21. Rubble And Ruins

When Bruno had claimed that it would be a long walk, he almost certainly had not been referring to the physical length. Which yes, was rather extensive, but nothing impossible, seeing that a woman who was literally seventy-five years old made it up there without a sweat.

No, he had been referring to how awkward it was going to be.

(Describing it as awkward was an understatement).

“So…” Bruno began, drumming his fingers along his thigh as they began the trek back. A few minutes had elapsed, with no one being brave enough to permeate the silence. “Nice jungle we’re having, right?”

Well, that had made no sense. Mirabel had to stifle a snicker; she hadn’t known it was possible, but he was somehow more awkward around Abuela than he had ever been with her. Ten years of separation tended to have that effect, she supposed.

“I like the palm trees,” she agreed. “Very jungle-y.”

Bruno must have sensed that she was mocking him, because he shot her a side-eyed glare (which wasn’t very scary or intimidating because it was Bruno). And then, as if realizing that Mirabel was his only ally in this situation, he shot her another look, this one screaming help me, please, I’m begging you!

Luckily for him, Mirabel was up for the task.

“Abuela, did you know that when Bruno was living in the walls, he would make rats act out telenovelas?”

Next to her, Bruno’s eyes widened in alarm, before he made a very vigorous slashing motion with his arms, this time silently conveying stop it, cut it out!

Abuela’s eyebrows quirked up, a poorly concealed smile gracing her calm features. “Did he now?”

Bruno continued to make cutting motions, now resorting to faux slicing his fingers across his throat in a desperate attempt to shut her up. Mirabel ignored his pleas; he had asked for her help, right? She could argue that she was helping, because even this had to be better than the uncomfortable silence that had plagued them moments earlier (even if it came at the cost of Bruno’s dignity). “Oh yeah. He even does silly little voices for the rats. Can you believe it? He’s so committed to getting in character, it’s honestly amazing.”

Bruno groaned and slapped a palm to his forehead in defeat. Mirabel’s compliment tacked on at the end was noted, of course, but it was difficult to fully appreciate when she had dragged him through the mud in the same breath.

Abuela let out a chuckle, turning to the man in question. “You always liked your rats, didn’t you Brunito?”

Suddenly finding himself under her austere, regal gaze, Bruno folded in on himself, fidgeting as he glanced away. The palm trees were looking awfully enticing at the moment, apparently. “I, er, well, they helped keep me company. They made it less lonely.”

And just like that, they dipped back into silence, Bruno’s words killing the light mood that Mirabel had fought so hard to achieve.

Great going, Tío, she mentally berated, but at the same time? This was good. This was progress. She could use this to her advantage; use it to facilitate a conversation that desperately needed to happen.

“Did you know that Bruno always stole food from the kitchen? And fed it to his rats?” she asked, clasping her hands behind her back innocently. “Also, did you know that he would always eat dinner with us, just on the other side of the wall in the dining room?” Okay, so that last one had been pure speculation, and was definitely out of pocket to share, but Mirabel felt like his plate drawn onto the table was pretty indicative of this fact.

Bruno gave her an affronted look, one of pure betrayal. “Mirabel! Why would you tell her that?!” he hissed through his teeth, the panic evident in his voice as his eyes nervously darted towards Abuela.

Mirabel’s reasoning was revealed at Abuela’s response.

“Why, Brunito? Why did you leave, if you were just going to stay so close?”

And there it was! Mirabel did a little jig in her head, that was the exact question she had been fishing for. Of course, she could have always just asked Bruno to explain outright, but where was the fun in that? Not to mention, this felt much more organic, even if her words and forced lines of conversation were anything but natural.

A self-indulgent smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. This was just her ‘Mirabel Magic’ at work here, there was not a single doubt about it.

Bruno’s reaction to Abuela’s question was not nearly so exuberant. He flinched, a pained grimace stretching his features. “Oh you know…” he began, drawing out the words as he struggled to respond, “…reasons?”

Abuela didn’t hesitate a second. “What reasons, mijo?”

Bruno sighed and ran a hand through his hair. And then, after a few moments of him working his jaw, practically chewing on the words he wanted to speak, he told Abuela what he had told Mirabel. That he had left because he knew his visions were hurting people, rather than helping. Because if his vision about Mirabel being the source of the loss of the miracle was revealed, Mirabel would suffer. Because he knew that he no longer was wanted or belonged.

He rambled, in typical Bruno fashion, and for once, no one cut him off. Abuela listened intently, hanging on to every word with rapt attention. And when he was finally done, his final statement trailing off into nothing, Abuela merely reached out and rested her hands on his forearm, her step falling into sync with his. They walked like for a few minutes, before she finally said, “Thank you for sharing with me, Brunito.”

Pulling away from him, Abuela turned her attention towards Mirabel. “How long did you know he was with us?”

Now it was Mirabel’s turn to grimace; she didn’t like it nearly as much when she was the focus of Abuela’s attention. “Not too long,” she said after a few seconds of hesitation. “Only a few weeks.”

Mirabel sucked at the inside of her cheek, her mind racing with the possibilities of what Abuela would say next. Why didn’t you tell us? Why did you lie to your family? Why would you keep him hidden away from us?

However, Abuela’s response was very different from anything she was expecting. “Well, I’m just glad the two of you found each other,” she said, bobbing her head with a distant, forlorn smile.  

Mirabel and Bruno exchanged glances. Neither of them had been anticipating that response. Scolding, yelling, condescending words, anything that could be used to convey anger and disappointment, that was more familiar. But this odd understanding? It was unprecedented and completely out of character.          

Seemingly aware of how she had rendered the two of them mute, Abuela continued the conversation. “And what would the two of you… do? During your time together?”

Mirabel snapped out of her stupor. That was an easy question to answer. “Well, he would show me his favorite telenovelas. He’s quite the storyteller!”

Abuela turned toward Bruno with an arched eyebrow. “Oh? With the rats, I presume?”

Shrinking under her scrutiny, Bruno averted his gaze. “Er… yes. With the rats.” He sounded mortified, because when you described someone’s hobby as ‘acting out telenovelas with rats,’ it sounded pretty embarrassing.  

“What were they about?”

Bruno’s expression lit up. That was an easy question for him to answer.

His animated explanation of his recent telenovela plot carried them all the way back to town, his earlier reservations and hesitation to speak melting away as he sunk into the familiarity of his passion for storytelling. It was amazing, Mirabel noted, to watch him emerge from his shell, sinking back into easy conversation with Abuela as if ten years hadn’t passed since they’d seen each other. As if the magic hadn’t vanished, and he hadn’t lost his gift since then.

And Abuela, a glow within her eyes that Mirabel didn’t think she had ever before seen, seemed more than content to listen. In fact, she almost seemed overjoyed, the sheer happiness at talking with her son erasing the years of weariness, melting away in his gangly presence.

As they walked through town, the sunrise painting the sky a splotchy shade of pink and lilac, Mirabel’s young friends— the same kids that had hounded her for her gift on the day of Antonio’s ceremony— excitedly ran up to greet them before dashing off without allowing Mirabel to get a single word in.

That had been odd. Nice to be welcomed back, sure, but still odd.

Shaking off the peculiar interaction, Mirabel nearly gasped when she saw the wreckage that the broken miracle had wrought as they walked over the crest of the hill. Casita was in worse shape than she remembered.

Sucking in air through her teeth when she saw the rubble, the ruin, she felt a pressing sense of guilt sink down on her shoulders. Despite her conversations with both Abuela and Bruno, she still couldn’t help but feel like some of it (or rather, all of it), was her fault.

 This was quickly forgotten as they reached the outskirts of the destruction, the three of them pausing before they would all be in view of the rest of the family.  

Abuela, sensing the hesitation from both Mirabel and Bruno, stepped forward, her face kind and understanding. “I’ll be right back,” she said, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Mirabel leaned into the contact, craving its comfort and warmth, and felt a twinge of sadness when she pulled away. “Take all the time you need.”

And then, they were alone.

The reality of their predicament seemed to come crashing down on Bruno, as he turned to Mirabel with a wild glint in his eyes. “Mirabel, I….” His eyes darted between her and the rubble, the only thing separating him from the family he had fled from so many years ago. He shook his head, a slight tremble in his lips as he struggled to speak. “I can’t do this. I can’t go back.”

“Hey,” she said, angling herself so that she was between him and Casita’s wreckage. “It’s okay. We’ll go back, together.”

Bruno let out a groan. “I, uh, I don’t know about this. There are no more walls for me to hide in! What am I going to do, talk to everyone out in the open?! Nuh-uh. No way!”

Sensing that her current soothing tactic would get her nowhere, Mirabel changed strategies. “Hernando wouldn’t hesitate like this.”

“I’m not Hernando,” Bruno hissed in response, the fear evident in his tone.

“No, you’re not,” Mirabel agreed; an unexpected reply, given how Bruno recoiled with an expression of puzzlement and mild hurt. “You’re Bruno, and your family loves you very much and are very excited to see you. You can do this.”

Her clarification was all he needed to hear. Straightening his posture, he rolled his shoulders out, as if warming up to run, or lift up something heavy, or do anything related to exercise and not something as simple and low-effort as walking around a corner.  “You’re right. You’re right! I can do this, I can do this, I….” His voice faltered, and the shoulder rolls ceased as he crumpled and slouched over. “…can’t do this. Ay Dios mío, I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can. We’re going to do this. Right now.”

Placing her hands on his forearm, Mirabel gently dragged him behind her, Bruno falling into a hesitant, reluctant step beside her. To her delight, he didn’t run or pull away, but rather allowed himself to be guided up the ruined steps, over the nonexistent entryway, around the corner of rubble….

Beneath her grasp, Mirabel could feel his muscles tense and flex, the nerves causing him to involuntarily fidget. “Is there, uh, any way we can reschedule this for tomorrow? Or maybe the day after? Or maybe never at all?”

Mirabel could hear the voices of her family speaking. The soft undertones, and the occasional peal of laughter, somehow ringing out despite the dire circumstances. She hadn’t even been gone a day, and she found herself missing them dearly already. How had Bruno been able to live within the walls for ten years, hearing everyone speak, and resist the urge to return and see them again?

Félix said something, and a chorus of light, hollow laughs followed. Mirabel’s gut twisted in response. It must have been excruciating for her Tío Bruno.

They reached the edge of the crumbled wall. One more step and they would be out in the open, and their family would see them.

Mirabel took a deep breath. “We’re doing this. And we’re doing this now.”

She had barely emerged when her mother caught sight of her, dropping the basket of recovered food she had been holding as she ran over towards her daughter. “Mirabel!” she cried, rushing over to scoop Mirabel up in a tight hug. Augustín was right behind her, joining the hug with large, swollen hands that dwarfed her frame.

“Dad,” Mirabel said as she returned the embrace. “You, uh….”

“Got stung again?” Augustín finished for her, itching idly at his swollen spots. He had a lot, much more than usual, much to Mirabel’s sympathy and disdain. “There were bees, everywhere. It was a nightmare! I’ll be okay though, mija, I’m more worried about you.”

Even though he was red, puffy, and seemed to be in a lot of pain, a small smile wormed its way on Mirabel’s face as she saw her father. In a weird way, it was nice to see that things hadn’t changed. They may have lost their miracle, but they were still the Madrigals.

And in Augustín’s case, this meant that he was still getting stung by bees. Naturally.

Her train of thought was interrupted as Julieta drew back, catching sight of Mirabel’s companion. “Bruno?”  Pepa stepped up next to her, the same question sitting unspoken on her lips.

In response, Bruno lifted his hand and waved it in a weak greeting, his tired features stretching out into the world’s saddest, most pathetic grin. Pepa and Julieta merely stared in shock, their eyes wide and bodies frozen. After a few long, uncomfortable moments of this, Bruno dropped his hand and smile, turning towards Mirabel with an expression of exhausted distress. “You know what? On second thought, I think I’m going to go back to the river. Maybe drown myself. I don’t know yet, I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

Pepa and Julieta still stared in disbelief. Pepa, at least, had the power to break free from her petrification, only to lift a hand to cover her mouth, which simply served to increase her stunned visage.

“Yep,” Bruno continued as everyone, not just Pepa and Julieta, continued to stare at him. “I would say that this has been fun, except that would be lying. Because this hasn’t been fun. It’s been very awkward. So if you don’t mind, it’s been nice seeing you all, I’ll just go, and we can all pretend that this never—”

Julieta and Pepa lunged forward, each of them seizing Bruno’s sides and enveloping him in one big, vicious hug. Bruno’s eyes popped out of their sockets from the intensity, and if one were to have listened closely, they would hear the sound of the air being forced from his lungs as he got the wind knocked out of his chest, the force of the sisters’ squeeze too powerful for his slight frame.

“—happened,” he finished weakly, his voice tinted with a slight wheeze as he overcame his initial jolt from the assaulting embrace.  

This was held for a few long seconds, before Bruno weaseled his way out of the contact. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, ducking from under Julieta and Pepa’s arms as he escaped the choking hug. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” Julieta asked. “Why would we be mad?”

“I’m a little mad,” Pepa admitted, laughing as she wiped a stray tear of emotion from the corner of her eye. “But I’m more happy that you’re back.”

Bruno grimaced. Apparently, Pepa being ‘a little mad’ had been exactly what he had been fearing. “Listen, Pepa, I’m so sorry about ruining your wedding day, when I said that it looked like it might rain, that wasn’t a prophecy, I could just tell that you were nervous! I didn’t expect it to, you know, create hurricane, I just—”

“Wait, what?” Pepa interjected. Apparently she, like Mirabel, could sense when Bruno was about to spiral into one of his nonsensical ramblings, and stepped in before it could get out of hand. “Bruno, I’m not mad about my wedding day.”

Behind her, the Madrigal grandchildren, Félix, and Augustín all exchanged dubious, skeptical glances.

There was a beat. “Well maybe I’m a little mad.”  

The dubious glances turned to knowing ones. That was more like the Pepa they all knew and loved. She had been talking about her ruined wedding for years; there was no way that she had gotten over it overnight. Not a chance.

“But no,” Pepa continued, “the real reason is that when Mirabel mentioned that you were still in Casita, we looked everywhere for you, but couldn’t find you… Bruno, we thought we had lost you, a second time. We’re just happy that you’re safe.”

“And maybe just a little mad,” Julieta chimed in, but the smile on her face and the twinkle in her eyes told them that she was not mad, not in the slightest.

Bruno wrung his hands together. “I… probably deserve that,” he admitted with a nervous chuckle.  

Abuela, who had been watching the triplets reunite with a sad, teary smile, stepped forward. She clasped his hands in her own, and Bruno, to his credit, didn’t flinch away from the contact. “We’ve missed you so much, Brunito. And I’m so sorry that I drove you away from this family.” She turned toward Pepa and Julieta, the two of them having withdrawn from the hug to grasp at one another. “And for holding on to you two so tight, because I was scared you would leave us too.”

“You didn’t drive me away, Mama,” Bruno protested, “I left on my own accord. I promise, it wasn’t you.” He turned toward Julieta. “Or you.” He glanced at Pepa. “Or you. Or anyone, really. It was… it was just for the best, at the time. I didn’t mean to make everyone worry.”

An awkward silence descended over everyone. No one really knew how to respond to that.

Félix, however, always upbeat and enthusiastic about everything, no matter the circumstances, could sense the shift in mood. So, he inserted himself into the conversation, literally. By pushing past Pepa so that he stood in the middle of the makeshift circle they had created, waving his arms around wildly. “Now that the triplets are back together, the family Madrigal will be unstoppable!”

“Félix,” Pepa muttered, swatting at his arm, “That’s not—”

“Unstoppable!”

That was enough to break the tense ice, stimulating the beginnings of hesitant, stunted conversations. As the adults reunited, Mirabel stepped away, going to join her siblings and cousins where they stood off to the side. They were watching the exchange in silence, only tearing their eyes away as Mirabel approached.

“So that’s… Bruno?” Camilo was the one to break the silence, pointing at their Tío with a delicate motion of his slender fingers.

Antonio nodded smugly. He liked being ‘in the know,’ even though he had only found out about Bruno a day ago. That technically made him better than everyone else, at least in the mind of a five-year old. “That’s Bruno,” he confirmed.  

Camilo looked down at his hands, and back at Bruno, and then back at his hands again. “…I think I got some details wrong when I would shapeshift into him.”

Mirabel laughed. “I mean, you got most of it right. Maybe not the seven-foot-frame part, but the rest was pretty accurate!”

Next to them, Dolores shook her head. “He’s finally out of the walls, after all this time. Do you have any idea how excruciating it was, to listen to him shuffle around with the rats back there, for ten years?”

“Why was it excruciating?” Mirabel asked, turning toward her. “Was it annoying?”

“No,” she said with a soft sigh. “It was just difficult hearing him be so close to home.”

Dolores’ admission was not lost on Mirabel. “So you’re telling me that you knew this entire time, right?”

Her cousin gave her a side eye, the corners of her mouth curling up in a light smirk. “Yep.”

Mirabel groaned, burying her forehead into her palms. “Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?! You were so… so… cryptic!”

“I kept dropping hints that I wanted to meet him. I was waiting for you to introduce me.”

“You were?!”

“What? I thought it was obvious.”

“Dolores, that was not obvious at all!”

Mirabel was distracted as she felt something tug at her skirts. Looking down, she saw Antonio looking up at her with big, pleading eyes. “Why didn’t you tell any of us that Tío Bruno was back there?” he asked, his voice tinged with a smidge of hurt. He had been one of the first ones to find out, but that didn’t change the fact that Mirabel had kept it hidden for such a long period of time.

Mirabel wrung her hands out. “I mean, the thing is, you see… I didn’t exactly know it was Tío Bruno until….” She paused, the humiliating admission too embarrassing for her to say out loud. “A few days ago.”

All of them stared at Mirabel, stunned into silence. Not used to such gaping, intense scrutiny, Mirabel averted her gaze with a grimace, rubbing her arm awkwardly.

Camilo was the first to speak up. “Mirabel, that makes it so much worse, that you thought there was a stranger living in our walls and you didn’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks Camilo.”

“That’s, like, really bad.”

“Thanks, Camilo.”

“What I don’t understand,” Luisa interjected, “is how were you able to keep him secret for so long? You’re kind of bad at keeping secrets.”

Before Mirabel had the chance to defend herself, and politely inform Luisa that she was perfectly fine at keeping secrets, thank you very much, Dolores spoke on her behalf. “She only knew for a few weeks. That really isn’t that long.” Of course, that was compared to Dolores keeping the secret for a whopping ten years, which naturally would put Mirabel’s efforts to shame. She never stood a chance.  

“Still! A few weeks is really impressive, for her at least!”

“Who cares if it's impressive or not? Are we really just going to gloss over the fact that she thought Tío Bruno was a random stranger, and not our Tío?!”

Watching her family banter with one another, Mirabel suddenly realized that one of them was missing. The snobby, stuck-up princess, always one to sneer and make a snide comment, was absent. Looking around, Mirabel spotted Isabela sitting off to the side on a fallen pillar. She was hunched over herself, staring at the ground with her hands braced against the makeshift bench she sat on. Her flowery lilac dress was ruined, covered in soot and torn in various places, and her hair didn’t fare much better, with the ends all knotty and tangled and loose strands poking up and out of place.

Leaving her Louisa, Dolores, Camilo, and Antonio behind, Mirabel approached Isabela slowly. At the sound of Mirabel’s footsteps, she looked up, pinning Mirabel with a weary gaze.

“Isa.”

“Mirabel.” There was a beat, the two of them staring at each other. “I… I’m glad you’re okay. You had us all worried. Very worried.”

Mirabel didn’t know why she had come over here in the first place, and she was already beginning to regret it. This conversation was starting to delve into uncomfortable, untrodden territory, and it had barely started. She was nowhere near mentally prepared enough to handle it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you guys worry like that, I… just didn’t want to be around anymore. I didn’t think you guys wanted to see me.” She gestured at the spot on the fallen pillar next to Isabela. “May I sit down?”

Isabela nodded, scooting over to give Mirabel some more room. The fringe of her dress dragged through the dirt, further soiling the hem that was normally very pristine and dainty.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the reunion play out in front of them. Bruno, to Mirabel’s mild surprise, already seemed to be more comfortable than when he had first stepped foot in the rubble. He was miming a large explosion, pretending to run in place and picking up random things out of the air with a wild motion. Mirabel couldn’t prevent the smile the blossomed on her face; he was always so animated when telling his stories, and she could only assume that he was sharing how he escaped Casita’s crash and saved a few rats along the way.  

“So,” Isabela said after a long stretch of silence, “you knew Bruno was back there the whole time?”

Mirabel tore her eyes away from the rest of the family and turned to look at her sister. “Yep. Well, for only a few weeks. So maybe not the whole time, no.”

“And that time you walked out of a painting in the wall, that was because you were…?”

“Visiting Bruno, yep.”

There was another prolonged gap of no speaking. “Mirabel, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a while ago.”

Mirabel leaned forward, trying to catch Isabela’s gaze, but her sister tactfully looked away, apparently finding a fragmented chair sitting nearby to be much more interesting.

“The way I treated you,” she began after a moment, “for all these years… it wasn’t right. Mirabel, I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Mirabel asked. She didn’t waste any time asking her clarifying question; it had been something on her mind for ages, but she never had the opportunity (or gall) to ask. “Why were you always so mean? To be fair, I wasn’t always the nicest either, but things between us were….” She tapped her fingers together, struggling to find the right manner to describe their strained relationship. “Not good.” A mediocre word choice, but if the way that Isabela flinched was any indication, it got the job done.

Isabela sighed, looking down at her hands. The source of her gift, her power, her miracle. The miracle that was now gone, making her hands ordinary, just like Mirabel’s. “My entire life, I have been expected to be perfect. Have the perfect hair, face, gift, dress, perfect everything. I had so much pressure and expectation placed on me… Mirabel, this isn’t going to make any sense, but I envied you.”

Mirabel blanched. “You? Envied me?!” She looked around, as if trying to find someone else to confirm what she had just heard. There was no one nearby, of course, since they were all either gushing over or talking about Bruno, something that obviously was making him very uncomfortable off in the distance if the way he gripped at his arms was any indication. “Are you joking? This has to be a joke.”

Isabela laughed, the sound hollow and humorless. “I know, sounds crazy, right? It is crazy. The thing was… you could do whatever you wanted, because you were Mirabel. You weren’t bound by a gift, you were free to express yourself. I wasn’t able to do what you did.”

“But… you could make flowers! With your hands! That’s incredible, Isabela! Isn’t that how you would express yourself? Didn’t you have that freedom with your gift?”

She looked at the ground, dejected. “Yes, but also no. You see, I was expected to make the perfect flower every single time. Do you know how many times I craved something new? To make a plant that wasn’t in bloom? Something sharp, like a cactus, or dangerous, like a carnivorous plant.” She interlocked her fingers, bracing her elbows on her knees. “But I knew that if I would, I would get in trouble, so I suppressed it. Or at least, I had been able to control it, until I made that cactus yesterday evening.”

“I thought you were appalled by that cactus.”

“No, quite the opposite. I loved it… the only problem is that I had an audience. I wasn’t supposed to make it in the first place, much less love it.” Isabela leaned back, a small puff of air escaping through her lips as she did so. “Mirabel, you’re amazing at sewing and embroidery. That’s not something you were given by a miracle, that’s something that you worked hard at and developed with hard work and determination. You chose to pursue that, and the things you create are beautiful and heartfelt and a reflection of you.”

Mirabel’s face fell flat. “So… you envied me because your gift made life too easy?”

Isabela shook her head. “No, I envied you because you had the choice. I didn’t choose my miracle. Was I grateful for it? Of course. But it bound me to a certain role, and prevented me from truly expressing myself.”

Mirabel didn’t know how to respond to that. Just like the time Dolores had revealed that there was a hidden burden of having to hear and know everything, or the time that Luisa shared that her strength caused her to always helping people and that all she craved was some relaxation and alone time, Mirabel was rendered speechless. There was a hidden curse to the blessing Isabela had been gifted, a curse invisible to all except the one burdened with it. 

At Mirabel’s lack of an immediate response, her mind doing somersaults at the most recent revelation, Isabela continued to speak. “I always admired you, Mirabel. But I took it out on you, because I wanted what you had. And for that, I….” she swallowed thickly, the smooth skin on her throat bobbing. “I’m sorry. You’re my little sister. I should never have treated you the way I did, ever.”  

The apology was enough to draw Mirabel back into the conversation. “Isabela…. Over the past few weeks, I have realized that a lot of us have been hurting, suffering in silence. And none of us ever shared how we really felt, because we were isolated from each other, and we weren’t supposed to be feeling this way. I should have realized that the pain included you, as well. You just always seemed so perfect and poised… it never occurred to me that anything could be wrong.”

“Our family is kind of messed up, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Mirabel agreed, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“At least things will be going back to normal soon.”

Mirabel laughed. “When has anything ever been normal about the Madrigals?”

Isabela snorted in response. “Fine, let me rephrase. Things will get better, I’m sure of it.”

“Not if we don’t have a house.”

Isabela and Mirabel’s heads both snapped up. Standing over them was Camilo, his hands poised on his hips in a sassy posture.

Isabela was the first to overcome their initial confusion. “Camilo!” she seethed. “Have you been eavesdropping on us?!”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Have you been standing there this entire time?!” Now it was Mirabel’s turn to voice her indignant concerns.

Camilo shrugged again. “It was boring over there. You guys looked like you were having fun. Except you weren’t. You were just having a sappy bonding moment.”

“Yeah, thanks for ruining it,” Isabela snarked (although without malice), sticking her nose in the air.

Camilo winked, turning to leave. “Yeah, anytime,” he quipped back, walking away to rejoin the rest of the Madrigals.

“We should probably go join them, hm?” Mirabel suggested, not because she wanted to end the conversation with Isabela, but because she felt bad leaving Bruno by himself. Not that he needed the support, he was fifty years old for crying out loud, but she had dragged him here in the first place. The least she could do was be there with him.

Isabela looked over at her, her ire from Camilo’s intrusion softening. “Probably,” she agreed. She stood up, offering Mirabel a hand to help her off the makeshift bench. “You’re my favorite youngest sister, did you know that?” It was a pretty useless title, given that she was Isabela’s only youngest sister, but hey, she’d take it. It was much better than the snide comments and rude remarks.

“It only took me running away for about twelve hours to make you realize that?” Mirabel teased as she rose to her full height.

Isabela smiled, but it was embarrassed and self-conscious. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds really, really bad.”

Mirabel matched the grin, pinching her thumb and pointer together in an exaggerated motion. “Maybe just a little,” she joked, and at Isabela’s deadpan expression of response, laughed. It felt really nice to joke around with her in a light-hearted manner. For so long, their entire relationship had consisted of hostility and bickering, and even though she was sure those things would still occur, she couldn’t help but feel like she was more comfortable around her now. Like it wasn’t malicious anymore, like they were not only sisters, but also friends.

“Wait, Isa,” she said as they began to walk. Isa paused, turning to face Mirabel, only to find herself near immediately crushed by Mirabel's arms wrapping around her. There was a moment of surprise, her back stiffening at the unexpected contact, before she leaned into it, looping her arms around her sister and resting her cheek against the thick curls sitting atop Mirabel's head. The hug was long and deep, and when Mirabel pulled back, she was embarrassed to feel tears brimming at her eyelids. To her relief, however, Isa's eyes were similarly glassy, and she reached up to wipe at the corners of her eyes before any unwanted tears could spill over and trail down her cheek.

“Thank you, Isa," Mirabel said, her voice barely above a whisper. "This… this was nice.”

"Yeah. It was." Isabela's words were short, but filled with emotion, and Mirabel's heart swelled in silent response. 

The irony of the situation, however, was not lost on her, and she began giggling. At Isabela's puzzled expression, she was quick to explain. "Did you know that Bruno had a vision where if we hugged each other, we would have saved the miracle?" 

Isabela's confusion morphed into disbelief. "You're kidding, right?" 

Mirabel shook her head. "That was actually what I was on my way to do, you know, before everyone discovered that Bruno was still living in the house. But it's okay! I liked this hug far better. It was more meaningful, in my opinion."

Isabela smiled as they resumed walking. "Yeah," she said, her voice gentle and diluted. "I agree, Mirabel." 

As they drew closer to the rest of the family, they began to pick up on the trails of conversation. Bruno had long since stopped telling his story, and the mood had dropped to one that was somber and depressing. “Where do we go from here?” Julieta asked. Her voice was timid and defeated, finally addressing the reality of their situation. Even though Mirabel and Bruno had returned, things were still very, very bleak.

There was a pause, because no one really knew how to respond to that. What was there to say? They had lost everything. The work they had ahead of them was so overwhelming, it was impossible to know where to start.

Luckily, Camilo seemed to have a suggestion. “Well, we should probably start with a house.”

Ay Dios mío, Mirabel mentally sighed. Again with the house, Camilo? 

She had to admit, though, his concerns were valid. Without Casita, not only did she feel more lonely than usual, but they literally had no place to stay.

Everyone turned to look at him, prompting him to hastily defend himself. “What, am I wrong? I mean look at that!” He gestured toward the rubble. “What is that? Not a house, I can tell you that much!”

Luisa stepped forward, trying to lift a wooden beam off the ground. “I would try to help, but without my gift, I….” she dropped her hold on beam after it refused to budge, shaking her head in dismay. “I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m nothing.”

“You don’t have to do it alone.” Mirabel placed a hand on Luisa’s shoulder, before turning to face the rest of the family. Her eyes settled on Bruno, nestled between his sisters, his posture arched so that he was hunched in on himself. “None of us are ever alone. We all have each other, right?”

Augustín gave her a swollen, inflamed thumbs-up. Julieta offered her a small, albeit proud smile. Abuela nodded in approval. Everyone else perked up, the dour mood lifting ever-so-slightly at Mirabel’s words of encouragement.

Everyone, that is, except for Isabela, who was looking towards the demolished entrance of the house with her features twisted in confusion. “Do you hear that?”

Dolores perked her ear up, as she always did when she was trying to make out some distant, far-off noise, but shook her head sadly. Mirabel felt a pang in her heart. She was used to not having a gift, but now, seeing her normally vibrant and exuberant family members so downtrodden about the loss of their gifts, she couldn’t help but feel pity for them.

Next to her, Antonio stepped toward the source of his noise, tilting his head quizzically. “I think… it’s everyone in town.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the first residents of the Encanto could be seen coming up the path. The Madrigal family stared in shock as the entire town marched towards the house, carrying various tools and supplies with them with unmistakable intent. From between the legs of the adults, the children of the town, all of Mirabel’s friends, came running forward, waving and calling her name to get her attention.

“You guys?!” Mirabel asked the small horde of kids, who all nodded and buzzed around in excitement. She vaguely remembered them running off immediately when she, Abuela, and Bruno had first returned to town, and she couldn’t believe it; how had they managed to rally the entire village?

Before she had the opportunity to ask, Osvaldo stepped forward, holding up a heavy bucket of supplies in his hands. The parallel of the imagery was not lost on Mirabel; not too long ago, he had been holding her not-special gift basket in the same manner, presenting it in symbolic offering.  

“How can we help?”