Chapter Text
The day after the disastrous dinner, Julieta is tense.
Although she has the day off — the first day off in her life, as far as she can remember — she spends the entirety of it worried about Dolores telling everyone about her and Agustín’s mischief. Rationally, she knows that nothing will happen if they find out, other than some excessive teasing and maybe even some extent of bullying , and, being the eldest triplet, she can handle that ; however, she carries the epithet of the golden Madrigal triplet as well, and as much as she’d like to put it eternally to rest, she can’t , and Julieta Madrigal isn’t one to disappoint her loved ones — or anyone at all .
Díos , now she knows from whom Isabela has inherited the burden of perfection.
Agustín has tried to appease her by offering her rigid shoulders constant rubs and even bringing her food that he hasn’t made in bed — he’s such a heaven-sent in her life — but she is so anxious about the whole ordeal that his sweet attempts don’t ease her apprehension.
Yet — nothing happens. Julieta waits, scared to even step out of her room for the first few days, and nobody confronts her about her deceit. She doesn’t know if Dolores has changed her mind or if the familia has decided to be nice to her after all the many delicious meals she has made them — nobody says a word to her, they don’t even look at her as if they know something, and while she’s somewhat suspicious of their behaviors, she’s also thankful for it.
A week has passed and she’s finally let her guard down. A whole week and she’s back in her kitchen for the very first time; she has traumatized her family so badly that they were kind enough to let her rest for all that many days. Even then, by the time she's got out of bed today, her family has already left casita for the day, so she doesn't make them breakfast. No, she has a quick bite of some bread that was left over the kitchen counter, then proceeds to cook a fresh tray of boliarepas for the townsfolk.
Her morning is slow, with very few people stopping by her tent to look for medical support — maybe a week without her presence either has made them more careful or showed them that they can indeed survive with a scratch on their arm or a cut on their leg. She appreciates it, but Julieta is no fool — she knows it’s a matter of days before they start coming to her again.
She doesn’t mind it, though; her magical gift might be her healing power, but her strength lies with her compassion for others. She will always do whatever it takes to mend those she loves, and she will always be left with a scar when she fails to heal their hearts.
Lucky for her, there are no heartbreaks for her to fix this morning, so she heads back to the casita a little before noon, as she needs to make lunch for her family. The basket hanging by her arm still has a considerate amount of boliarepas inside, so neither does she worry about getting another tray into the oven to treat the wounded.
All in all, it seems that her first day back after her very deserved break would follow without any stress, and truth be told she is eager to be back in her kitchen, cooking meals for her family. She loves cooking, she loves having Camilo following her around asking for nips before the food is ready, she loves Luisa peeking her head at the kitchen door as her stomach howls to see if the meal is ready, she loves Dolores offering to help her as she pretends she’s not trying to learn a thing or two to impress her boyfriend.
Julieta loves cooking, and she hopes that, this time, she can truly express her love for her family in a way that doesn’t involve Agustín’s terrible cooking skills.
She enters her kitchen humming, distracted by her own thoughts, and she places her basket on the counter. She opens the cupboard to see what ingredients there are and considers making some sancocho .
She fetches a package of flour and turns around, decided; some sancocho is surely the right choice. Her decision stays with her only, though, for as she turns back around towards the table, she’s met with a piercing set of green eyes staring straight into her soul.
“ Ay , Camilo,” she grunts his name, almost dropping flour all over the ground amidst the startle he gives her. “Who do you think is going to cook for you if you kill me with a heart attack?!”
Camilo chuckles. He moves to sit on the table but swiftly pretends he’s going for something else when Julieta glares at him. “¿ Tía ?”
“¿ Sí , Camilo?”
He leans against the table in a way that wouldn’t anger his aunt and prompts, “What are you making for lunch?”
She knits her brows together. “ Why …?”
She wonders if he’s afraid that she’s going to ruin the food again. Purposefully or not.
“I was just wondering,” he rattles with this trademark slick grin, “Can you make me my favorite? For lunch?”
Julieta crosses her arms, eyeing him suspiciously. “You want a cazuela de mariscos ?”
She swears she sees him salivating at the thought, but the words that come out of his lips say the opposite —
“What?! No. I want some tamales .”
“¿ Tamales ?” her frown doesn’t leave her face; she tries to remember any other time he’s asked for that specific dish and fails. “ Tamales aren’t your favorite.”
Camilo scoffs. “Yes, they are."
“No, they aren't,” Julieta states matter-of-factly. She knows everybody’s favorites, and she knows how often everybody’s favorites change. She knows that Isabela secretly loves obleas ever since she was a young child, and she makes her eldest daughter one whenever she is sad; she knows that Luisa loves a bandeja paisa , so every now and then Julieta will make her some to pay off all the hard work her middle child does for the village; she knows that Mirabel claims that natillas are her favorite dessert, but, in reality, it changes every few months when she comes to her with a sudden new craving.
And, above all, Julieta knows that Camilo’s favorites aren’t tamales , but a cazuela de mariscos . She also knows she has at least one more year before it changes.
Camilo rolls his eyes. “I think I know what my favorite meal is better than you.”
She doesn’t believe him, but she suspects he's asking her to do a simple meal so she wouldn’t risk ruining it again. Relentlessly, she drops her shoulders and gives in.
“Fine. I’ll make some tamales ,” she says, starting to move around the kitchen again. She hears Camilo’s hiss of excitement and chuckles at it. “Do you want to help me out? So you can learn how to make your own tama —and he’s gone already.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement there. She works faster when she doesn’t have a fifteen years old nephew making a mess out of her kitchen, anyway.
She moves on with the meal swiftly, her fingers working their magic on the dough. The fillings sit quietly on the side of the counter where she stands — there’s beef, vegetables, and cheese broth, so she can appease the different tastes of everyone in her family while also appeasing Camilo’s very wide range of tastes.
Mirabel is the next one to stop by; she strolls happily into the room, clinging to her bag on her side. Julieta smiles at her, and Mirabel greets her with a kiss on the cheek and a hug around her waist.
“ Hola , mamá,” she says warmly, “These look tasty.”
Julieta hums. “Apparently these are Camilo’s new favorites.”
Mirabel scoffs. “I highly doubt that. He probably just had a craving.”
“ Sí , probably,” she consents. “Is there anything you need, ¿ mija ?”
“Well……..” she has that begging tone that Julieta has to force herself not to always listen. “I was wondering if you're going to make dessert?”
Julieta turns her head towards the clock on the wall. “I suppose I have some time while the tamales are cooking. Do you want anything?”
“ ¡Cocadas! ” Mirabel shouts excitedly, but soon humbles herself, “But only if you’re not tired, mamá . I don’t want to overwork you.”
She smiles warmly at her youngest daughter. “It's just some cocadas , I’m sure I’ll survive.”
Mirabel giggles happily and kisses her mother on the cheek again. “ Gracias, mamá. Do you want some help?”
Her sweet little Mirabel, always so eager to help in every way she can ever since the day the Encanto forsook her and didn't grant her a gift.
“Can you grab some naranjas ?” she asks, “You can help to squeeze the juice while I make the cocadas .”
“On it!”
She does what she's told, and she's done before Julieta can start working on the cocadas. Mirabel begins to babble about everything and nothing at all, but Julieta sees how bored she is so she dismisses her until lunch is ready.
Julieta's alone again and she doesn't mind.
Time flies by too fast and she’s almost done, ready to summon everybody for lunch. She is shredding the last pieces of coconut for the cocada when a loud crashing sound echoes from behind her; it startles her so badly that she accidentally misses her aim and slams her finger against the grater. She winces, realizing it’s drawn blood; although the cut is minor, it stings nonetheless, and she brings her finger to her mouth instinctively. Her mind is distracted as she swirls around to search for the source of the noise, and her face doesn’t even flinch upon finding Agustín on the floor, a crooked smile on his apologetic expression.
“That’s quite an entrance, mi amor ,” she says ironically, refusing to move an inch as he struggles back onto his feet. She sees a black bruise on his cheek and notices how he’s leaning all his weight in one foot.
“You’re telling me. Has this door always been here?” he eyes the doorframe where he’s slammed his foot and tripped, “I’m certain that casita has moved it at least an inch to the left.”
“I fear it has always been there,” she answers him condescendingly, still sucking on her finger. “Sit down. I’ll get you a boliarepa .”
He does as he is told, taking a seat by the counter, very far away from where she’s working on her food. Julieta appears in front of him a few seconds later and, almost out of habit, shoves the snack inside his mouth. He smiles with his mouth full as his wounds magically disappear.
“What would I do without you?” he muses.
“Without me? Or without my gift ?!” she raises her brow at him.
“I’ll survive a thousand wounds before I survive a day without you,” he recites romantically, which only earns him a scoff from her end. He doesn’t give her the chance to refute him as he pulls her hand to him, “What happened here?”
“Oh, just one of my silly kitchen accidents,” she pays no mind to it, and even tries to bring her hand back to herself, but he’s holding it tight. “It’s fine, really. One bite and I’ll be good to go. Just don’t want to ruin my appetite for lunch.”
He nods, planting a warm kiss to her cut before letting her go. “So it’ll feel better. Can I help?”
“You can sit very still in my vision range so I know you’re not getting into trouble,” she determines; she washes her hands and is back on her table. “Last thing I need is you getting into trouble and finishing all my food stack of the day. I’m supposed to be taking it easy, remember?!”
He chuckles. “How could I forget. Isabela actually came to me earlier today to ask if you were well-rested enough to be back in the kitchen.”
Julieta laughs. She knows she should feel bad for what she’s put her family through; she did , when she was terrified that Dolores was going to tell everybody about her mischief, but now that the imminent threat is over — she doesn’t.
She finishes wrapping the cocada in coconut shreds and takes the last tray of tamales from the pressure cooker. Agustín is silently watching her work with his head on his hand and his dove eyes, like he’s just a teenager falling in love with her all over again.
She hears movement and soft chatter outside, knowing her family has arrived for lunch. Luisa walks in unannounced, and she doesn’t greet either of her parents as she asks, “Want some help setting up the table, mamá ?”
Julieta accepts her help with a warm smile — Agustín isn't allowed to help on that, not after too many times he’s tripped while carrying the plates and ended up with both a nasty cut on his face and dishware shattered everywhere.
Camilo is the next one to come in and he’s nearly drooling over the meal. “Ohhhh, tamales .”
Julieta smacks the back of his head with the piece of cloth that was hanging on her shoulder so he’ll lean back from the tray of food.
“ Ay, tía ,” he complains.
“Why don’t you help Luisa and take these to the table, will you?” she asks in her sweet tone that commands more of an order than a request.
“ ¡Sí, señora! ” he yelps excited, shapeshifting into some sort of waiter as he picks up one of the trays and rushes with it to the dining room.
“Don’t run or you’re going to drop everything!” she shouts at him in time to hear the sound of silverware clashing on the other side of the door. Camilo grunts some apologies, but since no one is yelling at him, she supposes her food is still in one piece.
He does another couple of runs, walking calmly into the kitchen as if Julieta doesn’t know he’ll pick up his speed again the moment he’s out of her sight. She shakes her head in disbelief, washing her hands again. Agustín suddenly appears behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face on the crook of her neck.
“Lunch smells amazing, corazón ,” he says, giving her skin light kisses. “You’re amazing.”
Julieta smiles, turning off the faucet and drying up her hands. “So what you’re saying is, you’re not going to leave for that woman who’s been constantly flirting with you down the village if I suddenly lose my gift and I can’t heal you anymore?”
He shakes his shoulders up and down. “I survived alright those six months after casita fell down, didn’t I—wait, what woman?”
“That’s exactly when she started looming all over you, when I was no longer of any service to you,” she shifts under his embrace so they’re standing face to face. “You’re suddenly interested?!”
He feigns to consider it. “Do you know if she can cook?!”
“I hear she’s a terrific cook,” she says with a stern face, “Although it doesn’t come with healing properties.”
Agustín nods. “This is really a tough choice, but I’m afraid my heart only has eyes for one woman. And my stomach only has a mouth for one woman’s cooking.”
“You forgot your accidents only have blood for one woman’s magic.”
“How could I,” he agrees, at last leaning forward to capture her lips on his.
“ Ugh , you two are disgusting,” a voice calls them out from behind; Agustín and Julieta immediately pull apart at the sight of Isabela, pretending nothing was happening at all. “Can you come before you make Dolores’ ears start to bleed? We’re all waiting for you.”
She disappears without sparing them a second glance; her parents try to hold for the longest they can, but they burst into laughter not too long after she’s gone.
“ Vamos ,” Julieta prompts, wiping the corner of her eyes. She walks hand in hand with him towards the dining room; there were two empty seats side by side waiting for them — Julieta sits next to Pepa, while Agustín is cornered by Abuela .
“Thank you for joining us, Julieta, Agustín,” Abuela says a bit sardonically, and Julieta musters her gentlest smile to stay on her face. “Let’s eat.”
The tamales are passed around while the family exchanges a few words with each other. The tray is about to reach Julieta when Antonio makes himself heard, “Where’s the ¿ juco de naranja ?”
Dolores eyes her brother with annoyance, “Camilo, you had one job.”
“Sorry!”
“It’s okay, I’ll grab it,” Julieta says, already out of her seat. She goes back into her kitchen, spends the better half of a minute searching relentlessly for where Camilo had placed the jar of juice; she finds it almost hidden between the fruteros , and rolls her eyes thinking how did Camilo manage to misplace it there.
She brings it back to the table and passes the jar to Pepa before she sits down. She settles on her chair and notices there’s already a tamale on her plate. She hums appreciatively, utters a vague thanks to whoever was responsible for it, and starts plucking apart the banana leaves wrappings.
Julieta picks up her fork. As a cook, she always waits for everyone to have the first bite before she starts eating; it’s a habit she picked up when she was just a child, making Bruno and Pepa sit through her probably horrendous meals, and it’s stayed with her up to this day. She observes quietly as Camilo dives full into his meal and doesn’t make a face, Antonio doesn’t sigh, there are no clouds over Pepa’s head, and Isabela’s face is serene.
Everything is back to normal; she can finally breathe again without her antics coming back to bite her in the ass. Tension, at last, leaves her body completely and takes a bit of the tamale to her mouth with ease.
Except — the moment she nipples the tamale , the most hideous taste invades her mouth and she has to put her hand in front of her lips not to spit it all out.
She makes a funny noise, she’s certain that she does, as she tries to swallow it all down. Yet, nobody looks at her, like there’s nothing wrong at all — that is, nobody except Agustín, who instinctively puts his left arm around her shoulder, although he doesn’t seem to be truly paying her attention.
She doesn't understand what’s happening! With the rotten taste still plaguing her, she looks around herself and everything is normal. Too normal; Dolores is humming to herself, there are flowers of happiness taking over Isabela’s hair, Luisa is so hungry that she barely takes her eyes off her food. And Pepa — oh god, is that a rainbow over Pepa’s head?!
No , something is amiss. Maybe she’s had a weird taste in her mouth before, hence why the first bite is so bad, so she tries again.
Nope , the tamale still makes her want to regurgitate.
“You… You okay there, Julieta?” Bruno, sitting across from her, dares to ask, upon seeing the weird noises and movements she’s doing with her body. He has that permanent confused look on his face.
“You’re not hungry, Julieta?” Pepa turns slightly towards her sister and asks; while she’s already eaten half of her tamale , Julieta has barely touched hers.
Julieta puts her fork down, her hand immediately after descending to her belly. “I think I must be coming down with something.”
Agustín places his hand over her forehead with genuine worry. “You’re not feverish. What are you feeling, ¿mi amor? ”
“Julieta, if you’re not feeling well, then you must eat,” Abuela speaks with her stern authoritative voice. “We don’t want you getting sick, so please eat your food, mija . It’s for your own good.”
“R—Right,” Julieta stutters, reluctantly picking up her fork again. She feels eleven sets of eyes on her, watching her closely as they wait for her to heal herself. She swallows hard as she braces herself for the next bite; willingly taking the tamale to her mouth again takes all her effort, and, despite the terrible taste in her mouth, she has to force herself to smile. “Hmmm. I feel better already.”
“Then you can stop playing around with your food like a child,” Pepa grunts, the rainbow gone from her head already — Julieta almost believes she was worried for her. “Eat.”
Right , she’s failed to consider that her instant recovery would make her fit for eating again. She wants to stall, but Antonio is gazing at her so intently from the other side of the table that she knows she doesn’t have a choice.
“ Hmmmm , delicious.”
If Pepa weren't glaring at her, Julieta wouldn't have stuck yet another bite into her mouth so fast.
Still, she doesn't understand what's happening! The tamales taste somehow worse than Agustín’s cooking from the week before, and she didn't think anything could be worse than his food, especially not her cooking. And everyone around her is acting so normal! They aren't anything like the mess they were during her and Agustín’s shenanigan. Has she suddenly developed some sort of illness that not even her magic can heal that curses her into having a broken palate for the rest of her life? Has her cooking skills somehow vanished as punishment for her week off and now she’s left with no cooking abilities, and her family has already accepted their fate ever since their disastrous dinner from the week before?
She turns to Agustín with despair in her eyes; he’ll tell her what's wrong, she's certain that somewhere in their vows he promised he would always tell her the truth. So when he simply gazes at her with his loving eyes and gentle smile, already going through his second or third tamale , and fails to recognize the misery in her face, she concludes — there's something inherently wrong with her.
She's definitely about to die with some sort of disease never documented before where the only symptom is the permanent sour taste in her mouth. She’s going to be deprived of the taste of her own food, as well as the taste of Agustín’s love for her, and the taste of affection from her children, and the taste of sibling bantering —
Díos , she really is going insane. There must be some sort of reasonable explanation, something that is staring her right in the face and yet she fails to see—
Amidst her silent nervousness, Camilo is the first to jump into the bowl of cocadas . Pepa scolds him for grabbing the dessert before everybody — namely, Julieta — is done with lunch, but as soon as the words escape her lips, she takes a cocada for herself, and passes the bowl around the table. She basically throws a cocada onto Julieta’s plate, despite her not being done with her food yet, and Julieta sees it as an easy escape from the worst tamale she’s ever eaten.
This time, she doesn’t pay attention to everyone around her taking a bite of the dessert, but the absence of thunder or children’s sighs or sudden shapeshiftings is a sign that she must at least have gotten the cocadas right. There’s no rocket science behind making cocadas , after all, so it would require more effort to ruin them than to make an average-tasting cocada .
Turns out — she’s wrong. Either that or her taste is broken to an extent because the moment she tries the sour taste of the cocada , she immediately feels her insides grunting in protest, and she needs to control herself once again not to spew it out.
“ Díos , Julieta, what is wrong with you?!” Pepa angrily asks when her sister starts coughing next to her. “First the tamales , now the cocadas . Are you pregnant?! You haven’t felt this squeamish over your own food since Mirabel’s pregnancy.”
Julieta’s eyes become wide and her face is frozen; there, the thing that was standing right in front of her, and she’s finally opened her eyes enough to see it. Next to her, Agustín’s expression is similar to hers, with his jaw falling down and forming a gap between his lips.
Yet, she tries to silence the growing panic inside of her. “I’m too old to be pregnant.”
Pepa scoffs, eating her cocada indecorously. “That’s what I said when I got pregnant with Antonio.”
Julieta swallows rough, remembering all too well the stress that Pepa underwent when she learned she was pregnant with her youngest child; not only because she was an older woman and the pregnancy was riskier, but because she understood the burden that her child would face after Mirabel’s failed ceremony.
At least, she’s not the only one who’s panicking at that moment; so is Abuela , who turns to Bruno with a grave expression, “Bruno? Is this true?”
Meanwhile, Bruno is staring at his oldest sister without blinking for several moments now, a half-eaten cocada looming in his hand. It takes him a while and Julieta’s petrified gaze on him for him to register someone is addressing him. “Hm?! No idea.”
“I’m not pregnant,” Julieta decides; really, there’s no way she could be. She even dares to say, “This food just tastes awful.”
They eye each other suspiciously, but it’s Camilo who prompts while licking his fingers, “It tastes fine by me.”
Antonio follows his brother’s lead. “The food is great . Unlike last week—”
Mirabel nudges him before he says something he shouldn’t, and Julieta sighs — they are still walking on eggshells around what has happened last week. Still puzzled and facing at least three different internal conflicts in her mind, she brings both her hands to her mouth, her elbows leaning on the table.
Then, a frown takes over her face as something hits her. She pulls back her hands until they’re on her vision field and studies her fingers with intensity; precisely, she eyes the cut on her index finger from when she was shredding the coconut, a cut that isn’t supposed to be there anymore. This either means that her magic gift has suddenly stopped working, or —
“ Hijos de puta .”
Although she mumbles it underneath her breath, the room is quiet enough for everyone to hear her profanity. Her children are perplexed upon hearing a foul word escape her mother’s lips for the first time in their lives; Abuela is horrified that she would say such a thing; Bruno and Pepa, having grown alongside her, aren’t all that impressed with her sacrilege, but Pepa still smacks her in the back of the head.
“There are children here,” she lectures her sister.
Julieta rolls her eyes, hands on her hips as she turns to Pepa and dares, “Is there anything you’d like to say, Pepa?!”
Pepa merely shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about—”
Pepa is barely finished with her sentence when Julieta shoves some of the tamale that was left in her plate into her mouth. Pepa makes a face instantaneously and, inherently lacking Julieta’s grace, spills it out back into her own plate.
“Pepa!” Abuela yells at her daughter’s indecorousness.
Pepa ignores the scolding and shouts in turn, “Julieta!”
“I knew it,” Julieta accuses her sister with her index finger pointed at her; suddenly, they were teenagers again. “You purposefully changed my food!”
“I did not!”
“Then why did you spit it out?!”
“I—It was—You caught me off guard! That’s all!”
Her words are immediately followed by thunder; Julieta glares at the cloud hanging over her head suspiciously.
“Liar.”
Lightning. “Oh, you want to accuse me of being a liar, Julieta?!”
“You’re lying , which by definition makes you a liar, so yes!”
Pepa rolls her eyes. “In that case — is there anything you’d like to tell us, Julieta? Anything at all. Really, Julieta, we’re siblings and siblings don’t keep secrets from each other.”
Julieta’s cheeks gain a tint that wasn’t there before.
Pepa is looking at her with a devious smirk while she taps the table with her fingers. “Take your time.”
Bruno clears his throat before Julieta says anything. “What Pepa is trying to say… We love you very much, Julieta, so we expect the same level of love and respect to be reciprocated from you, and… You did a very mean thing to us.”
Julieta crosses her arms. “ I did no such thing.”
“You were an accomplice nonetheless, mamá ,” Mirabel states from the other side of the table.
Julieta puffs. “So let me get this straight — you were all part of this diabolical scheme to get back at me?! What about Agustín — he’s guiltier than I am! No offense, mi amor .”
“None taken,” Agustín says; if there’s anything he’s learned from being in a relationship with Julieta for some thirty years is that one should never get in the way of a Madrigal triplets argument.
“We gave him one of the bad tamales , too,” Félix claims, seemingly a little too proud of their mischief. “We don’t know what went wrong there. Pepa made the tamales , there’s no way they tasted good.”
“They didn’t,” Pepa whispers hoarsely, still traumatized from the bite that Julieta forced her to take.
Julieta turns to her husband with a frown; there’s confusion written all over his face.
“I thought — I thought this was Julieta’s food,” he admits, looking down on his plate with disgust. “Julieta’s food is always good under my eyes.”
Julieta softens a smile at him, but Pepa is rolling her eyes so far back that they might as well lodge on the back of her skull.
“That’s gross,” Bruno puts it simply; he’s well aware of how bad Pepa’s food can be.
“I think it’s sweet,” Julieta says, extending her hand to brush Agustín’s cheek.
“Julieta,” Abuela ’s voice is firm and menacing; it sets her into a rigid posture just like when she was a child about to be scolded for something bad she had done. “Is there anything you’d like to say to your familia ?”
Julieta bites down hard on her lower lips. “I am… sorry.”
Pepa waves her hand in the air, instigating her to go on. “You can do better than that, hermanita .”
She fights the urge to roll her eyes, knowing she, indeed, is in the wrong, and that Pepa is only using that word of endearment to further get into her nerves.
“I am sorry that I fell asleep when I was supposed to be making dinner.”
“What else?” Dolores asks with a raised eyebrow.
Julieta pouts. “And I am sorry that I made you all sit through Agustín’s meal. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“And if it does…?” Bruno demands from her.
“If it does , I promise I will say something before I willingly put you through misery,” she finishes, sinking down in her chair.
Pepa pats her in the head condescendingly. “See, Julieta, it wasn’t so hard.”
“I hate you,” she mumbles under her breath, and her words are aimed at Pepa only. “How long — how long have you been planning this? I thought Dolores had decided to have mercy on me…!”
Dolores scoffs loudly at that; she isn’t known for showing mercy on anyone in her family.
“For the best of one week,” Félix says, laughing. “ Hermanita , you should have seen your face. It was priceless.”
Julieta rolls her eyes.
“We’ve had our fun, Julieta has learned her lesson,” Abuela says with a slick smile on the corner of her lips. “Pepa, won’t you be so kind as to pass a tamale to your sister? We don’t want her to starve or have some sort of food poisoning from your tamales or from Mirabel’s cocadas .”
“Yes, mamá .”
Pepa reaches out to grab a tamale , and gives it to Julieta with a still annoyed look on her face. Julieta doesn’t thank her, unwrapping it on her plate, relieved that neither her gift nor her sense of taste is broken.
She takes a first bite and this time — she doesn’t hesitate to spit it out at Pepa’s face.
Her sister has given her the rotten tamale again.