14. Flowers Dropped In The Dirt

A day passed, and next thing Mirabel knew, it was Sunday.

Despite the less-than-ideal aftermath of Antonio’s gift ceremony, her worry about the cracks in Casita, and the crushing loneliness she felt now that her cousin had officially moved out, she still woke up with a thrill of energy, a surge of excitement that electrified her nerves.

In case it’s been forgotten, which is unlikely since it has been mentioned so many times up until this point, today was the day that Mirabel was going to do flower deliveries for Isabela.

She got ready in record time, Casita struggling to keep up as she shed her pajamas and tossed them over her shoulder (just to be caught in a laundry basket that bounced along the floorboards), pulled up her skirt, adjusted her glasses, and strode out the door.

Part of the reason she sought out Isabela in such a speedy manner was because she was excited to finally prove her worth and perform the duties of an esteemed Madrigal. The other reason was that she had to make sure she occupied herself before whoever’s turn it was for laundry that day would chase her down and try to strike a deal that would relegate Mirabel to the unsavory chore for yet another week.

“You’re up early,” Isabela greeted her coolly, taking a dainty little sip of tea in a dainty little cup with her dainty little pinky extended.

Mirabel shrugged, trying to conceal her eagerness and get started with the task. “I’m just trying to do my part.” I’m just trying to make my family proud, she mentally tacked on at the end, but wisely refrained from sharing that sentiment knowing full well that Isabela would tease her relentlessly if she were aware of it.

Isabela rose her eyebrows in mute acknowledgement as she took one last sip of her tea before placing it on the counter beside her. Casita’s tiles bounced the empty cup away with a clacking clatter as she stood up, brushing out the imaginary rumples in her always-perfect dress. “Follow me,” she commanded in a supercilious tone, walking past Mirabel without checking to make sure that she was keeping up.

Mirabel scrambled to fall in place beside her sister, looking far less graceful and dignified than Isabela as they walked out to the front of the house. Isabela led them to a wooden cart overflowing with flowers and bouquets, pulling out a slip of paper as she came to a stop in front of the lavish, fragrant display.

She handed the paper to Mirabel, who barely had enough time to react as she found it unceremoniously deposited in her hands. “I’ve written you a list of all the people who need flowers delivered to them today. All the arrangements should be labeled, so it should be easy enough for even someone like you to do.”

As she spoke, Mirabel opened up the paper, balking as it expanded to a comical size, her eyes bugging out of her head as she saw just how far down the list of names extended.

“I’m usually done by noon, although I suppose given that you’re doing it today, just try to get it done before dinner, okay?” A snarky smirk graced her features as she watched Mirabel have a visceral reaction to the immense workload she had to accomplish. “And whatever you do, don’t mess this up.”

The last words were spoken with such emphasis, such staccato that all Mirabel could do was look up from the list and stare, taken aback by the venomous vehemence of her voice as Isabela whirled around and stalked back to the house.

“Yeah, as if I’d somehow manage to mess up something as dumb as flowers!” she called, but at this point, Isabela was too far gone to hear her. Classic Mirabel. Always one to cobble up a comeback just a few seconds too late.

With a despondent huff, Mirabel put her hands on her hips, turning to scrutinize the cart Isabela had bestowed upon her.

“It’s just flowers,” she reasoned aloud. “How hard could it actually be?”

Apparently pretty hard, given that Mirabel found herself stuck within the first few minutes on duty.

She had no way to get the cart into town, something she quickly realized as she tried to grab the wooden shaft in the front and pull it behind her. It wouldn’t budge. So, she tried pushing it from behind. This yielded the same results. Mirabel gritted her teeth as her grip slipped. Curse these sweaty palms, she mentally muttered, trying to wipe the slick coating of sweat from her hands onto her skirt. This only marginally helped, causing her to conclude that maybe it wasn’t her sweaty palms that were the problem, but her own lack of strength. Which was a logical conclusion to make, given that she had a severe lack of any toned, defined muscle.

Although to be fair, Luisa seemed to have enough muscles to compensate for the entire family. Her sister had muscles in places that muscles shouldn’t even exist.

Speaking of Luisa….

Mirabel felt a shadow behind her as she struggled, the frame too wide and tall to be mistaken for anybody else. Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when her sister spoke, the deep melody of her voice sounding from over her shoulder. “Hey sis,” Luisa greeted, placing her hands on her broad hips as she watched Mirabel struggle to pull the cart. “Need a helping hand?”

Mirabel let out a groan of effort, putting her entire body weight into lugging the cart behind her. “Of course not, how could you possibly reach that conclusion? I have it completely—” grunt “—under—” another grunt “—control!”

Anybody with half a brain would quickly be able to deduce that Mirabel’s assertion was false and that she did not, in fact, have it under control. Not in the slightest sense of the word. Of course, now that Luisa was here to witness the embarrassing display, she wasn’t even able to move it an inch. How humiliating; one of the wheels must have been caught in a rut, or something.

(As an aside, none of the wheels were caught in a divot in the road at all. In fact, the path to town was actually very smooth, rendering Mirabel’s excuse moot.)

After a few more prolonged seconds of her intense struggling, Mirabel gave up, slumping against the side of the wood panels in defeat. If you were to ask her, though, she would claim that she was simply taking a break, and not because she felt like her muscles were jelly under her skin. “How does Isabela manage to do this every Sunday?” she huffed, trying to conceal the fact that the physical exertion had rendered her completely out of breath.

“Well, for starters, she usually has the help of a donkey.”

Mirabel blinked. “Oh.” There was an awkward pause. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find one, would you?”

Luisa looked around, her lips pursed as she studied their surroundings. And then, with no donkeys happening to be magically milling about in their immediate vicinity, she turned back to Mirabel with a shrug.

For the Madrigal that was frequently hailed as being the most useful out of the entire family, that hadn’t been all that helpful.

However, Luisa was quick to provide a solution, restoring her reputation as the one capable of fixing any problem. “I can help you carry this into town,” she offered. “And we can probably find a loose donkey when we get there. There’s usually one or two out and about at this hour.”

“Oh, uh, are you sure? I wouldn’t want to burden you….”

Luisa shrugged. “I don’t mind. I was heading that way anyways.”

“I see.” Mirabel watched as Luisa lifted the cart above her head with one hand with only a modicum of effort, not even breaking out into a sweat under the cart’s immense strength. It was impressive, yes, but it only served to make Mirabel more embarrassed about her own lack of strength (and by extension, her lack of a gift).

Trying to shake free of this toxic thought, Mirabel continued speaking, hoping that her words would help fill the empty space that threatened to spread between them. “How are you so sure that there are going to be free donkeys wandering around when we get there?”

“I can’t remember the last time I went to town in the morning and the donkeys weren’t loose.”

Mirabel hummed in response as they began to walk down the path. “Did Abuela send you to fix the gate yet?”

Luisa nodded, matching pace with Mirabel despite the fact that she was balancing an incredibly heavy, very delicate cart of flowers over her head. “Yeah, I went to go check it out, but strangely enough, there was nothing wrong with it. A little rusty, sure, but it seemed to be working just fine. So those donkeys must be smarter than they look, if they’re able to keep escaping nearly every day.”

Mirabel bit her lip, remembering what Dolores had told her not too long ago about Alejandro, the donkey farmer’s son, who had taken a liking to Luisa and strived to get her attention by leaving the gate open so that the donkeys could get out. It sounded like a convoluted scheme, but Mirabel had to admit that she was somewhat impressed by his dedication. Her diluted admiration aside, she wanted to tell Luisa, but held back, fighting an internal battle that concluded in her deciding that it wasn’t her secret to share.

I can’t believe Dolores has to hold stuff like this in on a daily basis. That would drive me nuts, not being able to get anything off my chest!

So instead, she did her best to deflect and conceal the truth. She had been able to keep Ratón a secret for a respectable stretch of time, right? She should be an expert at this! (Although she actually really hadn’t been doing that good of a job keeping him a secret, since two of her family members already knew of his existence, and it was just plain dumb luck that not more were aware of his residence in the walls).  And what better way was there to keep a secret than with a nervous laugh and an awkward string of barely comprehensible words? “Haha, oh yeah, you know how smart donkeys can be!”

The bemused look that Luisa shot her indicated that she did not, in fact, know how smart donkeys could be. One might even go as far to say that Luisa had been under the impression that donkeys were actually quite dumb.

But instead of fighting it, she merely shrugged, tilting her head to the side in acquiescence. “I suppose so,” she said, the doubt evident in her voice, her words blunt as they had the tendency to be.

Mirabel and Luisa continued walking in amicable silence, Mirabel finding herself struggling to keep up with Luisa as her long, broad strides carried her farther and faster down the path. It was mildly demeaning, since Mirabel wasn’t carrying anything that weighed at least twice her body weight over her head with one hand and was just walking normally.

Mirabel had just been relishing in the feeling of the warm morning sun on her skin, admiring a yellow butterfly that flitted by in the brief moment of peace between the two sisters, when she heard Luisa clear her throat beside her. However, not wanting to lose track of the butterfly, she only turned her head slightly to the side to acknowledge that she was listening, her gaze still glued to the yellow wings that beat at a steady rhythm.

“Remember back when we had our little talk….”

Taking immediate note of the drastic shift in her tone, Mirabel gave Luisa a side eye. The butterfly that had been flapping by her side made an abrupt turn that took it away from the budding conversation and into the grove of palm trees lining the path. “Yeah?”

“And how you said that if I ever needed you for anything, to talk to you about anything, you would be there to listen to me?”

Mirabel’s step slowed, and her sister matched her until they were both standing in the middle of the path. “Luisa, is there something bothering you?”

Luisa looked away, her lips stretching into a grimace. An interesting reaction to her question, Mirabel noted, when she had been the one to ask if they could talk. Something was definitely up. Had she felt the cracks, too? No one had said anything about them, leading Mirabel to believe that their occurrence had gone undetected, but maybe Luisa knew more than she had let on. “There’s something I need to share,” she eventually said, the words coming out strained through the grimace still marring her features. “Something I need to get off my chest… but I don’t know how to say it.”

“What do you mean?”  

“It’s embarrassing to admit!”

“Luisa. You know that I won’t—can’t—judge you.” When Mirabel amended her word choice to say ‘can’t’, she was heavily implying that she, as the only Madrigal grandchild without a gift, had no leverage to criticize Luisa. She herself was the living embarrassment; nothing that Luisa had to share could trump the fact that Mirabel existed. That in itself was the biggest humiliation of the Madrigal family.

At least, that’s how Mirabel viewed it. If it wasn’t obvious by now, she didn’t have the highest self-esteem, even if she did her best to push this down with her unrelenting optimism and go-getter attitude.

Luisa seemed to pick up on Mirabel’s implication, her nose wrinkling as she sucked in air through her teeth in guilt, a verbal wince. “I know you won’t judge me, Mirabel,” she said, her voice gentle. She rubbed a hand along the back of her neck, using it to cup the base of her skull as she rolled the muscles out. “It’s just….”

Mirabel raised an eyebrow, the silent action prompting Luisa to continue after her words had vanished into the air, her thought left unfinished.  

“…The other night, at Antonio’s gift ceremony, I—” she cut herself off with a grimace and a sharp inhale, the harsh sound interrupting the sentence. “Felt something. A feeling I haven’t felt in so long, that I had almost forgotten what it felt like.”

Mirabel frowned in curious confusion. “What was it?”

“I felt….” At this, Luisa winced, the word she wanted to say clearly causing her a great deal of anguish. As if it reverberated her body and shook her to her very core to even think of it in her head. “Weak.”

Weak. That was a word that one would never associate with Luisa, seeing that she was the literal antithesis to being ‘weak’ (in comparison to Mirabel, who personally felt that she was synonymous with it), so it was additionally surprising that she would use such a word to describe herself.

Mirabel wanted to ask what exactly she meant by ‘weak,’ but seeing the way that her lower lip trembled as she avoided eye contact, she figured that having Luisa elaborate could point her in the direction of a full-blown meltdown. So, taking note of this, she decided to shift the direction of the conversation and ask a different question. “When was this?”

“During the gift ceremony, I don’t know!” she snapped in a harsh bark, causing Mirabel to recoil at the ferocity at which the words were spoken. Not because they were directed at her, but more because the delivery had been so unexpected.

Noticing this, Luisa took a deep breath to calm herself, trying to reign in her outburst of emotion. “It was when we were all dancing. I’m not sure exactly when, but it was while we were all in his room. But I didn’t want to say anything, because it was Antonio’s moment, not to mention, everyone relies for me on everything, and what would people say if they knew that I had lost my strength?!”

Mirabel felt her heart sink. That had been the same time that the cracks had appeared on the walls, the villainous tendrils causing the doors to shudder and the miracle candle to flicker. It hadn’t occurred to her at the time, but all of a sudden, it made sense.

The magic of Casita was failing. And if the magic were to vanish, if the candle were to extinguish, then the gifts of the family would disappear alongside it.

She wanted to turn right back around. Go back to Casita and check the candle, make sure that it was still burning. However, she knew that she could not, not with Luisa right beside her, not with the burden of Isabela’s assignment resting on her shoulders. So, all she could do was bite at the inside of her cheek and keep walking, hoping that her reaction to Luisa’s words hadn’t been too obvious.

To distract herself, she addressed Luisa with another question. “How is your strength now?”

That had been a stupid thing to ask. Luisa looked between Mirabel and the cart she held above her head. “Um, it’s fine. I think.”

Mirabel nodded in silent agreement. Luisa’s actions spoke for herself, indicating that all was fine in the present moment, although it was hard to say if the weakness would return. If the magic would continue to falter.

By this point, they were walking amongst the houses in the town. As they reached the main square, Mirabel shook her head in disbelief; there were not one, not two, but three donkeys just hanging out, the villagers walking around their gray frames as they loitered around.

If the way they were ignored was any indication, this was an extremely common occurrence. Luisa confirmed this by muttering under breath, “Not again,” as she stepped forward to grab them. They didn’t run from her approach, if anything, Mirabel would say that they actually smiled as Luisa hoisted them up and balanced them on her shoulder.

Returning to where Mirabel and the cart stood, she placed the donkeys down next to her, selecting one and helping Mirabel fasten it to the wooden shaft of the cart. “I need to go find the rest of them,” she said when she was done, throwing her shoulders back out as she straightened to her full height. “When you’re done, just return it to the enclosure at the farm and come get me, so I can help you bring the cart back.”

Mirabel nodded in agreement. “Thanks Luisa, you’re the best!” she exclaimed, stepping forward to wrap her arms around her sister’s thick, stocky frame in gratitude. There was a moment’s pause as Luisa staggered back, evidently not expecting the physical contact, but this hesitation was quickly overcome as she returned the embrace, lifting Mirabel off the ground and squeezing her with such strength, she thought her bones might snap.

“No, thank you for listening, Mirabel,” she whispered in response, the soft, hushed undertone of her voice spoken into her ear so that none of the nearby townspeople could listen in on the exchange.

And just as soon as the moment had arrived, it vanished as Mirabel was dropped back onto the hard. Landing flat on the soles of her feet, she adjusted her glasses that had become crooked from the crush of Luisa’s intense embrace, and when she looked back up, all she could see was her sister’s broad back as she disappeared into the crowd.

Welp. If the sudden display of emotions had been unexpected, Luisa’s method of departure was certainly in line with her normal behavior.

Shaking her head good-naturedly, Mirabel turned to the donkey Luisa had bestowed upon her, who looked to be rather unenthused about being roped into being a participant in Mirabel’s errands for the day. “Come along, Skippy, we have a long day ahead of us!” Mirabel exclaimed with a jovial pump of her arms, a peppy bounce energizing her step.

The donkey shot her a flat look. Obviously, it did not like being referred to with the nickname ‘Skippy.’

However! Mirabel was not going to let the donkey’s lack of enthusiasm damper her own mood, so with a bright smile, she began the cumbersome process of guiding the cart around town.

Pulling the neatly folded paper out of her pocket, she unfurled the paper with a satisfying, official-sounding snap! as she adjusted her glasses for good measure. “First on our list, we have….” Mirabel scanned the names, her face falling flat as she realized who was at the top of the paper, their name written infuriatingly perfect in Isabela’s elaborate scrawl. “Osvaldo Ortiz.”

For starters, it was important to note that for all intents and purposes, Osvaldo was a good man. A great man, even, despite the fact he was just a tad too vocal about his distress and bitterness over Bruno’s prediction that he would end up growing a gut. However, if there was one thing he lacked, it was tact, and this was most clearly evidenced by the interaction Mirabel had endured with him on the morning of Antonio’s gift ceremony.

The ‘gift basket incident,’ she had come to mentally refer to it as.

She was at his doorstep too soon, a grimace on her face as she reached forward and knocked on the door. She waited for a few seconds, plagues of self-doubt already rolling poisonously over in her mind.

Did I knock too hard? Or did I knock too light, and he didn’t hear me? Should I knock again? How long should I wait? At what point would it seem like I’m rude? Gah—Isabela didn’t give me instructions for this!

Her racing thoughts were abruptly halted by the sound of steps walking to the door, and then it creaking on it’s hinges as it swung inwards, revealing Osvaldo standing in the frame. “Mirabel!” he exclaimed, the confusion blatant on his face. He poked his head out into the street, looking both ways down the road in such an exaggerated manner that Mirabel couldn’t prevent her eye from twitching above her wide smile. “Can I… help you?” Is there a reason you, the only Madrigal without a gift, are bothering me right now? were the words she could pick up in the subtext, thinly concealed below the surface of his seemingly innocent question.

“I’m doing Isabela’s flower deliveries for her today.”

“Oh no!” he cried out horror, his hands clapping against his cheeks as he gasped. A needlessly theatrical reaction, if one were to ask Mirabel for her honest opinion about it. “Is she sick?”

“No, I’m just doing them on her behalf!” she responded, fighting to keep her voice light and airy.

Osvaldo looked her up and down, and then at the cart she had towed behind her. “Because…?”

“Because… she asked me to?” Mirabel wasn’t sure she was quite up to explaining to Osvaldo the nuanced complexities of the little deal they had struck up quite a ways back, that she had needed to wash her secret friend’s ruana, but it wasn’t her turn to do laundry, so she had agreed to do the chore for Isabela on the stipulation that she would get to help her with the flower deliveries, but then Isabela had been the one to dictate that today was the day she would go into town and do it… and yeah. It was all a little complicated.

Osvaldo scoffed. “Well, that’s kind of a dumb reason!” he retorted, although there was no malicious edge to his voice. Which somehow made it even worse.

Not really knowing how to reply to that, because at this rate, she would be defending Isabela, and heaven forbid she ever find herself doing that, she turned to grab his flower arrangement from the cart, holding them out in front of her with an awkward flourish that made her realize she probably should have practiced the presentation part just a bit before heading out this morning.

Luckily for her, Osvaldo didn’t seem to notice. Mainly because if he had noticed, he would have made some hilariously insensitive comment that would have had an emotional impact on Mirabel stronger than it had any right to be. “Oh, perfect! Just the way I like them!” he gushed, holding the bundle in front of him and admiring the blooms that decorated the arrangement. And then, looking back at Mirabel, he let out a short laugh. “You know, I’m going to be completely honest with you. I was a little worried that these flowers would be all wrong when you showed up, you know, because you’re here instead of Isabela! That wasn’t very reassuring to see!”

This time, Mirabel’s other eye twitched, despite the smile she fought to keep gracing her features. “Wow, thanks, Osvaldo.”

“Yeah of course, anytime!” he replied, completely missing the deadpan sarcasm lacing her tone. “Good luck with the rest of them, I think you’re going to need it!” And just like that, he closed the door on Mirabel, leaving her standing on the stairs.

She turned to the donkey standing at the cart, the false smile still plastered on her face. “That didn’t go that poorly, wouldn’t you agree, Skippy?”

The donkey gave her a side eye that indicated that he did not agree with her at all.

Mirabel snorted indignantly. She was sure that this first delivery was just a fluke, and that the rest of them would go on without a hitch. She was determined to plow forward, despite the interaction with Osvaldo that left much to be desired, and the lack of belief she had from the donkey next to her.

Unfortunately for her, however, the entire morning proceeded just like this.

“Where is Isabela?”

“Oh Mirabel, you’re delivering the flowers today? What a… pleasant surprise!”

“Is everything all right at home? Is your sister okay?”

Taking each of the mildly irritating questions in stride, Mirabel was always cognizant of replying with enigmatic responses and an upbeat attitude. As she slogged through it all, she had to constantly remind herself that this was her chance to prove herself, to show the town and her family (and in a small part, herself) that she was capable of doing this.

With the seriousness that she was treating it with, one would think that it was something far more important than delivering flowers.

After a few hours of this monotonous torture, Mirabel let out an exhausted sigh. They were about halfway done, and the sun had reached its peak in the sky, bearing down on her with it’s intense heat. Sweat began to bead along her temples, and she used the back of her hand to attempt to wipe off the droplets as they accumulated.

They were in the town square now, Mirabel directing the cart over to a shady spot that would protect them from the sun’s rays by an overhang of a tile roof. Patting Skippy on the flank as encouragement, she consulted the list, figuring that on their small break, she could get the next bouquet ready.

“This next one will be for Señora Ozma,” she mused out loud, biting the inside of her cheek as she wracked her memory trying to remember where the recipient lived. Of course, she could always just ask someone for directions, but since she was making an effort to prove her competency, she refrained from doing so.

Glancing up across the square, she narrowed her eyes as she tried to regain her sense of direction. “I think she lives over on that street over there,” she commented with a nod of her head toward the road she was speaking of. “Does that sound right to you?”

Skippy gave her another side eye, before exhaling theatrically through his flared nostrils. Mirabel interpreted it as him saying what gives you the slightest idea that I would know?

His hypothetical comment made a good point.

Deciding that figuring it out as they went along would be the best course of action at the moment, Mirabel urged their caravan forward, stepping back out into the sun to cross the square.

They had been moving at a decent pace, determination driving her step, before something in the corner of her eyes caused Mirabel to stop in her tracks. A familiar figure, a familiar person who had no business being out in public during broad daylight prompted her to shift her rigid body towards their frame before she realized with a relaxing slump of her shoulders that it was just the family mural, the colorful depictions of the Madrigal family decorating the side of a smooth, cream-colored building.

That’s funny, she thought to herself, studying the man who sat at the center of the family portrait. For a moment, I thought that was Ratón. But that doesn’t make any sense, since this is the family mural, so of course that person has to be Tío Bruno.

It was peculiar, though, how she would mix them up. After all, it had been established that they were two separate people, right? That Ratón was not her uncle, and that Bruno had disappeared to who-knows-where, off gallivanting somewhere else, never to return.

Although, the longer Mirabel stared at the mural, her eyes narrowing as her gaze roved up and down, the more uncanny similarities she saw between the two of them.  The same oversized, gangly feet clad in sandals, the same frayed, oversized shorts, the iconic green ruana. His long, thin neck, and the thick mop of black curls that framed his face. The most striking similarity, though, were the facial features, with everything from the shape of his nose to the scruff of his beard being nearly identical. The only difference between the painting and the man she knew as Ratón was that this depiction of Bruno had striking green irises that lacked a pupil at the center, however, other than this minor detail, they almost looked like the exact… same… person….

Realization dawned on her and she gasped, dropping the bouquet of flowers she had been holding into the dirt.

There was no mistaking it. And she was such a fool for not seeing it earlier.

The reason that they looked so similar… was because Ratón was Tío Bruno .