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When Mirabel was four, she broke her first plate, and instead of telling an adult, she was seen in the kitchen trying to clean it up by her mama.
“¡Ten cuidado!”
Julieta scooped her up and set her on the counter, then grabbed a broom. She picked up the shards with a dushpan and threw them away. As she was doing this, she looked at her child, who was now crying. “I’m sorry!”
“Shhhh! Míja, it's alright. I’m not angry. Look at me, Mirabel. Is Mami mad?”
“No.”
“No, she’s relieved you didn’t hurt yourself.” Mirabel looked down, sniffling at the dustpan full of broken pieces. “Can we put it together again?”
Her mother kept sweeping, “Sure, we can, sometimes... but it will never be the same... like a relationship, once it’s broken like this, it will always be broken.”
“Like Tío Bruno and Abuela?” Julieta creased her eyebrows as she lifted her little girl off the counter onto the now clean floor, patting her bottom gently, “Go play.”
...
Mirabel yawned as she set down her sponge. She had been cleaning up the mess of making arepas all night with her mama. Though they preferred to serve them fresh, they’d gotten a great influx of customers recently and needed the extra dough.
All those hours working, and they didn’t have the time to clean the kitchen. Mirabel got up bright and early to do just that. And now she was done, smiling at the now sparkling counter.
Taking a detour from the kitchen, Mirabel passed by the living room on the way to her own newly built room. No longer was she that extra kid they stuffed in the nursery. No longer was she the poor, giftless Madrigal. She had grownup and found her way in the family at last.
“Did Mirabel get off the ugly train this morning?” A male voice. She stopped in her tracks. “Her hair looks like one of Bruno’s rats is nesting in it.” Well, Mirabel hadn’t had time to make breakfast and do her hair. She was still waking up.
She went and edged close to the doorway where she could listen if anyone stood up for her.
“I know,” Isabela snickered, “And the way she pushes her glasses all up over her nose? Fucking four eyes.”
Camillo sneered, “I’ve seen her try to teach Antonio how to wash his hands with the ABCs. It's like, Perra, nunca te bañas.”
Pepa flipped a page in her book, saying something in Spanish about how much she loved fluffy romance, then, “Did you hear the way she sang to herself like she was in a fucking musical?” Dolores hummed, “Yes, I hear everything.” Mirabel tried holding her breath. Whether or not Dolores knew she was there, she didn’t say, but the others seemed not to notice her.
“Oh, yeah. Mirabel. Sings. A lot.” Luisa.
“Poor blind bitch.” Isa added.
Mirabel’s world spun around them; she could hardly breathe. She debated going in there and confronting them, but thought better of it as she rounded the corner up the stairs into her room. She could still hear them; they were still making fun of her, talking behind her back, insulting her.
Why were they being so mean towards her? She had done nothing to them. Whatever, she’s taking a nap now. She rested her head against her pillow and counted to a hundred, wishing for everything to go away.
She wondered out loud why they hated her before drifting off to sleep.
...
Dancing daisies followed Isa down the stairs, as she bounced off the final step of the stairs into a cushion of orchids and shrubs she had grown (against Abuela’s wishes) into the courtyard. “Buenos días, Mirabel. You ready for quesadillas at Chico’s?” Today was their sister's day. Ever since the casita fell down, Isabela made it a point to spend one day with each of her sisters a month. Today was Mirabel’s day.
She saw Mira cast a shadow in the middle of the courtyard. She was reading one of her favorite books—Don Quixote.
Isa was happy with herself. No longer was she the perfect sibling, too busy growing rows of roses to hang out with her sisters; now she was the community gardener, ready to show off all the new colors and flora she could come up with. Now she was her true self. What else could she do?
Isa rounded Mirabel into a side hug, “It’s time to spend time with your favorite hermana!” She giggled. But Mirabel was not laughing.
“Mirabel?” She was shoved away. “Why don’t you just fork off, Isabela!” Mirabel didn’t even turn around as she stomped up the stairs to hide in her room, leaving a worried, shell-shocked Isabela behind. What had she done wrong?
...
“Hola Mirabel! ¿Estás emocionado por mi próxima actuación?” Camillo asked, shifting from Bruno to Julieta to Antonio, then back to himself. Mirabel shoved past him, speeding up as Camillo crept up to her, wanting to ask her something else.
Huh. That was strange.
Oh well, back to his room to practice.
...
Pushing past Camillo, Mirabel made her way into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and took out the tuppleware where Mama had hidden the last cookie.
Usually, Mirabel and her family members had all agreed silently to leave it for the hard-working Luisa. But today was not usual.
She ate it in a few bites, and when Luisa eventually came looking, Mirabel didn’t feel any guilt at all, just the taste of oatmeal chocolate chip on her tongue.
...
“Lola!” Dolores’s head snapped up from the table, which was covered in thread and loose fabric from where she was fixing her favorite ruana. Isabela had walked in, brushed her hair to the side, and sat down next to her.
“Es que no tengo ni idea, ¿vale?”
“¡Bueno, algo está pasando!” Isabela raved, petunias appearing in her hair as she combed them away with her fingers. “What is with her?” As she was saying is Camillo appeared around the corner, turning his body towards them as he looked up to say. “I know what’s going on,”
“What?”
“You really don’t know?”
“Come on, Millo, what’s going on?”
“She’s pregnant,” Terror filled Isabela’s gut as the world swirled around her, only coming back into focus by Dolores’ voice grounding her. “Hmmph? She’s not pregnant.” Suspicious wide eyes, wondering what her brother was getting at.
“Surrreeee she isn’t.” Isa rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I’m being serious. She hasn’t said a kind word to me all night.”
“She’s pregnant!”
“I can literally hear her empty womb.” That thought unnerved Isa.
“Well, I say she is,” Camillo kept at it, not missing the chance to push his sister’s buttons.
“I say she’s not.”
“Oh yeah? Well, she—” His voice trailed off. In the distance, Isabela could see the familiar butterfly blue shirt coming her way. “Heyyya Mira,” She waved.
But Isa couldn’t do anything but watch as her youngest sister, avoiding her touch, turned away from her and into her room. She thought of ways to get her sister happy to see her again, but was coming up empty. No matter what Isa did, she couldn’t find her way to her.
...
Alma Madrigal was doing fine.
It had taken approximately one week to become accustomed to her new home. Three to recover from the shock of losing her old one. And four to stop looking for the glimmer of light now absent in her windowsill. And while she missed her old casita, she couldn’t deny that the new one had its perks, such as Mirabel’s new room or the soundproof barrier they made for Dolores’.
The mural of her family lay on the back of the wall before her from where she stood outside the house with her granddaughter, listening for their various family members. “Luisa is done with the burros!” She checked it off the list. The picture of her with her three children stared back at her, under which stood her beautiful grandchildren. Ay Dios míos, Alma was filled with love for herself and everyone in her family. Her casita—new and improved—was going strong.
Mirabel shoved past Dolores, who chirped in response. Alma gave her a look. Camillo moved past them, picking his teeth, done with babysitting as Mirabel headed down their concrete steps into town.
“What is going on with her?”
“Must be the hormones.”
“What?”
“Milo thinks she's pregnant.”
“What?” The thought of Mirabel lying in the hay with some boy filled her head. It was absurd to Alma, who had changed the girl’s diaper, to think about, but she was that age once. The girl would need to sit down with them if she were.
“Is she?” Dolores shook her head. They needed to talk. Alma had no idea what Mirabel was up to, but she was going to figure it out.
...
Mirabel headed down the street carrying her heavy bag. She would have to go into town to get supplies—the Broncos wanted a dress for their daughter’s quinceañera, and Mrs. Grandoes needed her skirt mended. On the way, she would buy more fabric for her own project—a knee-length poodle shirt that was in style in America, just as her latest book had told her.
She picked up a ball of white yarn for the poodle’s hair, not noticing as the baker came around in her cart, knocking a loaf of bread into her bag. She got up and went out to pick some fabric without noticing.
Moving through the crowd, she found her way into the food stand of the farmer’s market; the smell of roasting meat lingered in the air as she counted her coins.
Making her way down, she couldn’t help but feel like a young girl striffling through a frozen lake. The water wrapped around her, chilling her to the bones, her skin numb. She trembled and clawed at the icy surface, but every time something hit her, causing her to dunk her head under water again.
She thought of her family and how encouraging yet deceitful they were. The assurance that she was a Madrigal too by Abuela—yet the countless family photos without her—the late-night talks with her mama about having no gift—the snide remarks behind her back.
She remembered the way her sister's mouth curled down when they mentioned her name. The awfulness spoken about her. She felt like no matter what she did, her own family would talk like this about her, and she was powerless against it.
So as the sun set over the Encanto, she didn’t come home at curfew. No, she danced through town carrying her hefty load to various shops, at her whim.
Anxiety shewed in her chest as she looked towards her home, wondering if they would even notice she was gone. But she tried not to care if they worried; it's not like they cared more than to speak evil towards her.
...
“How could Mirabel run away?!” Pepa thundered (literally) as she crossed the courtyard, the rest of the family ransacking the house for the girl. “¡Esa niña! ¿Se ha vuelto loca? ¡La voy a matar cuando la encuentre!”
Panic was askew through the casita as the family searched the house for the girl. It was getting dark, and Dolores claimed she could no longer hear her in town. The rest of the family had come home by now.
Julieta and Agustin were by the back windows looking out into the jungle for a glimpse of their daughter; they were beside themselves with worry.
“Where could she go?” Juileta asked, glancing back at her mama. Alma looked past her, “I don’t know. “ But her eyes, full of determination, said, “We will find her.”
But Mirabel wasn’t in the casita, and there was no sign she had gone into the jungle, so the family headed into town.
They required help from several villagers; one in particular seemed very adamant about finding her. “I FOUND HER!” He shouted, “Papa, that is a coconut!” Shouted his daughter. Alma pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ay, coco.”
Isabela took Dolores’ hand and led her into an alleyway where the rest of the family couldn’t hear them. “You didn’t hear her say anything about running away, did you?” Dolores shook her head, just as clueless as her. “Maybe she heard us the other day?” Isabela shook away the thought. She didn’t care if her sister heard her; it didn’t mean anything, it was just words.
“Here she is!”
“Papa, that is another coconut!”
Juileta wiped her face with her palm. Dolores gestured to Isabella that she heard something, coming towards her familia. “Silencio, everyone, silencio!” Around the corner, in the distance, passed some alleys where grunting sounds were heard, sounding like someone struggling with a heavy bag. Dolores ran over just as everyone caught a glimpse of—
“MIRABEL!”
...
She dropped her bag as someone grabbed her shoulders, holding them tight as if they were afraid she would run away. Isabela was standing in front of her, looking panicked and as if she had run a mile, “Mirabel?!” Silhouettes edged the corners of her vision, familiar shapes gathering under the moonlight.
Dolores was the next one beside her, arms huddled up in the cold dark. Mama and Papa are not far behind them, and behind them are Camilo, Pepa, and Felix. Luisa was there in front of Mama, and she looked angry. Mirabel wondered if she would drag her home kicking and screaming. Actually, all her family looked like they might.
The group broke as Abuela moved through them, coming right up to Mirabel. The girl winced as her grandmother fussed over her, grabbing her chin between her fingers, and looking her up and down with her light.
Abuela said nothing for a moment, then: “...are you pregnant?”
“What? No I—”
But Camilo was insistent. “It’s the only explanation!”
“No,” Isabela said, shaking her head. “For the last time, Camillo, Mirabel’s not pregnant.”
“She has to be!” He said, “How else could she be acting this way?”
“Oh?” Mirabel snapped suddenly, “The way I’m acting? How about the way you’re acting? I’ve spent—”
“There she is!” A woman with an apron on shouted from a few yards away, pointing at Mirabel, “There’s the girl who stole my bread!”
A long conversation with the baker and a police officer, a payment and an apology later, and Mirabel was home, sitting on the couch between her parents as her abuela paced back and forth in front of her. They’d long discussed the pregnancy—there was none, Mirabel and Dolores and the doctor had assured.
“How could you..” She started but didn’t finish. “How...How could you run from your familia? Stay out all night? How could you worry us like that? We did not raise you to act like this, nieta... How could you be so selfish?” There was a long silence, her abuela’s rage impermeable.
“How could I be selfish?”
“Now Mirabel I-”
“How could I be selfish?!” She stood up, facing her abuela. “How could I be so selfish?!”
“Yes, Mirabel, how could you be so selfish?! We searched, and we searched for you! Do you know how concerned we were?!”
“I tried with you guys! But I couldn’t handle it anymore! The ridicule! The talking behind one’s back! GOD HELP ME!”
There was a silence, then, “Do you have any idea how worried we were? How long have we searched for you?”
Mirabel turned to Pepa in her armchair, Camilo in front of her, then to Luisa by the window, then to Dolores in the doorway, and finally to Miss Perfecto Isabela. “You broke my heart!”
“What?”
“I heard all those nasty things you all said about me behind my back! How could you?!”
“Mirabel, we-”
“I do, and I do, and I do for this family, and this is how you treat me?” Now Mirabel was the one pacing. “And I try, and I try, and I try for this family, and it's never enough! Is it?” She was looking at all five of them now, face curled up into a scowl.
“And it hurts. Hurts. But I keep trying anyway. ‘Cus you’re my familia. But what if I want to stop trying, ‘cause all it gets me is hurt in the end.” Mirabel took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. “That's just what I think of all of this. Oh well, I’m going to bed.” She went towards the exit, ready to bolt.
“Wait, Mira—”
Julieta got up and grabbed her before she could get away, wrapping her in a hug. Mirabel didn’t fight, just sobbed to her mama about how she just wanted her own family to like her.
Abuela looked at everyone in the room; they were all guilty of mistreating Mirabel in some way in the past, but never had she snapped back like this before. They needed help
Agustin got up to make a phone call.
...
Ms. Moreno’s office was in her spare room in her adobe townhouse across the river from Casita. Not unlike the casita, it had several rooms, a courtyard, and a full family to fill the large space.
Moreno was a thin, black woman in her mid-to-late thirties with a million little braids in beads covering her head. She spoke to Mirabel not like a child, but as a young person needing guidance from an older lady.
Carefully, Mirabel explained the broken plate, the backtalk, and the feeling of powerlessness resulting in the casita falling. down a few months ago. “I just feel like they’re hearing me, but they’re not seeing me. It's like open your eyes, you know?” Moreno wrote something down in her notebook, then looked back at the girl. “Sometimes family says hurtful things, I understand. And how has this affected your relationship with them?”
“Well, it's just... It's hard to talk to them now. Every time I try... I just think of all those things they said about me. It feels like the casita is going to fall over on me again.”
“And will it?”
“Will it what-”
Moreno held up a finger, silencing her. Pulling her plump purple lips into a smile, “Not on my watch. Let's get your family in here.” And so she had Mirabel open the door, from behind which Felix stumbled, clearly having been listening to the two of them. Both the doctor and Mirabel gave him a look as he got up, Pepa brushing fake dust off his backside, “We’re here to learn, Miss.” And so the family came in, the women on the red velvet couch, the younger kids on the floor with Bruno, men to the side of their wives.
She cut right to the chase, “I’ve heard you’ve been badmouthing Miss Mirabel.”
“Um... that's not entirely accurate,” Felix said, “Only the kids were backtalking her.”
“And Tía Pepa.”
“And Pepa,” Agustin cast a glare Pepa’s way, and the woman turned and rolled her eyes at him, storm clouds rolling.
“We did not mean to hurt Mirabel’s feelings. We were just... how you say?... Shooting the shit... And she said... that we broke her heart. Did we, Mirabel?” Doroles' wide eyes—and soon everybody’s—were on her.
“I-I don’t know, I just- “Mirabel stuttered, and Moreno grabbed her hand. “Sometimes when families fight, they think of the worst kind of stuff to say to each other in private. This can cause a lot of hurt feelings if the one being talked about hears. I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt Mirabel’s feelings... but there’s no excuse.”
Isabela
looked at the floor, arm in her mama’s, and said, “We’re sorry, Mira.” Camilo and the other kids echoed her. Felix gave Pepa a nudge, “Sorry.”
“Wow,” Mirabel looked at her therapist, “That’s more than they’ve done in a long time... Are you free next week?” She was getting a bit ahead of herself. As if her family would ever agree. She could hear Abuela’s words this morning now: “There is no need for therapy—we are not loco!”
Now she heard Abulela’s voice out loud. “We are a flawed, but strong familia. Really, we don't—
“I need this.” She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder. “We need this.”
Moreno moved papers and brought out a pen for the family to sign.
The grownups looked at each other. Then Felix said, “We all love Mirabel. We’re willing to give this a try.” They all signed the paper.
“Great. Now I’m going to an assessment to get to know your familia better, in which I’d like to talk to each of you about your problems as a group this coming week.” She took out her notes, and the fun began.
...
“I just don’t know what to do when my babies fight!” Julieta wailed, hiding her face in her hands. Agustin squeezed her shoulder from where he sat next to her. Luisa got herself a tissue; she took it with a “thanks, míja.” They all brought her into a hug with a “Oh, mama!”
Moreno smiled as she took more notes.
...
“I am not speaking to her again.”
“Patience, Mirabel, patience! We’re all a little frustrated here,” Moreno chidded.
“I am not talking to her either!” Abuela had her arms crossed, looking to the right away from Mirabel.
“Mama!” Pepa thundered. “You are acting like a child!” Abuela huffed and started talking to Pepa fast in Spanish, too quickly for Mirabel to keep up. Pepa spoke back just as quickly, raining. The girl twisted her hand into a fist, clenching it. It was just like her to deflect in this way!
Moreno tapped her palm against the desk to get their attention, “Listen to Mirabel, Mrs. Madrigal, listen.” They stopped and looked at Mirabel expectingly.
“I’m just saying sometimes you overlook me—”
“¡Ay Dios míos!” Moreno watched as the old woman waved the girl away, clearly not wanting to hear any more.
This was going to take some work.
...
“Dolores, “Moreno smiled, looking at the quietest member of the Madrigal family, “What’s on your mind? What is your gift? What can I help you with?”
Dolores looked at her with those wide eyes of hers. “I’m the one that hears everything,” She looked disturbed, “And I mean EVERYTHING.” Moreno cringed at the implications. She would need a lot of coping skills.
...
“Sometimes I feel like the family puts all their burdens on me.” Luisa wiped her eyes with a tissue, and Isa put a hand on her shoulder.
“Ah. I see.”
“I just can’t handle it. Every family burden...”
“She’s holding so much.”
“No one’s asking you to hold all that, Lui,” Isa had wrapped her arm around her sister’s.
“But I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service.”
“You need to take more breaks.”
“I’ll try but—”
“No try, Luisa, do. Okay?”
“Okay.”
...
“Every time I have a cloud. Every time she is on me.” Pepa accused, red hair wet from the rain.
“Pepa! You have a cloud!”
“See! She is doing it now!” The rain got heavier and heavier until Alma apologized. “Fine! I’m sorry, okay! Mi vida, I just want you to be happy.”
“And I will be Mama! When you stop commenting on my cloud!” Moreno wrote as they talked. “I know my dear, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, Mama.”
...
Bruno twiddled his thumbs from where he sat hunched over in front of Moreno. “There’s really nothing I want to talk about—”
“Oh? Mister stayed in the walls for ten years to protect his niece,” Bruno chuckled. “About that... I don’t really want to make it a thing, but—” Then he mumbled something Moreno couldn’t decipher. “What?”
“I don’t really want to make it a thing, but—” Bruno coughed, “Myfamilystillkindofresentsmeforleaving.”
“Ah. I can see why. They must have been so worried about you.” Bruno’s face was racked with guilt. “I’ll talk to them about it with you if you want.”
“No, no, I just—can we keep this on the downlow. I think we can keep this on the downlow?”
Moreno sighed, closing her book, “Okay,” They would wait until Bruno was less shy with her. “Next time then.”
...
Family Night Fridays at the casita were always a blessing. Mirabel was no longer miserable as she had been weeks before; the therapy was really touching the hearts of each Madrigal.
If I should stay
I would only be in your way
So I'll go, but I know
I'll think of you every step of the way
And I will always love you.
I will always love you.
You
My darling, you.
They got ready for an encore as Camillo got up, water cup in hand, and splashed it on poor Isabela. Isabela got up and chased him. The guys, minus Agustin, were rooting for the boy as he ducked under the patio.
Mirabel shook her head at that and wondered if there existed better food than her mama’s as she ate a spoonful. She took in the Colombian atmosphere, her family’s laughter, and the general affection they all had for each other and smiled, thinking there was no other place she could have possibly belonged except here.
Julieta placed her hand over her daughter’s chest, right where her heart would be, “Is your heart better now, híja?”
“Yes, Mama. Everything's fine now.” Mirabel smiled. They had come a long way and would come a longer way still from where they were weeks ago, starting family therapy, but now, her casita was better for it. Ms. Moreno had taught her that her family wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be repaired.
“GET BACK HERE, CABRÓN!” But she hoped Camillo didn’t get away this time.