Chapter Text
The night was young, and the whole town was celebrating the return of the magic.
Bruno just wanted a drink.
He sat there in the kitchen; a bottle of vino (wine) next to him. He had excused himself from the party early on and had given Mirabel a hug, saying he was sorry to depart early but “I’m still a hermit at heart. Crowds kind of freak me out, ya know?” Mirabel understood, and begrudgingly bid her uncle farewell for the evening.
What a lie that was…
He poured himself another glass. What was this….his third? Fourth glass?
“Am I interrupting?” A voice rang off from the side. Bruno turned.
Alma “Abuela” Madrigal was standing in the adjacent doorway, a tired look on her face. He shrugged and gestured to the seat across from him. She made her way over and sat down. Casita passed her a glass, while Bruno poured her a drink.
Bruno was not known for his tolerance of alcohol, being known as “the drunk uncle after one shot of tequila.” Alma did not recall him touching the stuff frequently before his leave of absence over the past decade.
“I seem to recall you never drank wine.” Alma said, swirling her glass, then taking a small sip.
“A lot can change in 10 years.” He said simply. In truth, he had resorted to drinking more the last several years. It had made isolation less crappy. Still crappy, but less so.
“Funny, I thought Isabella or Luisa was stealing from my wine cupboard.” She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “Guess that was one of the many other things I got wrong.”
Bruno did not respond, instead choosing to take a large swig from his glass. Alma frowned.
“What’s on your mind, mi Brunito?”
He was happy the magic was gone. Felt his soul was being crushed by responsibilities. A life wasted.
“Nothing in particular.” He responded, stealing a swig from his glass. A short, but lingering silence followed.
“Are you sure?” Alma pressed. She eyed her son knowingly. He gripped the base of his glass, unsure if he should say something and ruin an otherwise pleasant evening. When he did not offer up any additional information, Alma picked up the bottle and topped off both their glasses.
“Right now, you remind me of your father.” She said simply. Bruno’s eyes immediately looked up. Alma never talked about their father. “He always tried to pretend things never bothered him. Attempted to handle things himself.”
Bruno held his breath, shaking silently. Why was she bringing this up now? Bruno’s brow furrowed. In his opinion, Alma seemed way too calm about a topic she typically refused to talk about.
“Why-y are you b-bringing this up n-now?” He retorted, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. His words were now slurring together, a prime indicator that he had overdone it with the wine. Alma chuckled, presenting him with a glass of water and some of Julieta’s leftovers.
“He always tried to be the martyr.” She explained. “Even when it probably was not the best choice.” Bruno drank his water and listened attentively. Alma continued.
“I lived my life convincing myself his sacrifice was a blessing. That small sacrifices were worth it for the betterment of the family as a whole.” Bruno clenched his fists.
“…I never bothered to consider there may have been an alternative.” She finished morosely, seriously. Her words lingered in the air like fine wine. Too much fine wine. Bruno felt like he was going to be nauseous.
Alma stared across the table at her son, who seemed to be much paler than before. Evidently her words had did a number on her child. She got up from her seat across from him and walked over to his side, clasping her hand with his own. She sat down next to him and rubbed his back gently.
“I can tell you are holding back, mijo. You don’t have to keep your feelings in anymore. Please, do not pretend everything is fine just for my sake.”
Pin-pricks of tears began to form; he rubbed his eyes dry. He continued to stare at the glass in front of him, an unreadable look on his face. She tried to give him a hug.
He inhaled abruptly, pushing himself up and away from the table—away from Alma—in one swift movement. The sudden undertaking caused his glass and the bottle of wine to fumble. Wine spilled over the counter and onto the floor. Bruno cursed. Alma simply shushed him and grabbed a clean rag from the counter.
As she cleaned, Bruno watched her closely, eyebrows creasing angrily.
“…I’m still angry at you.” He said simply. She stopped scrubbing the table. “I’m angry at you, and Casita…”
“…and Papá.” He forced out. Alma’s eyes widened.
Bruno hugged himself tightly, hands shaking. Tears now freely flowing down his cheeks. “I-If he never died then there would have been no magic. And then maybe, just m-maybe…without magic…”
He took a shuddering breath. His palms were sweaty and his chest felt tight. He forced himself to breathe.
“…I could have had a normal life.”
A deadly silence filled the room.
Bruno suddenly felt proud of himself. He had finally stood up to his mother. He released a breath that he did not know he had been holding. The silence continued. Bruno inwardly smiled, reveling in the fact he had for once rendered his mother speechless. His built-up anger dissipated and he began to calm down. He hated himself for it, but he felt better. He finally turned to acknowledge his mother, smirking as he did so.
Both hands were clasped over her mouth in shock. Alma was trembling now, dropping abruptly to her knees in anguish as she started sobbing uncontrollably.
Bruno’s smile immediately faded as his anger was replaced with fear and regret. His heart dropped into his stomach.
“…Mamá?” He asked meekly, slowly reach out a hand to touch her shoulder.
The door to the kitchen suddenly burst open. Mirabel entered along with half-a-dozen townsfolk.
She took one look at Abuela, and then at Bruno.
“What happened?” She demanded.
Bruno’s lip trembled. He stuttered and started mumbling.
“What happened?” His niece asked again, this time more urgently. Bruno met her gaze with his own. He tried to fester up an explanation, but found he did not have one; his voice muted. His eyes shifted to the onlooking bystanders, seeing the mixture of their faces reading from sadness to downright disgust.
He did not want to be here. He wanted to hide.
Bruno ran.