Chapter Text
Camilo should have known something was wrong the moment Dolores turned green.
It was one of the rare occasions Dolores was assigned to stay with him for the day in case he was needed and Abuela summoned him. She stayed a good way away from him as he entertained the village children, teaching them new word games and sports that would reinforce the reading lessons their parents gave them and exhaust them for the night. Dolores always stayed apart when he played with the kids; kids didn’t modulate volume very well.
But then Dolores’ eyes suddenly widened, and her face turned green.
“I think I need to get some of Tía’s food,” she said, hiking up her skirts and hurrying in the opposite direction from Casita.
“Uh, Dolores?” Camilo paused in his game with the kids, but all of them were tugging his ruana to continue.
“Just stay there!” she said over her shoulder, even raising her voice to be heard. Camilo watched as she broke into a run.
He stared after her, brow furrowed, but she’d told him to stay there and the kids wanted to keep playing. So he got his head back in the game.
It wasn’t the first time his sister had run off in a random direction because of something she heard. He trusted her to know if he could help with whatever she was running at or not, so he didn’t think on it.
He stayed with the kids and played, and he’d regret it for the rest of his life.
He’d already forgotten Dolores’ weird behavior when he came back home for dinner that night. He came in to see the family setting the table, and Tía Julieta talking with Dolores. His Tía had a worried frown, but that wasn’t uncommon for her. Camilo took a stack of plates from Tío Bruno, jerking his head for Bruno to sit down (it was the least he could do after slandering his uncle for ten years) before he put out the plates. Isabela was already putting out the cups and Luisa the silverware.
“Mirabel doesn’t need a plate today,” Dolores said to him, taking Mirabel’s plate off the top of his pile.
“What?” Camilo looked at Dolores quizzically, then at Julieta. “Mirabel never misses dinner.”
She never missed dinner. Even before what was dubbed ‘The Casita Crisis’ two years ago, she never missed dinner. Breakfast and dinner were the only times the whole family were reliably together.
Looking at his Tía’s face, she seemed to have similar thoughts.
“She hiked a lot today and she’s tired,” Dolores said, pouring herself a more-generous-than-usual glass of wine. “She already went to sleep. Please don’t wake her up.”
“Without eating?” Tía Julieta said, the worried furrow deepening on her brow.
“Don’t worry, Tía. I’ll bring her a plate after dinner,” Camilo said. Dolores’s eyes jerked to him, her lips thinning. “I’ll be quiet, promise! I’ll transform into a little kid with tiny feet.”
Dolores’ lips were still thin, but she took a gulp of her wine. Julieta, on the other hand, smiled warmly at him. “That would make me feel better. Thank you, Camilo.”
Mirabel absence was noticeable at dinner. Without her, Tío Bruno stuck close to Tía Julieta and Tío Agustín, and Antonio was more interested in talking to his animals than everyone else. Even Abuela was less lively than usual.
Camilo was pleased to step away from the dinner table after finishing his plate, fixing one for Mirabel and skipping away from the lackluster conversation. As he walked by Dolores, she hissed to him, “Make sure to knock.”
Camilo wasn’t sure how knocking would help with not waking Mirabel up, but he’d learned a long time ago to listen when Dolores cryptically suggested he do something.
He piled the plate high with food and grabbed a glass of juice. He transformed into his smaller self, the five-year-old him with curly hair fluffed around his ears, before he approached Mirabel’s door on mouse-soft feet. The door was now two years old, but still glowed with Mirabel’s smiling form surrounded by butterflies.
Knock knock. He knocked softly, reluctant to be too loud in case she was still asleep. There was silence, so Camilo just let himself in.
The room was dark without even a candle lit. Moonlight filtered through Mirabel’s window, illuminating her sewing machine and her workstation. Camilo smiled at the orange and yellow skirt Mirabel was working on, one with chameleons on the hem, but then frowned as his eyes drifted to the trash bin next to her desk. It was full of familiar lovingly embroidered fabric.
The shift of blankets pulled his attention to the bed. Mirabel peered her glasses-less face out from her blanket fortress, squinting in the dark. “Antonio?”
“Darn, sorry if I woke you up.” Camilo shapeshifted back into his seventeen-year-old form, putting the plate and glass down on Mirabel’s bedside table. “I was just leaving dinner for you.”
“Oh. Camilo.”
Camilo wasn’t sure how to read her voice. She sounded disappointed? Ouch.
“Dolores said you were hiking.” He put his hands on his hips, glancing back at the bin. Yes, he definitely recognized Mirabel’s favorite dress with all her personalized embroidery on it. “Are you throwing that dress out? I thought you loved it.”
“It’s ruined.”
Camilo frowned quizzically at her. “Like, from mud or something? I could try to wash it for you if—”
“It’s ruined.”
Her curt tone shut him up. He bit his lip, unsure of how to deal with Mirabel when she wasn’t in a good mood, or at least trying to be in a good mood. He could just leave, he supposed, but Camilo didn’t like leaving people unsmiling. He especially didn’t like to leave Mirabel unsmiling after all they’d gone through during the Casita Crisis. He had ten years of neglecting his cousin to make up for, after all.
“Hey, what’s up?” Camilo nudged the door closed before kneeling by the bed, folding his arms on the edge and propping his chin on his knuckles. They were almost nose to nose, if Mirabel didn’t shimmy back a little bit to put more space in. Ouch again. Did he do something to piss her off? “I even brought mango juice. Don’t you want any?”
Mirabel seemed to consider. “…Okay.”
She sat up and reached for the juice, taking little sips. She was already in her nightclothes, which might have been embarrassing if Mirabel and Camilo hadn’t shared a room for five years. Camilo sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing Mirabel suspiciously.
“Come on, I know something’s wrong,” he said, bumping his shoulder against hers. “You never miss dinner.”
Her hand shook on the glass. She put her juice down abruptly.
“I’m just tired, Milo.”
Camilo frowned. Normally he’d start joking around and transforming into different people to get her to laugh, but he’d always been hesitant to do that with Mirabel since he made her cry trying to cheer her up after her ceremony. It didn’t help that she was in a weird mood.
“…Want me to get you some extra dessert?” Camilo leaned back a little, trying to smile like a troublemaker. It wasn’t too hard. He had practice. “Tía made polvorosas. I can shapeshift into Luisa to do it. No one stops Luisa from taking extra.”
In the moonlight, he could see the ghost of a smile on Mirabel’s face. It wasn’t what he was going for, but it was something.
“No, that’s okay. But thanks for the offer.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?” Camilo squished his cheek against her shoulder. He had to shrink down a little to do it, since he was now nearly a head taller than her, but that was fine. “You love polvorosas.”
Mirabel let out a huff that sounded almost like a laugh. “Darn, you caught me. I’m an alien who abducted Mirabel.”
“Ugh, I knew it!” Camilo laughed, slinging his arm over her shoulder. “If you don’t want me to spill the beans to the family, I expect intergalactic levels of bribery.”
“You’d just let the aliens take me if they bribed you?” Mirabel said, wrinkling her nose as she started to laugh. Camilo loved it when she scrunched her nose like that. She only did it when she was laughing.
“For intergalactic bribes,” Camilo said, smiling at her. “I need to get at least a spaceship out of it.”
“At least I’m worth a spaceship to you,” Mirabel said, her nose still scrunched as she leaned her head against his.
“A nice spaceship.” Camilo smiled at her, but his smile faltered as he glanced at the food sitting by the bed, untouched. “You sure you’re okay, Mira?”
Her laughs stopped, and Camilo almost regretted asking.
“I just… had bad dreams,” she said, her voice trailing into quiet.
“Bad dreams?” Camilo tugged her hair gently. “What kind?”
“I don’t remember them. I just know they were really bad.”
Mirabel straightened up, prompting Camilo to move his head off her shoulder. She looked at him with an expression he didn’t recognize. Something was hollow in her eyes. Something that made the hair on his arms stand on end and his stomach turn.
“Camilo, do you… could you please stay in my room tonight? Like when we were kids?”
Camilo blinked in surprise.
“…Sure, Mira.”
The words spilled out without thought. It was a weird request, one that probably should have been an instant no at their age, but something in her eyes had him agreeing. And her shoulders sagged in relief, and Camilo struggled to think why his agreement would have been a question in the first place.
“I’ll go brush my teeth and stuff and be back, okay?” He said, standing up and smiling at her. She smiled back. It was okay for him to leave as long as he left her with a smile.
He slept flush against Mirabel’s back, his arm slung loose over her waist. It reminded him of the days when they shared the nursery, and neither of them could sleep if they weren’t in the same bed.
The next morning, Mirabel seemed more herself. She was smiling when they woke, imitating her usual wake up knocks on his door on his sternum and laughing when he pretended she’d mortally wounded him and he would die from lack of sleep. She ate her usual portion of breakfast, kissed the grownups good morning as she always did, and gave out her morning hugs to the cousins as she always did. Dolores was quiet, staring at her eggs, but she was always quiet. It could have been a normal morning.
“Hey, I’m going to babysit some of the kids in town today,” Camilo said to Mirabel after they finished breakfast, jerking his thumb towards the town. “You want to come?”
“Oh.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes had a bad look again. “I’m actually going to stay in today. I need to get caught up on my sewing.”
“Hm?” Mirabel very rarely stayed in, especially when she was invited to share in family chores. Everyone had been trying to include her more in helping the community since the Casita Crisis, and she’d been very happy for it. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” Mirabel’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she nodded. “I’m sure.”
When Camilo left for his babysitting responsibilities, he cut the babysitting short so he could get home by lunchtime. Mirabel sat on the couch, working on embroidering the orange and yellow skirt with chameleons after lunch. Camilo picked a random book, not even bothering to look at the title, so he could sit next to her while she worked. He looked forward to wearing the skirt and showing it off for everyone in the family when she was finished.
That night she didn’t ask him to stay with her, though a part of him was worried that she didn’t.
But the morning after that, she went outside again when he suggested repainting Juan’s house together. They joked over paint and brushes. By the next day, she was mostly normal.
Camilo forgot about it, for the most part. It was probably just a really nasty nightmare that shook her. He barely noticed how Dolores started drinking more at dinner, or how Mirabel only really went outside if someone else was with her. He didn’t even notice how Mirabel’s style suddenly changed, how she seemed to only wear white and had high collars and long sleeves.
He forgot it entirely until two months later.
Two months later when Mirabel and Dolores were late to dinner.
Abuela, her brow creased in concern and mild annoyance, sent Camilo to go find them. Camilo checked Dolores’ room first, a soundproofed oasis with a Zen Garden and bed soft as a cloud—but they weren’t there.
He checked Mirabel’s room next.
He opened her door to find both on the floor, backs to the bed. Mirabel’s shoulders were shaking, her head between her knees as she sobbed. Dolores sat beside her, hand on her back.
Dolores looked up at Camilo, frozen in the doorway.
“Go away. You didn’t see anything,” Dolores hissed.
Camilo ignored her. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Mira?”
He knelt at her feet, putting his hands on her knees. His heart thundered in his ears. He hadn’t seen her cry like this since her ceremony. Every sob felt like a knife to the chest.
“Mirabel, what’s wrong?”
“Go away,” Dolores said again, wrapping her arm tightly around Mirabel’s shoulders. She was speaking in a normal volume, which was practically shouting for her. “You didn’t see anything.”
The anger took him by surprise. It rose in his throat, coloring his cheeks, and for a moment he wanted to tear his sister’s hair out. “I’m not leaving!”
“Camilo, I said—”
But Mirabel turned her face up from her skirts. Her eyes were puffy and red. Her cheeks were blotchy. The look on in her eyes shattered his heart before she said anything. He was convinced that the only thing she could possibly say is that someone died.
And then she opened her mouth.
“I’m pregnant.”
The air rushed out of the room. Camilo felt cold. He blinked at her, trying to process what she said.
She buried her face in her skirts and her sobbing doubled. Dolores glared, livid, at Camilo and kicked his foot.
“N-No—what? No—” Camilo shook his head, petting her hair, trying to find a way to make her stop crying. “No, that’s impossible, Mira. You don’t even have a boyfriend. You’ve never had a boyfriend.”
Mirabel’s crying doubled. Her fingers twisted in her own curls and pulled. Pulled hard enough that her scalp lifted from her skull.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Camilo pressed his cheek to her knee, trying to catch one of her hands in his, trying to do anything to make her stop crying. “You’ve never even had—”
That was when he remembered.
He remembered Dolores’ green complexion.
He remembered the look in Mirabel’s eye when she asked him to stay for a night.
He remembered Mirabel’s favorite dress stuffed in the trash, and her insistence that it was ruined.
His body realized before he did. His chest grew cold. Everything was cold. His fingers, his lungs, his breath—so cold. So far away.
He straightened his head. He saw his cousin in pieces on her bedroom floor, sobbing.
“What’s his name?” Camilo asked softly.
Mirabel peeked barely from her skirts. Dolores was the one to look at him, her complexion pale. “Camilo…”
“Give me a name, and I promise you’ll never see him again,” Camilo said. His chest felt like stone. Mirabel looked up from her knees, her eyes wide behind her glasses.
And then the door opened.
“Mirabel!”
Camilo had taken too long. The whole family had come up to check on them. Julieta and Agustín rushed to be at Mirabel’s side, Dolores letting her go to give them space. Mirabel hid her face, murmuring, “No no no no no no,” quietly to herself, like she could melt into the floor by force of will.
“Please, give her space,” Dolores said, going to the door before more people could enter, shooing the cousins and adults that were poised to enter. Camilo moved to leave, but Mirabel clutched his hands with a desperate noise in the back of her throat.
“Don’t go,” she pleaded.
Camilo settled back down at her feet, lacing their fingers together.
Abuela walked into the room, closing the door behind her. It was just Abuela, Mirabel, her parents, and Camilo.
“What are these tears about, mija?”
Abuela had grown softer since the Casita Crisis. She sat on the edge of Mirabel’s bed, looking at all the others huddled on the floor with concerned eyes.
Camilo stared at his and Mirabel’s conjoined hands. He had no idea how Abuela would react to the news, and a peek at Mirabel’s panicked eyes said she felt the same.
“I’m—I, uh—I’m—” she hiccupped, pressing her forehead to her knees to hide her face. “Please don’t make me say it.”
“Miraboo, whatever is the matter, we’ll take care of it together,” Agustín said gently, stroking her hair as he exchanged a concerned glance with Julieta.
“As a family,” Abuela said, resting her hand on Mirabel’s head.
“I…” Mirabel’s voice was thick and tortured. Her fingers tightened on Camilo’s. Her shoulders trembled. “I’m…”
“She’s pregnant,” Camilo blurted.
All the adults’ eyes snapped to him. Julieta pressed her hand to her mouth. Agustín’s jaw hung open.
Abuela’s eyes went wide. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Is Camilo correct, Mirabel?” Abuela asked quietly.
Mirabel kept her face hidden in her knees. “…Yeah.”
Agustín snapped his jaw shut.
“I see.” Abuela folded her hands in her lap. “Is the father someone you want to marry?”
“NO!” Mirabel tore her hands from Camilo, shoving her parents off her to jump to her feet. She turned to face her grandmother, kneeling at her feet, clasping her hands together on Abuela’s lap in a prayer. “Please please please Abuela, don’t make me marry him, please—”
“Calma, mi vida. I’m forcing you into nothing.” Abuela rested her fingers in Mirabel’s hair, petting her gently. Mirabel practically collapsed in Abuela’s lap, crying in relief into her dark pink dress. Camilo had to stifle a relieved sigh of his own, and from Agustín’s face, so did he. Julieta rested her hand on Mirabel’s back, rubbing little circles.
“But we still need to know who the father is,” Abuela said, her fingers running through Mirabel’s curls. Mirabel trembled. Over her arm, she peeked at Camilo’s face. Their eyes met.
He gave her a nod, holding her gaze.
“…Ah.” Mirabel rested her face in Abuela’s lap again. “…It’s… Santiago Nasar.”
Camilo took a sharp breath.
He knew the man. A thirty-year-old man from a nicer family. He liked to linger in the town square and flirt with the women that play music there. He’d cracked jokes with Camilo in the past about the hearts Camilo broke by showing no interest in any of the people in town. Camilo had been pleased by it, in the shy way teenage boys were pleased by compliments from grown men.
“Mmm.” Abuela hummed, her face hard to read. “Now. This is important.”
Abuela slid her fingers under Mirabel’s chin, forcing her to look up and meet her eyes. “Mirabel. Did you say yes to him?”
Mirabel bit her trembling lower lip, her whole body shaking.
She shook her head.
Agustín covered his mouth, looking away to hide his face from Mirabel. He looked like someone had hit him. Julieta’s face was stone, her hand still steady on Mirabel’s back.
“I see.” Abuela wiped Mirabel’s tears with her thumbs. “Rest easy, mija. We’ll take care of this as a family.”
Camilo stood up, folding his hands in front of his ruana. Abuela’s eyes rose to him.
“I’ll take care of Nasar,” he said.
“Milo, don’t.” Mirabel turned to look at him, wiping her eyes. “The guilt would keep you up forever.”
“Mira, I promise you, I will sleep like a baby,” Camilo said without an ounce of uncertainty.
“Let your family take care of you, mija,” Abuela said, petting Mirabel’s hair. “Camilo—bring your sister and cousins. Isabela is oldest, so she will lead.” Her eyes grew hard and her voice cold. “Do it right. Let no one find him after.”
Camilo gave Abuela a sharp nod. “Yes, Abuela.” He stooped to Mirabel’s level, pressing a hard kiss to her cheek. “Don’t worry about us, Mira. Let us worry about you.”
Mirabel held his hand tight, searching his eyes. Camilo hoped she could see his heart in them. He had never wanted to do something more in his life.
She let his hand go and allowed him to leave the room.