her. “They could say the same about you. O’Neill and Gamble both underestimated you and found themselves losing to you. Maybe Freeman is going to do the same.”

Rose shook her head, though. “He doesn’t. He knows how everyone perceives him — I wonder if he does it intentionally. To make people overlook him. He’s a fighter, and beyond that, he thinks outside the box. He’s creative and will do everything to keep me on my toes. Ivan doesn’t surround himself with fools -- for the most part.”

Rose leaned against the counter. “He’s not my enemy, though. Just for one night, he will stand across from me. He was foolish thinking he could challenge RIA like that. RIA has been too good since she’s returned to having someone challenge her without earning it. Kenny needs to earn it, and I will stand in his way. He’s not my enemy, but I will do what I must to pick up this third victory.”

“Heard,” Lorelai chuckled before kissing Rose on the cheek. “I’m going to call my Dad and get some rest. You staying up with her?”

“Yeah. Need to gameplan for Freeman a bit more. You excited about getting home?”

Lorelai nodded, inching towards the bedroom. “I can’t wait to see my Dad. How about you?”

“Yeah, same here. It’ll be good to see my Dad as well. He hasn’t called me back this trip, so it would be good to put eyes on him.

Lorelai waved, the words playing in her mind, before cocking her head to the side as she closed her bedroom door — realizing something was amiss.

IV.

Lorelai groggily wiped the sleep from her eyes and sat slowly in bed. Her ears noticed the sound of a television coming from the hotel room's living room.

As she slipped out of her bed and walked towards the living room, she saw the clock on the nightstand, and it read 02:00. Early morning, she told herself while opening the bedroom door and carefully stepping through the threshold.

Lorelai looked around before noticing Rose and Adeline asleep on the couch. After a moment of taking in the moment, she grabbed a blanket and covered the two up. She debated waking Rose, but she knew that with another match in less than forty-eight hours, jostling her at this point in the evening would put her in a fragile state of mind.

Slowly, Lorelai stepped back into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. Her fingers tussled her hair slightly before she walked over to her nightstand and grabbed her phone, pulling the charger from it. Her father hadn’t answered earlier, but as she momentarily tapped her phone, she hoped he would as she inched towards the window overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

The phone rang in her ear for a moment before a click was heard on the other end.

“Hey, Dad,” Lorelai began. “We’ve got a problem.”