21. Chapter 21
Lunch was almost normal, a stark comparison to breakfast. It wasn’t anything special, considering Felix and Mirabel were the only competent ones in the kitchen. Competence here meant edible, not fancy. So the lunch of sandwiches using the leftover breakfast rolls with chicken and cheese was simple but filling compared to the more complex fare the family was used to, thanks to Julietta’s mastery of most culinary things. Still, there was a lighter feeling to the air, aided by the fact that most of the family at the table were in decent spirits. Dolores, Luisa, and Felix were discussing the new bridge’s construction. Felix had taken Luisa’s place by helping lead the donkey trains from the quarry. Luisa still seemed nervous, but this seemed more like the anxiety of someone who was forced to hand off a project they felt they shouldn’t. Agustin was silent but hadn’t stayed long anyway. He had volunteered to take food up to Alma and Isabella, the first still on Casita mandated lockdown, and the latter having holed herself up in her room just after breakfast. Pepa, feeling better after the… exuberant heart to heart … she and her niece had, was discussing afternoon plans with Antonio, the boy turning to Mirabel every so often to get her thoughts on things.
Overall, the entire meal felt lighter than usual, although, for Mirabel and Dolores, it was obvious that that was because the ones who were still struggling were avoiding lunch. According to Dolores, Camillo had been … well, the best she could approximate was moping, although that felt like a demeaning way to put it. He had been spending a lot of time with his friends, which was good in Dolores’ book, but at the same time, he was barely talking to them. It was wholly opposed to the frantic continuous motion and popping of transformations she was used to hearing from her younger brother. And it worried her more than she would care to comment. Without his extreme energy, Camillo was like a cart moving without a donkey or horse. You know something should be driving it, but you don’t know what. It unnerved Dolores, and upon sharing those nerves with Mirabel, it returned merely creases at her cheeks and an assurance that it would be fine. Nevertheless, something told Dolores that this wouldn’t go as well as Mirabel hoped it would.
The two finally caught up with the shapeshifter on the edge of town as he was leaving his friends to do their afternoon chores. The two girls had almost not recognized him because of the form he had chosen to take. They were used to the Camillo, who was just a head shorter than Dolores, with wildly curly hair and his father’s rounded face. So, it took a second glance to catch him when he was taller than Dolores, with wavy hair and the more angular features of his mother. Even more worrying to the older of the two was the tight grimace of thought stamped on her brother’s face.
Dolores wasn’t of the (worryingly common) opinion that her oldest brother was an empty-headed joker. He was good at hiding his brain activity behind masks of all sorts. Even annoyed at his antics, she always acknowledged the intellect needed to pull off his stunts alongside his duties. The fact that he was outwardly showing that he was thinking about something unpleasant to him made her even more confident that this wouldn’t be as pleasant as the one with Luisa had been for Mirabel.
Somewhat unexpectedly, Mirabel was the one to make first contact, quietly sidling up to the boy and poking him in the side. Dolores absently noted it was the place that Casita tended to smack him when the house was trying to remonstrate with him.
“Gah!” Camilo yelped, shifting through a few random townsfolk before settling back into his usual form. “What was that for?!”
Mirabel snorted and replied, somewhat acerbically, “I noticed the smoke and decided to interrupt before you caught fire.” Her face lightened when he looked genuinely hurt by the remark, giving a knee-jerk (“Sorry”) before continuing, “Joking aside, What’s up? I know we’re not close anymore, but you’re not acting like yourself, and it’s kind of worrying to see you so quiet. Of course, that’s my shtick, and It’s weird to need to do all the talking.”
Camillo shrunk a bit to look Mirabel in the eye before crossing his arms, “What do you care? Last I checked, you didn’t talk to anyone in the family for anything.”
Mirabel raised an eyebrow, “It’s hard to talk to people when they’re constantly ignoring you. Unfortunately, not everyone is enough of a showman to force people to pay attention to them. And I’m certainly not in a position where doing that would end well for me.”
Camillo grimaced and sat down on a bench next to the road throwing his hands up and exclaiming, “Whatever. Like that’s actually a problem!”
Mirabel looked at him askance and snarked, “Tell me how you really feel.”
The boy huffed, “Well, not that you actually care, but… The problem is being a showman. I’ve lived my whole life playing to the crowd. First, I was the first male born into our generation of the family, so there were expectations that I should be just like Abuelo. Especially with Bruno not living up to anyone’s expectations of him taking the reins of the family. I had to live with the comments about how I looked just like Abuelo or how I compared to him. And I had to act how I was expected to in public because if I didn’t, then Abuela would get that disappointed look on her face and scold me. Then I got my gift, and everyone wondered what sort of useless ability Shapeshifting was. And I thought for a moment that I would get an escape. I could be anyone I wanted to be. If I didn’t want to be Camillo with all his expectations, I could be Carlos or Sara, or Juan, or whoever I felt like. It was a-maz-ing… for all of a year. Then the expectations shifted.”
Despite both girls looking uncomfortable with how this was going, he barreled on, releasing the thoughts as they came, not really caring who was listening anymore.
“People stopped caring about if I was like Abuelo, which was nice. But then they started to see me as who they wanted me to be. I was expected to become other people and just accept all the shit they didn’t want to deal with. I’ve had to take care of children for parents and run stores during their busiest hours. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve been blackmailed by the priest into giving bad news to families on his behalf or by other kids our age to break up with their boyfriend or girlfriend for them. I’m not allowed to be who I want to be anymore. Now I have to be who everyone else wants me to be.”
Dolores grimaced at the diatribe but felt she had to ask, “But I thought you liked acting, filling in for everyone else. You always said it was the best improv exercise ever.”
Mirabel nodded, “Yeah, you always seemed too happy to get out and be whoever. What changed?”
Camillo kicked a rock lying near the bench, “What changed is that my friends couldn’t remember what my actual face was. What changed was that I don’t even know who I want to be, much less who I am NOW.”
He huffed, “I’ve spent so much of my life being who everyone expects me to be, filling in the blanks in everyone else’s life that I don’t know what I want. You would think that someone who changes their face every day would be intimately familiar with their sense of identity, but I’m barely on speaking terms with mine. Even worse, no one is willing to give me time to figure myself out; they’re all too busy telling me who they ‘need’ me to be. The pranks are the only thing that’s been keeping me distinct from a soup of various townsfolk. Hell, even those are starting to be part of the act; I don’t even know if I enjoy them anymore.”
Mirabel blinked. She hadn’t expected that; She was expecting something less existential like that he didn’t feel appreciated or bothered by the rumors that were apparently floating around. So the fact that he was having a major identity crisis was a rather large surprise. But there was something she needed to say, even if it probably wouldn’t help in the short term.
“Honestly, I would have been happy with whoever you wanted to be if you had spent time with me.” She replied, trying and failing to keep all the accusations inherent to that statement out of her voice. “When we were little, I didn’t need you to be anything but my friend. I couldn’t have cared less what you looked like or what your name or face or gender or whatever was on a given day. I just wanted to spend time with my best friend. That was all I needed you to be. The first few years of my life, you were, at least, according to Mama.”
Mirabel continued, feeling better as she put the acidic thoughts into basic air without much care as to what the reaction would be. “I don’t really remember much of who you were anymore, to be honest. I definitely have no clue who you are now other than my relati- … cousin.” Mirabel flinched a bit at her slip-up, “You suddenly stopped hanging out with me when my door disappeared. I didn’t really know why, and it really hurt. And that was all you could be to me after that: the Once-and-Future Best Friend, who left me in that state of limbo without even treating me to a why you stopped acknowledging my existence.
She sighed, “I guess that Ifs aren’t all that helpful, though. I could tell you on and on how, IF we had stayed close, you would have me to help, talk to, etcetera, etcetera. But, honestly, we aren’t anymore, and I don’t even know if we’re even compatible as friends anymore. Even the problem you have is one I don’t think I could help with. I don’t know the answer to that question regarding you or myself. I’m only just starting to figure myself out; I’m willing to bet that your current friends are too. So I doubt that anyone that you would actually want to talk to has any satisfying answer, much less your weird cousin who the family tries not to acknowledge, much less talk to.”
Mirabel wanted to say more, to continue and maybe at least try helping him. But something had stopped her in her tracks. She had felt Camillo cringe at that last remark, but he notably didn’t argue against it either. And that was enough for Mirabel to suddenly realize that whatever they had before wasn’t going to be happening ever again. Of course, they could make up and probably even reinstate some form of familial bond again. But they wouldn’t be able to return to the best friends that Mama Cassie had insisted to her on those lonely nights years ago that they were and could be again. Because to him, she wasn’t that best friend anymore. Mirabel wasn’t sure if he ultimately agreed that she was what she had just offhandedly called herself, but they both were different enough that they wouldn't ever get back to those two close-as-thieves five-year-olds.
When things had gone arguably better than expected with Pepa this morning, it had brought forth hope that things could be mended. That all the little dreams and hopes that a young lonely Mirabel had made before she was forced to grow up would finally start coming true. This realization of the permanence of her estrangement, even if it was just this one case, had tarnished that spark of hope. And that was enough for her willpower to peter out and her voice to leave her.
Mirabel took a ragged breath out and got up from where she sat next to him. She couldn’t, really, shouldn’t help him with this. Maybe Dolores could, but Mirabel was an outsider here. She couldn’t help him with an identity crisis, and she knew that while this clearing of the air may help them patch things later, their relationship was way too estranged for her to be of any use right now. So now, it would be better if she left the siblings to it. The warm glow Mirabel always felt from her connection with her Mama shivered and cooled a bit from that thought, though the constant feeling of love and acceptance surged to comfort her.
(“Dolores,”) Mirabel’s Prima looked over from the other side of the bench and nodded while Camillo looked confused, (“I’m going to take a walk for a bit. I don’t think I’ll be of use this time. Let me know how it goes, and if you need me … well, you’ll know where to find me.”)
Dolores nodded and returned reservedly, “Ok, stay safe, Prima. I’ll be listening.”
Mirabel gave Dolores a hug in parting and started towards the town but paused a second. There was something she needed to air before she would be ok with leaving this here. The girl gathered as much courage as possible, and then, over her shoulder, she threw, “See you around, Camillo. I hope you’re able to find yourself. I’d love to meet whoever they are.”
Mirabel kept walking, not looking back even when she thought she heard a faint “Same here.” from behind her as she crested the ridge and left the two siblings to their discussion. The warmth returned, still cooler than it had been before the meeting.
Mirabel set a course for her Tias’ shops. She needed to get away from Madrigals for a while. Interacting with so many people who she had spent most of her life begging for scraps of affection from to no avail was disinterring dead discarded hopes which she would prefer to stay buried. She needed time to re-bury those dreams before they, and her tenuous peace of mind, got maimed any further.