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Casita looked weird, half finished. It wasn't like he hadn't seen construction before. Houses were always going up in the Encanto, and roofs and walls were replaced fairly often. Luisa moved houses enough that occasionally one of the particularly aggravating neighbors would exceed the limits of their structures and lose a back wall. Camilo didn't know how she did it, working constantly even now that all their gifts were gone. But then again his prima was in better shape than most men in town and certainly more than he'd ever be, so maybe it was just inertia at this point.
Regardless of his primas or any of their work ethics, the house still looked weird. The whole town had been helping for the last couple of months, and the first floor was already mostly done. The bones of the second stood out, naked and a little creepy in the low light. It gave him the willies. He felt exposed under the open sky rather than sheltered under the clattering rooftiles he'd known his whole life.
He really should have headed back to Tío Abuelo Leonel's house a while ago, but he'd lagged behind, loitering at the church and filtering through the rescued things the family had stored there, courtesy Padre Conseco. Most of it was trashed, if he was honest with himself, and anger burned in his gut at that. He'd found one of his old puppet show sets, something he hadn't done in a year or two since his duties in town had ramped up. He'd worked hard on this one. It had had a moving screen and the puppets had been fully jointed. It had been a way to get around having to shapeshift. Much as he loved--had loved his gift, from ten to thirteen it had left him so exhausted that he'd often collapsed upon coming home.
So he and his Pá had come up with this. He had made new rounds, visiting some of the most elderly or infirm in town and acting out old written out radionovela plots he'd found in a cabinet somewhere, only shifting his vocal cords to make the voices. Old people had just as much gossip and rumors as anyone else in town, and he'd been able to fly under the radar for a good long time. He'd still wound up needing some healing tea at the end of the day, but it was better than missing half the night in exhaustion. But eventually word had gotten back to Abuela that he wasn't really out in the town, and he'd found out just where those radionovela scripts had come from, and he'd had to stop. But he'd never stopped being proud of the little show or it's characters. And now the set was torn to shreds and the puppets broken beyond all repair. His eyes burned along with his gut, and he bit his lip, setting the things aside and digging further in the box.
Most of the time it had been okay, he mused as he sorted through clothes that might be salvageable. Mirabel was good at mending clothes. Tío Gus too. At least they still got to use their talents, even if they weren't magical. He barely got to help with the rebuilding. Too skinny. Too weak. He sniffed, wiping dust off his nose. He'd be more help if he could shift into someone else. He knew he would. If he could be taller or broader or stronger. But he'd lost his gift the same as the rest of them. He'd never thought much about what shape he was in. He was young, he was sort of fast, he played futbol in the town, what else did he need when he could change into whatever was needed? Except now that he couldn't. He had itchy callouses and stinging cuts on his hands these days, and they drove him crazy.
He'd liked babysitting for the younger mamás in town. They were friendly and always had snacks, and most of the babies were cute. He'd liked helping out at construction sites and on market days, copying anyone who needed an extra hand and lightening their load, though those days had been longer and more tiring. He'd hated helping out at the two tailor shops in town, acting as a living manikin when they needed. The Marquez siblings were snippy and had some weird rivalry with Tío Gus, and he'd always felt like he needed to apologize when he'd gone home at the end of the day. Tío abuelo Aquillino wasn't much better, but at least Mirabel's abuelo tried not to badmouth his son in front of his sobrino. Camilo didn't want to know what that was all about, and usually spent the time chatting with Soledad, Tío Gus's half-sister.
It had all been fine. None of it was what he was really supposed to be doing with his gift, he knew, but how people seemed to think he should be using it made him nervous. Dolores heard so much, and he couldn't remember a time his hermana hadn't been at least a little sad over the things she heard in town. He'd avoided most of it just being able to read people, but it couldn't be avoided forever. The things the Garzas would say to each other when they thought they were fighting their spouse. The way Ramón Carmen looked at him when he'd been shifted into one of the young women in town. The way Joaquin Ruiz was quick with his knife and slow with his apologies when he was drunk. But there'd been good things too. He'd helped more than one family reconcile, with help from his Abuela, when misunderstandings had sparked up. He'd become a favorite of the village kids and likely knew more about them than their parents did. And more about their parents than the parents likely wanted.
But now he was drifting. No one needed Camilo Madrigal. No one needed some reedy kid that looked like himself and couldn't sooth the nerves of a crying child or act as a sounding board for a confession too long in coming. No one needed Félix Cardona's skinny son with no muscle to work the stone or Pepa Madrigal's sweet son with the soft personality to calm his mother's storms. There were no storms anymore, not from Mamá who was still anxious but no longer cursed with tattle-tale weather, who'd been trying to get him to not play nursemaid for years. He loved his Mamá, though, and he'd never minded helping her sooth her nerves. But Pá was continually worried he'd hurt himself since he'd never worked the stone before, and Mamá wanted him to be out and having time to himself, even when it put her on edge.
Even his friends were few and far between. Maybe he was over thinking it. Maybe it was just work or their own families or having seen him at the rebuilding. But Manny had been hanging out with his brother more than Camilo had ever seen him do, and Miguel...well he'd sprained his foot but every time Camilo had come to visit he'd been distant or asleep. He thought they'd been better friends than that. At least Miguel. Manny...he'd always hung around because Camilo could easily sneak them all booze, but Miguel had known him since they'd been babies. Germán and Gaspar were always busy, so he didn't miss them as much, but still, for them to have never checked in at least stung. Tav had ignored him entirely and Kiko and Carlo had barely spoken to him, even though they'd been the first ones to see him right after the house had collapsed.
He bit his lip and threw what was left of his things back in the box, fleeing from the church like he'd been set on fire. He was glad for the first time that Dolores had lost her gift too. She couldn't wake up and hear him embarrassing himself like a little kid, tears on his borrowed pillow a secret just for him to know.
*****
Camilo pouted as he sat away from the construction, in the shade with his left leg propped up. He'd been doing fine, helping one of the Castillo twins move a beam. Okay, so he'd bothered Abelardo to let him help out of earshot of his Pá, and okay, yes, he'd been struggling, Tía Julieta, but he'd been helping! He couldn't help that his grip had slipped and the beam had landed on his ankle. His ankle throbbed, but he knew better than to ask for ice. The Delgado's ice house wasn't going to be in business much longer with his mother unable to summon snow and cold anymore, and what was left was being held for more severe injuries and illnesses. He'd asked Isabela if she'd bring him a book, since she was headed out to Tío Abuelo Leonel's anyway, but she hadn't returned yet, and the ring of hammers and watching Martína Castillo read her father the riot act for not coming home for comida could only be entertaining for so long.
That rankled more than he wanted to admit. Sure, Luisa was still ridiculously strong--he'd heard the older boys muttering, freaked out that even without the Miracle Luisa was putting them all to shame. Though a couple of them seemed more than okay with the idea of his prima being able to thrown them down the road and he really didn't want to think too closely about that. And sure, Mirabel had gotten under Abuela's wing and was helping keep up morale as well as planning. Okay, fine, he could see that. She'd been the one that had broken the house, made sense for her to fix it. 'Not fair, pendejo, she didn't mean to do all that' he thought, pinching himself. Mirabel hadn't meant for any of this to happen, she'd just wanted some stinking acknowledgement. He could sympathize.
But Isabela had always been the odd one out. Yeah, his gift and Dolores' gift were more clandestine, but people knew the risks. People had known to behave. Or at least to try to be better anyway. If only to avoid one of the grown ups making an uncomfortable house-call. Even Antonio. He'd always joked they were Abuela's spy network, even though the town had always loved Dolores' music and his acting when he'd been up to it. But Isabela...Flowers were pretty and he supposed useful if they were also herbs but what else was there? And yet somehow she'd been delegated as messenger and chaperone for guests and the specialists that were constantly in and out. She wasn't strong or ambitious to get to the house back up and running. She wasn't even the first grandkid getting married anymore. But she'd still been given that task. He could have done that. Dolores--well not now that she was dating Señor Poeta Mariano (and he didn't want to know how all that had shaken out, still hoping maybe Dolores had better taste in men. Mariano was okay but he didn't want to be related to the guy.) But still Dolores could have played messenger.
He shouted in surprise as something landed on his stomach. Antonio, flopping into his chest and wrapping little arms around his neck, his face hot and wet.
"Ay, pollito, what's wrong? What’s going on with you?"
"I--I s-saw Pico! I thought I could...that he'd...but he just f-flew away!" Antonio cried, hugging him tighter. Camilo felt nauseous, his anger dissipating. Of all of them, Antonio had been hit the hardest. He'd only just gotten his Gift, only for it to be stolen away, but Antonio had always been sensitive, and he'd bonded with every one of those animals hard. And Tío Bruno wasn't helping, his gross little 'pets' just reminded Antonio of what he'd lost. Camilo didn't understand why he was allowed to keep rats of all things. They should have been set loose out into the wild with the ones that ran away when the house collapsed. Pá said different. Said it was better to at least have something soft to talk to rather than miss them all entirely. He'd been talking about getting a dog, once Casita was back. Camilo hoped for Antonio's sake Abuela didn't throw a fit about it. He knew from stories that she'd disliked Tío Gus's old fino hound and Pá's iguana Ignacio.
"Oh, Toni..." He said, squeezing his little brother tightly. "I know you want to be friends with Pico again. Are you sure it was him? I didn't have time to learn all your animal friends, but toucans kinda...all look the same?"
Antonio froze before shaking his head, burying his face deeper into Camilo's neck, and all Camilo could do was hold him tighter. Maybe a little fib wouldn't hurt if he worded it carefully enough.
"Hey, maybe he'll come back once the house is done. He seemed pretty smart. I know it won't be the same but maybe? And people keep birds all the time!"
"Like the bibliothecaria?" Antonio sniffed. Camilo remembered the shop-keeper's bird, an old green parrot that liked to steal nuts from the market and squawked like it was laughing.
"Yeah, like her! I can't go right now, but maybe when my ankle's rested we can go, see if there's anything on how to take care of a bird when you can't--like other folks do? Would you like that?"
He grinned as Antonio's head popped up, his tearstained face lighting up in a slow grin. "Uh-huh!"
Camilo tried to encourage Antonio to run off for a snack, knowing some of the younger town kids were watching. He didn’t like it, but he’d lived through it himself, and without the gifts to out charm them, kids were not kind to the tenderhearted ones in their groups, and Antonio was already shy on top of sensitive.
It was warm even in the shade in the early late Julio heat, and with Antonio showing no sign of moving any time soon, content to use him as a pillow, Camilo quickly found himself drifting off into sleep.
They left the bibliotheca with an armload of books about tropical birds and an extra guest; the bibliothecaria’s old bird herself, grackling in their ears as she flitted between them. She’d followed them out and Señora Pascual had waved them off, laughing.
“Practice on her, nothing’s killed her yet!”
Antonio had been thrilled. The bird, who’s name Camilo had already forgotten, couldn’t talk, but was clearly smart, taking direction and clicking her beak the requested number of times for answers.
They paused at a pick-up futbol game, Camilo's heart hurting at the yearning look on Antonio's face. The kids holding the game were about Antonio's age, though Daniel Rosario was older and bullying one of the other players.
"Oye, need another player?" Camilo shouted, setting the books down on the nearest stoop. "I'll be portero!"
He saw Daniel go to protest, but the other kids shouted excitedly and he sent Antonio to get sorted out while he crouched, tightening the wrap around his ankle, leaning against the chalk-marked post marking the goal. He grinned as the kids scattered, shouting that Daniel had to be portero now to be fair, two big kids made sense, and the older boy pouted to the opposite side of the street.
The little kids scattered, shouting and laughing as they careened around the street, footing at the ball and trying to get it away from one another. They moved as a pack, happily ignoring whatever 'advice' Daniel tried to shout at them. Camilo waited patiently, knowing from experience they'd take forever to even make it to the goal.
He spent the next hour dodging wild flying kicks and collecting out of bounds balls, letting in a goal whenever he saw the kids getting discouraged. He glared over their heads at Daniel to do the same, not just for Antonio. All the kids deserved at least a chance to try. He'd had to re-wrap his ankle twice, and the joint was throbbing. He wrapped it tighter and carried on, not wanting to spoil the fun. Antonio's laughter distracted him. The ball went whizzing past his face and he went yelping backwards, falling on his rear and laughing as the kids cheered.
He dusted himself off and stretched, favoring his hurt leg, only to catch a green shadow disappearing down an alley. He buried the anger. Tío Bruno could at least have had the cojones to show his face if he wanted to watch the match, rather than sneaking around like a creep. It was already hard enough to defend the guy! Him acting like that it just made it worse. It was bad enough with him being gone for forever, but knowing where he'd been freaked Camilo out more than Casita's skeletal, half-built shell. Camilo watched the direction his Tío had gone off in, seeing his shadow slink around buildings, sticking to the edges just like his rats, before vanishing down the street. He didn't need to see it to know where he was going. He shook the thought away as Antonio came up to him, tugging on his arm and pulling him around in circles. He didn't know how the bibliothecaria put up with him, but it wasn't his place to wonder. Let her have him. He'd made it clear with a decade of absence that he didn't want to be part of the family, no matter what he said now.
Knowing he'd regret it, Camilo punted the ball down the road, gathering the books before swinging Antonio up on his shoulders.
"That was fun! Is your foot okay?" Antonio asked. Camilo winced and shrugged.
"I'll be fine. Looked like you had a good time. Daniel didn't hassle you guys too much, did he? Couldn't hear everything."
"He stinks at futbol, he just doesn't like to admit it."
"Hah! You're not wrong. You showed him though, I saw that goal. Who the heck got me though? I never saw that last one coming!"
"Cecilia! She's always playing. She can head the ball for three minutes!"
"Three whole minutes? Wow, I'm impressed!"
"When your foot's better can you show me, 'Milo?" Antonio asked quietly, resting his chin in Camilo's hair. "I asked Ceci but she doesn't make any sense when she explains it. Says she just 'knows how.' How do you just know how to do something."
Camilo squeezed Antonio's ankle where he held him balanced, thinking. He didn't want to make the comparison to their own lost gifts, but he was having the same trouble he always did, when he thought about what else any of them were capable of.
"Well...I don't think she 'just knows' either. Her Pá plays on one of the grown up teams. She probably just learned it from him when she was littler."
"But she doesn't remember."
"Do you remember when you were littler?"
"...no..."
"Maybe it's like...how Mirabel sews? She's been doing it so long she forgot what it's like for people who're just starting out?"
"But she's so good at it!"
"Well yeah! If you practice everyday you get good at things!" Something clicked and he grinned, setting Antonio down and taking his hand.
"You know Dolores couldn't always play the tiple, right?"
"What? But I thought that was...part of her...of her Gift."
"Nope!" Camilo smiled, wiggling Antonio's arm until he giggled. "She learned it after! I remember when I was really little, more than you. She was still learning. It sounded awful!"
"No!"
"Yes! Like she'd got a cat stuck under the door!"
"Poor Dolores, her ears..."
"Ah, she could block it out. Be glad she never liked the trompeta much."
"Oh no--was it bad?"
"The worst! Worse than Mirabel's acordeón."
"But Mirabel's good!"
"Now! When you were born? Remember when Luisa tried to play it as a joke?"
"Oh no it was horrible!"
"And Mirabel started out that way. She got better. You wanna learn how to head the ball? We'll practice when my ankle's up to it, but you gotta practice."
Antonio slowed and Camilo turned, puzzled at the serious expression on his little brother's face.
"It's not like the Gifts, is it? Everyday? Everything's harder now."
"Everything's hard when you start out, Toni. Even the...even the Gifts were. But hey, now we get to learn how to do all the hard stuff together--even Mamá! It might not be as hard if we're all learning together."
Antonio went quiet, clearly turning everything over in his mind. Something must have got through, because he grinned and started skipping, and didn't stop until they'd made it home.
Their mother was almost frantic when they got back to the house, and he realized he’d forgotten to tell anyone their plans. She’d been halfway to a lecture before Antonio tugged on her sleeve, whispering to her excitedly. Mamá only smiled and sent him away before turning to Camilo and hugging him tightly.
“Lo siento, cariño. He’s been so upset I…thank you. Go rest your ankle before I worry any more.”
Feeling warm from praise and embarrassment, Camilo made himself as comfortable as he could on Tío Abuelo Leonel's lumpy old couch, the rattan ragged and the pillows needing replaced. He’d fallen to napping again when he felt a tap on his leg.
Tío Agustín, aggravated and holding a wet rag to half of his face. Camilo lifted his feet and let him sit, propping his own legs back up over his tío’s.
“Bees again?”
“Don’t sound so torn up about it, mocoso,” Tío Gus laughed. “Wasps actually. Not my fault this time.”
“Uh-huh. Suuure, Tío.”
“Eh, believe what you want. You might want to go and apologize to that Castillo girl though. She got it worse than me.”
“Martína? What happened?”
“Someone didn’t tell anyone where they were going. She was going to share some buñuelos with you kids and went looking for you. Caught herself in a wasp nest by the wood pile before I could stop her.”
“I’m a dead man,” Camilo groaned. He’d been dancing around Martína since the end of the school year. She was such a hard worker and so focused that she never seemed to have time for anyone, but he’d made her laugh last week, and that meant something, didn’t it? Except now she was going to throw him into the stewpot with the goat meat. Tío Gus’s laughter wasn’t helping.
“Most likely. I recommend flowers. Or begging. Begging usually works.”
“Ah, Tío I can’t give her flowers. We aren’t even…anything!”
“And you won’t be if you let her get wasp-struck looking for you and don’t at least try to apologize.”
Camilo groaned again, before yelping. His ankle, throbbing from the heat, was enveloped with frigid cold.
“Tía got ice for you?”
“Allergy over injury--standing rule. I won’t say anything if you don’t.”
“Thanks, Tío,” he mumbled.
“No, thank you,” Tío Gus smiled, patting his knee.
“Uhh…for what?”
“Giving me a laugh for one. Ah, seriously, though? For looking after Antonio today.”
“He’s my hermanito, that’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“No, not really,” Tío Gus hummed, removing his glasses and pressing tension from his eyes. “You do a lot of things because you’re ‘supposed to,’ ‘Milo, but…most of them aren’t. It’s been easy to forget, how much you do.”
“I…don’t understand.”
“Antonio’s worried all of us, but he only really talks to you and Bruno and Mirabel about what’s bothering him. Mirabel’s been so busy with her own thing and Bruno is…”
“Damned weird?” It slipped out before he could stop it and he shrank under Tío Agustín’s glare.
“Camilo! No. Bruno is…Bruno. Go easier on him, it’s easier than being angry. I know you want to be and I get it but just…don’t, please? He’s healing but he’s in no place to help with the hurts of a confused little boy.”
“Fine, I won’t pick on Bruno.”
“Tío Bruno.”
“Tío Bruno then.”
"Better. I know I look ridiculous but I'm still your Tío. Watch your mouth. We're all trying, Camilo. He's got a lot more to make up for. Give him the time."
"I said fine, Tío Gus. And thanks for the ice."
"De nada." Tío Agustín sighed, leaning back and staring blindly at the ceiling. Camilo had tried his glasses on once. Man was half blind without them.
"You scared your madre today, going off, but we tried to keep things calm for her. Shouldn't be your job. You're still just fifteen."
"Yeah but I know Mamá's--"
"An adult, Camilo. Like all of us are adults. But you're todo en la sopa, running around. Helping your abuela, your mamá. Your tía. And me and your pá. It's a lot to ask anybody, and we never even ask you."
"It's not hard, Tío. Just what I do."
"Well, leave some time for just Camilo, okay? You should have been resting this leg all day, reading something and relaxing. And what did you do instead?"
"Antonio was upset! What was I supposed to do, ignore him?"
Tío Agustín sighed, accepting the glass of water Luisa handed to him in passing. "No, Camilo. No one expects you to ignore your little brother when he's upset. But you didn't have to take him to the bibliotheca or play a pickup futbol game with him, make your leg worse."
"How did you--"
"I have ways. Camilo, take some time for yourself."
"I can't!" It came out angrier than he meant it too, his face hot under his elbow. "I can't, okay? I barely did anything anyway and now I can't do anything and I just...this is stupid I'm going to bed."
He tried to swing his legs away, but an iron grip held the uninjured one.
"Camilo you do more for the family than most boys years older than you. What are you on about?"
"I don't want to talk about it!"
"Not talking about it is what landed us all homeless, kiddo. Out with it."
"Tío, come on, let go."
"Nope. You aren't talking to your padres, you aren't talking to your sister or your primas or Abuela. You've been knocking around like a bull with a thorn in it's ass for the last few weeks. I get it, you're angry. We all are, but you can't hold it in anymore. All that gets us is trouble. What's going on?"
"Shouldn't it be Pá lecturing me?"
"Who do you think asked me to talk to you? You aren't going to talk to anyone else, might as well be me. Not letting go until you tell me." Camilo blanched as Tío Agustín tightened his grip just slightly.
"...the hell are you this strong?" Camilo wondered, flinching when he realized he'd said it out loud. Tío Gus laughed, the swollen side of his face contorting grossly.
"I'm out there with an ax every day and you have to ask? Now out with it." His tone and the unyielding grip left Camilo with no room to argue. He flopped back on the couch with his arms crossed.
"Fine. I don't do anything. No one asks me to do anything around here anymore. Not even Mamá or Abuela. No more...anything."
"Most kids would be jumping at a break like that."
"Yeah well. Maybe I...It's not..."
"They haven't forgotten you, Camilo." Tío Agustín said softly. "If that's what you think, they haven't."
"Funny way of showing it. I saw what they did. What all of you did. To Bruno-Tío Bruno. To Mira. I know what being ignored looks like."
Something dark flashed across Tío Agustín's face, something sad and defeated.
"I'm sorry that was--I didn't mean--"
"No, you're right. What else could you be thinking, when all you've got is...that...as an example? Sit up, mijo, keep the ice."
Camilo did as he was told, not knowing what his Tío was going to say next. A stone in his belly anchored him to the couch.
"They aren't ignoring you, Milo." Tío Agustín reassured him again. "We've talked, all the grown ups. Trying to figure out how to help all of you kids. How to...how to fix this mess. We can't go back to the way things were. Mira felt ignored, so now she's involved. Too much for my liking but they're all too much like your tía. Luisa has a strict schedule, Issi has actual jobs to do. It made sense."
"How does...'not' ignoring me make sense?"
"Because you and your sister were working constantly, constantly out in the town, hearing and seeing all the worst parts of things. You...you really don't know how much your tía and mamá worried about you, all the times you came home sore and starve-gutted. Some of the stuff you told us. Playing mediator or just...taking abuse. We wanted to give you a break!"
"Oh," was all Camilo could think to say. He'd never thought of it that way. Gifts were to be put to use. Madrigals were to serve the community and the family. That's all he'd been doing. That...was all he'd ever done. He thought back to the little puppet show, to the futbol match in town, to the scant few days he'd ditched class and read comics hiding in the bibliotheca or gone barefoot wading in the river. Pranks snuck away to play with his friends. Bare moments just with himself snatched away from everything else.
And the guilt that always followed when he'd been caught. The trouble he'd gotten Dolores and Mirabel into for asking them to not say anything. The pleased smile on Abuela's face reserved for when he'd brought her some good news or when someone in town had praised him for something. The quick requests for 'we need another José, we could use another Arcadio, we need someone smaller to fit in that gap.' Never Camilo, always someone else for the most visible parts of his Gift, and always Camilo but never mentioned for the surreptitious duties he'd always hated but understood.
"I...you guys really...thought about all that?" He said finally, shifting his ankle to pop the joint, the cold having numbed it enough to take the pressure away without too much pain.
"Of course we did. You might just think it's what you're supposed to to but don't ever think it went unnoticed. We see how much you've been pushing yourself. Today just proves my point. Dios sabe where you all got your work ethic from but you aren't going to get in trouble for taking things easy."
"Why does it sound like you've said this all before?" Camilo grumbled. Tío Agustín was usually well spoken, but tended to stumble over personal stuff. He laughed, jerking his thumb back to the cocina, where Tío abuelo Leonel, Pá, and Luisa were all going over something spread out on the counter.
"Because I've had to give almost this same speech at least once a week when that one overworks herself again. C'mere."
Camilo yelped as he was yanked into a tight hug, one of the bones between his shoulders popping as he did.
"You were my only sobrino for a very long time, we have to stick together, you know."
"Tío you're squashing my back!"
"Stand up straighter, jorobado, and you won't have that problem." Tío Gus laughed and let him go.
"Give your Pá a break, huh? Talk to him. And your mamá. They fought the hardest to let you just...be a kid for a while. Don't ever think they aren't proud of you, Milito. Don't think any of us aren't proud of you, you understand."
Camilo sniffed, looking away. Bad enough he'd been squished into a bearhug like a toddler, but he wasn't going to let Tío Gus see him tear up. A hand settled onto his shoulder, and he turned further, but Tío Gus let him, smile in his voice as he spoke.
"There isn't a day you haven't made one of us smile, just being yourself, Camilo. Don't ever think any of us don't see you for who you really are. The Gifts...made it easy to overlook sometimes, but we do see you, entiendes? Just as you are."
Camilo nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Luisa passed though the room again as Tío Gus began to raise from his seat, and before he could stop the impulse Camilo had pressed his hand to his mouth and made a horrible wet fart noise against his palm, the sincerity in the air thick enough to start a fog. Luisa froze, staring in wide eyed horror at her father. Tío Gus fell back into the couch, breathless from laughter before Luisa realized what had happened and sputtered, giggling so hard she snorted, which only made the two of them laugh more.
"Just--ha--just as you are," Tío Gus sighed as he wound down. Something in his voice went straight to Camilo's chest and burrowed in, bright and warm.
Grinning, his eyes wet, Camilo nodded and slipped away to the little room he was sharing with Antonio. Antonio had passed out reading, the borrowed parrot snuggled against him. Camilo clambered into his own hammock, his mind whirring with the realization that he hadn't been ignored. That he hadn't gone unnoticed and instead could just...be. His whole body shivered with the same kinetic energy it had when the glow of a door had swept over him all those years before. It felt...nice, to know that he'd been seen. It felt better that all he'd done hadn't gone unnoticed. It felt best knowing that he didn't have to earn his spot in la Familia Madrigal. That he'd never had to earn it. That Camilo was enough as just Camilo. He wondered if this was what Mirabel had meant, the few times they'd tried to talk about things, before he'd given up and stopped talking altogether about anything to do with the house or the magic. About being more. What could more mean, when he was simply himself? What could it mean to the family, and to his place in it? He drifted into sleep, still wondering.