31. Single parent discussion

Bruno liked to think he had grown as a person.

In many ways he had. He had no problems getting his daughter to go to sleep in his room. He had no problems showering and donning clean clothes. He had no problems going into the kitchen and grabbing the closest already made meal that he could. He had no problems adulting.

But, when his mother exited the guest room and sat down at the table (Bruno's table! It was Bruno's table! Casa had made it for him!) he felt like he was right back where he had started ten years ago.

Part of him wanted to scream at his mother that everything was her fault. Wanted to call her out for hurting his daughter. Wanted to throw his dishes around and throw a tantrum like he used to in the solitude of his room after each of their arguments. Another part of him wanted to curl into a ball and die. Yet another wanted to throw himself back into her arms and sob.

But instead he simply stared at her, her eyes sad and fixed on the table's wooden surface. Biting his lip for a moment he willed up the courage to speak.

“So... can I get you anything?” he asked, not really feeling up to serving her, but still having that rigid etiquette she had raised him to possess. It was like there was a metal rod up his spine, making sure that he was as polite as could be. “I would offer you some wine, or something stronger, but I have a strict no-alcohol rule in the house... teenager and everything... so can I get you coffee? I know it's a little late for that, but you never know. I feel like I could down a whole pot and still fall asleep in a few minutes... Or maybe I could get you something to-”

“Some tea would be lovely Bruno.” Alma said quietly, sweeping Bruno's words away with her short sentence. Bruno found himself nodding, then he turned to the stove and set a pot to boil.

He could feel his mother's eyes on him the whole time, and felt incredibly self-conscious of his wet hair, and how his shirt was clinging to his chest. He knew that she probably didn't care (or see what he was really worried about since it was under his ruana) but a small voice in the back of his brain was telling him all about her expectations she must have for him. And he sure as hell wasn't living up to them now.

They stayed silent for a minute, Bruno longing to wring his hands and try to explain... something. Anything really. He turned back to Alma, and sighed loudly.

He moved to the table and sat in his chair. He slumped back, and said in a low voice, “This has been the worst day ever.”

To his surprise his mother chuckled. She hadn't chuckled at some of his words in... well, years wouldn't be the right unit of time, as she hadn't done practically anything with him in at least ten. He looked up at her, and saw his mother have a sad smile on her face.

“I mean... it hasn't been the worst day ever.” he said quickly, leaning his head back and speaking quickly. “I've definitely had worse. Like the day Senorita Pezmuertes told everyone I murdered her fish... and the day that Pepa struck me with lightening and Julieta was too sick to cook... and the day that Mirabel...”

He trailed off, his voice fading into the air. He heard a rustle of fabric, and knew that his mother had stiffened. It was her stiffening sound. Bruno knew that one all-too-well.

He sighed again, and then dragged himself off of the chair and back to the kettle, which was seconds away from boiling. He grabbed a mug and poured water into it, then placed a tea bag inside. He looked back at his mother, who was now staring at her hands.

She looked so... helpless. It was scary really. Bruno had many memories of his mother, but none with her helpless. She always knew what she was doing, unless it came to him. It was sending shivers down Bruno's spine to see her like this.

“So... Uh... Do you want sugar?” he asked, and his mother looked up and into his eyes. She nodded, and Bruno grabbed the jar labeled with the name of the ingredient. “Uh... I'll let you do it... I don't... remember how much you like. And I'm sure I'll give you too much. Mirabel says I drink my coffee with half a jar.”

He smiled at bit, and watched as a sad look crossed over his mother's face. Great. He always knew exactly how to make his mother sad.

He carried the steaming mug to the table and placed it in front of Alma, then he took the jar of sugar and a spoon and put it next to the mug. He watched his mother scoop a single spoon into the mug, and then cleared the table of the jar again.

It was stiff. It was... was...

He hated this. He hated feeling like he once had. He was fifty now! He'd been living on his own for ten years! Why did he feel like he was seventeen and awkward? His mother had apologized, a little bit. She had hugged him, told him that she had missed him. He was... he was...

He was more tired than he had ever been before in his life.

He made himself his own cup of tea before sitting back down and burying his face in his hands.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, but couldn't bring himself to look up at his mother. He didn't want to hear what she had to say. He didn't want her to be there. He just wanted his life to go back to normal. He just wanted to sit there and not have to deal with life. Any fight he had had at the river was gone, replaced by a gnawing tiredness that was seeping into his bones, but that he couldn't rid himself of until he cleared some things up.

And here he was, not clearing things up with his mother. Here he was, after ten years of dread and anxiety about seeing her again, and he couldn't bring himself to look in her eyes.

“I never meant to run away.” he said into his hands, and felt the hand on his shoulder tense. He tilted his head up a little, his wet hair flicking into his face and hiding his mother partially from him. “I... I looked into the future, which I guess is now the past... and I saw... I saw Mirabel. And Casita. And the candle...”

There was a gnawing feeling inside of his chest. A coldness that only came from something warm being taken away. He had lived for forty-five years with magic being just a call away, and now... his body felt like it was missing something. Because technically it was. He looked up at his mother, who had a... listening face on.

She was willing to listen to him.

That was new. This was all so new. Had she been like this before? Was this a new development? Or was it something she'd been working on for ten years? Mirabel's reaction to his question of if Alma had hurt her seemed to imply that this was brand new, but Bruno didn't know...

“I saw Casita falling... And I saw... well... you.” he said, and watched his mother wince. His mother never winced. He straightened his back and looked her head on. “I saw what happened... But I also saw another future. I've never seen two versions of the future before.”

He stared at his mother, a part of him longing for her to speak. To ask a question. To... to... do something! But instead she just watched him, and so he continued.

“I knew that I couldn't leave Mirabel there. I knew that something bad would happen to her. So... I left. I took her.” Still there was no reaction from his mother. He took a sip of his tea, which was barely cool enough to not burn his tongue, then said, “Of course, I got Julieta's permission. She helped the two of us escape. Then we crossed the mountains and I built this house... or at least I built a room... More of a shack really. And then I gave Mirabel a doorknob... and then the house... became like Casita... and now... now. Now it's... Casa is...”

He looked up at the ceiling, then down at then floor. He had always lived in a living house. He had never gone so long inside of his home without the house reacting in some way to what he said. It made him feel... lonely. Like he was being shut out again.

He looked back at his mother, who was still sitting there in silence. It was deafening.

“Oh please mother!” he said suddenly and loudly, standing up and staring down at her, who kept staring at him. “Shout! Scream! Say something!” He threw his hands up in the air, feeling more tired and trapped than ever before.

Then his mother stood up, and cupped his cheek in her hand. He froze, feeling his blood start to run cold. “Oh Brunito... you're as wonderful as the day I lost you.”

Bruno froze. Now it was his turn to stand there in silence. He stared at his mother, who had tears gathering in her eyes.

It was all too much for him. He let tears start to fall down his cheeks, and he slid the ground in front of the table, his mother following him and starting to rub circles in his back. He stared at his hands, which were now limp on the floor.

“I... I took us here... I made sure we were safe... I made sure she was loved... and... and cared for. I wasn't perfect... goodness knows I am not perfect...” he said, his mother's hands still moving in circles on his shoulderblades. “I... I was so scared... and now... now...”

“Now we can be a complete family again,” Alma said quietly, and Bruno nodded deftly. He glanced up into her face, which bore a sad smile. “Yeah.” he said, offering her his own smile. “We can be family. A healing family. One that may have cracks, but our love will be the glue to hold us together.”

Suddenly a big yawn forced itself out of him, and his mother smiled lovingly at him. Dios, it had been so long since she'd smiled at him like that. He couldn't even remember the last time that had happened. He sat there in a light daze as she grabbed his hand and said, “I believe we should get some sleep mijo. I will still be here tomorrow. We can discuss everything later.”

Bruno found himself nodding. He stood up and helped his mother to her feet. The two of them held another long stare, then Alma pulled him into a tight hug. His mind was so dazed that he simply patted her shoulders, then stumbled his way out of the room towards his own, leaving her behind in the kitchen.

Mirabel was curled up on his bed, but he didn't care. He lay down right next to her, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Bruno's house was... sweet.

It had been years since Alma had visited a small house for any considerable amount of time, and decades since she had lived inside of one. Casita had been given to her already large enough to fit the town inside of it (the original villagers had all stayed inside of Casita until other homes could be built, and had all fit comfortably). So it was a little strange to be in a house that was just big enough for two people and a guest.

Bruno's kitchen was decorated like the kitchen at Casita had been, with butterflies. But Bruno's butterflies came in the form of painted walls and embroidered hand towels. The embroidery matched that of Mirabel's dress and bag, and Bruno's ruanas. She wondered if it was Bruno's work or Mirabels.

The paintings on the walls were definitely Bruno's though. She'd recognize her son's art style anywhere. It had been so long since she'd seen any of it though...

The mug in her hands was homemade, with little rats carved into it. Definitely Bruno's. It had been ten years since Alma had seen a rat (something she was happy about. Not only were they vermin, but they also reminded her of the second man she had lost), and she found her fingers tracing their outline.

Bruno had left his mug on the table, which made her quirk her lips up in a smile. Bruno had often had a habit of forgetting things, so she picked the mug up and placed it on the counter. She contemplated dumping the liquid out, but decided that Bruno would probably drink it in the morning. He wouldn't care how old it was.

He had changed so much, yet he still seemed to be the little boy she had raised.

He had his own house, a girl that he loved and protected. A life. A life that she hadn't been a part of for ten years. He was his own person now. He had a family, no matter how... different... it may be. She wanted to know exactly what had happened. Had he really wanted to lie to Mirabel? What had they been doing? Why did they appear to be isolated? But he was now asleep, like he obviously needed to be. And that meant that her questions would have to wait for the morning.

In the morning, when she could apologize properly. When they could... discuss the past, and the future.

She wondered if he wanted to look into the future now. But she also knew that she couldn't ask that of him. She couldn't touch a sensitive topic like that. Either he would get upset and yell, or Mirabel would.

Seeing how he had treated her by the river made Alma understand why Mirabel had defended him like that to them. The way he scolded her was nothing short of loving but firm. The little of Mirabel's face that she had seen had been scared, but it was a healthy fear, not the terror that Bruno or Pepa's eyes had held when she...

Oh.

Oh.

Oh...

She knew that she could never apologize enough to her children. She knew that there was nothing that she could truly say to make up for how she had treated them. But she could... try.

All she could do was try.