5. One Cup Of Soothing Tea

Mirabel had been just about to push open the painting when she heard a distant patter of footsteps draw closer. Holding her breath, she drew back, freezing as the person, whoever they were, passed by. From downstairs, she heard the soft clamor of voices, their sounds drifting through the air. After a few minutes of hearing no one walk around on the second story of Casita, she softly pressed the painting outwards, leaning up against it to peek out into the hallway.

Nobody. At least, not that she could see.

Slipping out of the wall, Mirabel was quick to adjust the framed canvas before hurrying away, skirting along the fringe of the hallway as she retreated towards her room. Luckily, the rest of the family all still seemed to be downstairs, so her temporary absence would hopefully have gone unnoticed.

Still, it didn’t hurt to be prepared, just in case anybody happened to question why she had left early and hadn’t been in the house when everyone had returned from the festivities. I was just going on a walk through the town, she rehearsed in her mind, rolling the words of her story over to test their plausibility. I was tired and I just wanted to clear my head. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.

Seemed believable enough. She hoped.

It would have been believable, at least, if she had done a better job practicing her delivery.

“Mirabel!” Antonio cried out the minute she walked through the door, “Where have you been?”

“Nothing!” she replied with unnatural quickness, a bright, false smile plastered on her face. Ugh. So much for planning up some elaborate excuse.

Antonio frowned; evidently her response did not make a lot of sense to him. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” Mirabel reassured him, quick to regain her composure.

“Then why were you moping and sulking at the wedding?”

Mirabel’s eye gave off the faintest twitch. She hadn’t realized that her dour mood had been that obvious, especially if it was noticed by the child who had been distracted all night with playing with his frog in a dress. “I wasn’t sulking,” she corrected him, “I was just tired. So I came home early.”

Antonio gave her a look that made it seem like he didn’t completely believe her, but he dropped the subject and bounced on to the next thing. “Camilo mentioned that you had made a cup of chocolate santafereño for me?”

Mirabel glanced away awkwardly, rubbing a hand along the back of her neck as she did so. “Oh, he, uh, drank it.”

A look of crestfallen disappointment crossed Antonio’s features. Scrambling to recover, Mirabel lifted a finger, pointing up to recapture his attention. “But,” she said, “I was just about to head back down to make you another one, and I just wanted to stop by and ask how you like it?”

Antonio immediately perked up. “Extra cheese at the bottom!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together in excitement before diving to grab Señor Froggy, who had been sitting on the bed looking very disgruntled. Well, he always looked like that, Mirabel supposed, but right now more so than usual. The wedding must have tuckered him out. “We’re going to have a little tea party!”

Mirabel pumped her arm in half-hearted enthusiasm. She was exhausted and mentally drained, and the last thing she wanted to do was make another cup of chocolate santafereño and stay up later than she had intended. But, looking at Antonio’s hopeful, optimistic expression, her resolve crumbled, and she found herself gathering up her skirts to go back down to the kitchen.

“Can you make one for Tío Bruno too?”

Mirabel balked. “Wha—?” she began, before her eyes landed on the frog that Antonio was still clutching in his hands. Realization dawned on her, and she shot Antonio a flat look. “Tonito, I thought I told you that you couldn’t call your frog that!”

Antonio scuffed his shoe along the floor, averting his gaze as he did so. “But he told me that he doesn’t like being called Señor Froggy! He prefers Tío Bruno.”

Mirabel frowned. “But he’s not your Tío, and he’s not Bruno!” She also highly doubted that the frog had told him his preference, but decided to keep that little opinion to herself.

“Please?”

Mirabel rubbed her eyes with her hands, before dragging them down her cheeks in defeat. “Ugh, fine, but you better not refer to him as that in front of anybody else! Especially not Abuela.”

Antonio nodded, making a motion of zipping his mouth shut with his fingers. Not falling for his cute display of vowed silence, Mirabel pointed two fingers at her eyes and then at him, really trying to drive the point home that we don’t talk about Bruno but I guess if you want to talk about him in the sense that you named your frog after him, I suppose you can do it around me, but nobody else! And that’s non-negotiable!

As she walked out of the room, she hoped that Antonio had picked up on that. That had been a pretty large, oddly specific concept she had tried to convey with a very simple hand motion.

Mirabel was thinking about how to reiterate to Antonio the importance of the topic to not refer to his frog as ‘Tío Bruno’ around anybody except her, and had been just about to enter the kitchen when she heard the soft undertones of a conversation. Not wanting to interrupt, she paused, trying to identify who was already in there before she barged in and prepared two mugs of chocolate santafereño for the second time that night.

Her hand hovering over the door, she picked up the a snippet of what seemed to be the middle of a heated discussion.

“—I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t know what she did when she got back here.”

“You didn’t see her at all?”

Dolores and Camilo, Mirabel realized, quick to identify the gentle lilt that was Dolores’ voice and the youthful mischief coloring Camilo’s. But what were they talking about?

“Well, I saw that she made two mugs of chocolate santafereño.”

“Two mugs? Who was the second one for?”

Huh. It sounded like they were talking about her. Go figure.

Mirabel pressed herself even further into the shadow of the wall, straining her ears to listen to their conversation. Which maybe could be considered eavesdropping, but hey! If Dolores did it literally all the time and got praised for it instead of yelled at, then why couldn’t she? At least, that’s what Mirabel told herself to ease some of the guilt she felt.

There was a brief pause, and Mirabel could vividly visualize the shrug that Camilo did in that short moment of silence. “I don’t know.”

“You didn’t ask?” Dolores responded, sounding incredulous.

“I asked, and she said it was for Antonio. But that didn’t make any sense, because it wasn’t made the way that he likes it.”

“So then who was it actually for?”

“I wouldn’t know. I took the second one for myself and ran away.”

“Ay, Camilo!” Dolores exclaimed, her words being punctuated by what sounded like a hand slapping her forehead. “I thought I told you to follow her and see what she was doing! Not steal her drink!”

“What? It’s not my fault that she made two cups! What was I supposed to do? Not take the second cup for myself?”

“Why would you do that? That’s completely your fault!”

There was a beat. “Oh. Huh. I suppose you’re right.”

Dolores let out an exasperated sigh. “Camilo!”

“Hey, it was worth it though.”

“This is the last time I ask you for anything.”

Mirabel heard the ricocheting echo of Camilo’s laughter as it bounced off Casita’s walls. “That would be your first mistake,” he retorted, still chuckling. His chuckling, Mirabel realized with a jolt, that was growing increasingly louder, indicating that he was drawing closer.

With a sharp breath, she pressed herself against the wall, edging behind a potted plant seated in the corner of the wall next to the entryway. She watched with bated breath as Camilo strode right past her; if he were to have taken a glance to his right, he would have seen her (the potted plant she was hiding behind wasn’t exactly the thickest, and provided pretty pathetic visual protection), but luckily for her, he didn’t.

Mirabel’s heart pounded in her chest as she processed their interaction, the sound of her pulse rushing in her ears.

Dolores knew.

Ay Dios mío. Dolores. Knew.

There was no way that she didn’t. Mirabel couldn’t believe that she had let her cousin’s gift slip her mind, the nature of Dolores’ ability to hear everything from anywhere in Encanto for some reason having been forgotten. What, did she think that just because she was meeting up with Ratón in the walls, hidden away from prying eyes meant that Dolores’ ears had been exempt?

Of course not.

So then, if she knew, why hadn’t she said anything yet?

That part, no matter how hard she tried to reason with it, made no sense to her.

Distantly, Mirabel registered that Dolores had left, presumably having exited the kitchen through the other door. Walking in with caution, she got to making two more mugs of chocolate santafereño with a great deal of assistance from Casita. As she worked, her mind had begun a downward spiral, trying to grapple with the fact that Dolores knew, and if she didn’t, then she was definitely suspicious, because why else would she send Camilo to spy on her?

She shook her head in dismay as she poured a small teacup full of water for Señor Froggy—er, Tío Bruno. She got the distinct feeling that the frog would probably become very ill if it consumed a cup of the spicy chocolate santafereño; hopefully Antonio wouldn’t complain about her leaving him out, or discriminating against him because he’s a frog, or whatever it was that he would have to say about the matter.

Balancing the tray of two and a half mugs of chocolate santafereño in her hands, Mirabel thanked Casita for helping her once again before walking back up the stairs. Careful not to spill, she opened the door to the bedroom with a bump of her hips. Inside, Antonio started jumping up and down in excitement, and Mirabel felt a smile subconsciously worm its way onto her face, despite the disconcerting revelations that had slapped her across the face just moments before.  

Even so. Mirabel spent the rest of her night at her little tea party with Antonio, distracted as he babbled on and on about Tío Bruno (Señor Froggy) and the great adventures they had been on at the wedding that night. Absentmindedly nodding along as she sipped at her drink, the second one of the night causing her stomach to gurgle and protest as the sweet beverage made her feel slightly sick, she found it hard to be present. All her mind could think about was Dolores.

Her sleep, as a result, was restless, and she tossed and turned under her covers all throughout the night. All she could do was replay the conversations that she had engaged in with Ratón, and wonder with fearful apprehension whether Dolores had heard. And, in the horrible, extreme case that she had, what she thought, and what was going to happen because of it.

However, the next morning at breakfast, Dolores didn’t say a single thing to her.

Mirabel had been anticipating it, walking down the stairs with Antonio with her heart fluttering, like there was someone pressing down on her chest and not allowing her to breath. There was a sick feeling in her stomach, and she found herself swallowing the rising urge to vomit.

She had been worried for no reason. Dolores didn’t even spare her a second glance at the patio table. Well, maybe there were a few glances, but nothing out of the ordinary, at least when it came to Dolores. This only made Mirabel more stressed, though, because what if the glances meant something? What if she was trying to tell her something? Convey that she knew something?

Despite this, there wasn’t a peep.

A day passed. And then another.

At this point, Mirabel had been so stressed and nervous about what Dolores did (or didn’t) know, she decided to take it upon herself to seek her cousin out. In a totally stealthy, undercover Mirabel fashion (which of course, meant that it was totally not “stealthy” and was definitely not “undercover”), she planted herself in the kitchen, alternating between checking the clock on the wall repeatedly and looking toward the door in anticipation.

And then, right on schedule, Dolores entered the kitchen, looking mildly surprised to find Mirabel waiting for her.

Quick to pounce on her prey before she had the chance to escape, Mirabel spoke immediately. “Hey, Dolores!” she greeted her, leaning against the counter with as much nonchalance and casual charisma that she could muster. “Fancy seeing you here! What a crazy coincidence!”

It hadn’t been a coincidence at all. In fact, this had been carefully planned. You see, Mirabel knew that Dolores always had a cup of tea in the afternoon, retreating to her room for an hour at the same exact time every day to give her sensitive ears a much-needed break. A break she deserved, yes, but ultimately something Mirabel found she could exploit to her advantage.

Dolores’ eyes darted to the side, silently sizing Mirabel up as she walked over to the counter and started to fill a kettle up with water, Casita helping her light a flame on the stovetop. “Do you want to know what the real crazy coincidence is?” she asked while she put the kettle on the stove and monitored the water’s progress toward a boil, raising her eyebrows as she asked the rhetorical question. “Alejandro, the donkey farmer’s son, intentionally leaves the gate to the donkey enclosure open so that Luisa can come by and put them back. He has a crush on her.”

“Haha, yeah… wait, what?”

Dolores nodded. “In fact, I can hear the hinges of the gate creaking right now. He must have opened it a few minutes ago.” There was a beat as she stared at Mirabel, before she shrugged and let out a high-pitched “hm!”

Mirabel gulped. If Dolores could hear the creaking of a rusty gate swinging miles away, then her own situation did not bode well. At all.

As Dolores poured the hot, steaming water into a cup, Mirabel pressed her knuckles to her mouth in nerves, ramping herself up for the next part of the conversation. “Wow, Dolores, that’s uh, crazy that you can hear that, all the way on the other side of town!” Crazy, absurd, wild, unfathomable, terrifying, really, any of those words could have been substituted in this context. “I mean if you could even hear that, what else can you hear?”

Dolores shot her a look. “I hear everything, Mirabel,” she said in her soft, hushed voice. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

Mirabel nodded slowly. “Right….” she said, drawing out the syllable of the word as her mind scrambled to recover. Because what was she supposed to say? ‘Hey, you know about the secret man living in our walls? And how I’ve befriended him? Have you heard about that?’

Saying it out loud would force her to acknowledge the reality of her secret friendship. That in participating in such meetings with such a person, she was going behind her family’s back and abusing their trust in her. She was putting them in danger, and in hiding such a monumental thing, was threatening the strong bonds and trust of the Madrigal family.

Family told each other everything. They supported and trusted one another. And what Mirabel was doing? Was a direct threat to those values and ideals.

She could only imagine the disappointment and disgust of Abuela if she were to find out. The betrayal would be immense, and Mirabel, already the failure and outcast of the family, would only suffer more because of it. Everything she did was to prove to herself and others that she belonged in the family, that she was a Madrigal, regardless of her lack of gift.

If anybody knew about her friendship with Ratón, it would only estrange her more. And Mirabel could not afford that.

It was all so complex. And it was the reason why she needed to know if Dolores knew about Ratón and Mirabel’s secret visits with him.

So, swallowing her nerves and her pride, Mirabel let out an awkward laugh. “Everything, you say?” she asked, her voice cracking. She hoped that it hadn’t been that noticeable.

However, if the way that Dolores whipped her head toward her as she steeped the tea leaves in her cup was any indication, the grating sound likely irritating her sensitive ears, Mirabel decided that her voice crack had been, in fact, very noticeable.

She coughed, clearing her throat. “Wow, Dolores, that is so cool! When you say everything, do you mean everything everything? Or just like, annoying sounds, like a creaky gate, or someone chewing with their mouth open, or the sound of Isabela when something doesn’t go her way? Or even….” Mirabel wrung her hands together, letting out a nervous chuckle. “The sound of someone living in the walls? As a completely hypothetical, made-up scenario, that is, heh-heh.”

Dolores grabbed a spoon from the drawer and used it to stir her tea. “Everything.” She didn’t even bother looking in Mirabel’s direction as she spoke.

Mirabel felt her stomach sink, like she had swallowed a rock and it was weighing her gut down. She took a deep breath, and the only words she could muster up in response to this devastating, earth-shattering revelation was a contrite “Oh.”

Next to her, Dolores had finally finished preparing her cup of tea. Taking a cautious sip of the hot liquid, she let out a small smile, obviously content with the results. And then, she turned to Mirabel, finally giving her cousin her full attention. “Do you want to know what the biggest burden about my gift is, Mirabel?”

Mirabel blinked, a thrill of adrenaline surging through her system at the insinuation of Dolores’ question.

“Um… sure?”

Dolores’ shoulders bounced as she let out a small shrug. “It isn’t the annoying sounds you mention. It isn’t the fact that everything I hear is at an amplified volume. It isn’t even the constant chatter in my ears.” She shook her head, and Mirabel felt a sudden pang of sympathy, of feeling bad for her cousin. When she put it like that, stringing the negative pearls together into an ugly little necklace, Mirabel got the acute feeling that her gift wasn’t exactly a gift at all; in fact, it seemed more like a curse. And she had never considered it from that angle before.

After all, how could she, the giftless, possibly fathom the drawbacks of the blessing of the miracle?

However, Mirabel’s musings were cut short as Dolores continued talking. “No, Mirabel, the biggest burden of my gift is that ultimately, I must choose what to share and what to keep a secret.”

Mirabel stared at Dolores, and she returned the gesture, both of them remaining unblinking. Mirabel’s mind drew a blank, the heavy implication of Dolores’ cryptic statement rendering her completely mute. Dolores knew. Dolores. Knew.

And then, right as she regained coherence and was about to respond, Dolores tilted her head to the side with an abrupt “hm!” before turning on her heel, taking her and her cup of tea out of the room.

As Dolores walked out of the kitchen, Mirabel’s lips pursed together. She had half a mind to chase her down, grab her by the shoulders and shake until the truth spilled out, but she got distracted by a new entry into the kitchen. Pepa, a pale gray cloud hovering over her head, walked into the room and began to fix herself a small snack to eat. Or something. Mirabel wasn’t really paying that close of attention, to be honest.

Mirabel bit her tongue, pausing her pursuit after Dolores. Seeing Pepa, Mirabel was reminded of Antonio’s frog, and the forbidden name that he had chosen. The name that was forbidden for a reason that eluded her understanding. The rule that she found herself enforcing, despite not knowing why.

There was a question she needed to ask her aunt, one that had been burning on her mind for a long time.