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When they were growing up, Mamá would sometimes complain about her kids’ Gifts to Tía Julieta. It was the sort of thing that mothers only told their sisters behind closed doors, but then of course Dolores would always hear it anyway, and she would tell Camilo about it the second she heard, the two of them sprawled out across his bed and staring up at the ever-changing murals on his ceiling. (They never hung out in Dolores’ room because she never let anyone go inside, which was fine by him. It was way too quiet in there anyway.)
“Mamá is complaining again because she thinks Isabela, Luisa, and Mirabel never cause as much trouble as us,” Dolores murmured, her eyes following the shapes of the shifting figures above them.
“That’s so not true,” Camilo said. “Remember that time Luisa broke the dining table?”
Dolores shrugged. “I think Mamá is still mad at you.“
“Hey, that cake was just sitting there,” Camilo shot back. “And it would have gone fine if you had been paying attention to her footsteps, not getting distracted by the sound of Mariano Guzmán and his buddies passing by the house—”
“What?” Dolores sputtered, sitting up quickly. “No, I didn’t—shut up!”
Camilo cackled, drawing himself up on the bed to grin at his older sister. “When are you gonna go talk to him, stupid?”
“Never,” Dolores muttered, pulling her knees up to her chin and tracing nervous shapes in his bedsheets. Her cheeks were flushed. “I’d only embarrass myself. Besides, he doesn’t even know I’m alive.”
“Okay,” Camilo said, and shifted into her. “Guess I’ll have to do it myself.”
The pillow hit his face harder than expected, and he fell back into himself with an oof.
As the years went by, Dolores never fell out of love with Mariano Guzmán. Camilo may not have been able to hear things across town like she could, but he still noticed things that nobody else did. He tried not to think about it too much—it was lame to care about one’s older sister too much, after all—but the way Dolores’ face fell a little every time she saw Mariano making eyes at Isabela in town annoyed Camilo too. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it, though, short of actually shifting into Dolores and confessing his (her?) love, which Dolores might actually kill him for doing.
He’d contemplated telling their parents about it at one point, but it would just send Mamá spiraling to know about her little girl in love with someone, and Papá was physically incapable of keeping a secret, and, most importantly, Dolores would hear it. So Camilo kept it to himself, and rolled his eyes every time Dolores went quiet all of a sudden and got that weird, secretive smile on her face, no doubt hearing whatever dumb thing Mariano was up to now. Fixing his hair and/or doing push-ups, Camilo imagined.
The day after Antonio got his Gift (Mamá was thrilled, of course, but Camilo was sure that it would be the source of many a storm cloud in the future), Abuela announced at the table that Isabela would soon be engaged to Mariano. Camilo stole a glance at Dolores. Her face wasn’t betraying anything. For a second he thought that maybe he’d been wrong this whole time.
After lunch, the family dispersed to do their tasks for the afternoon. Camilo was about to head into town when a small but insistent hand grabbed at his own. He looked down to see Antonio standing there, flanked by his army of animals.
“What is it?”
“It’s Dolores,” Antonio said, glancing over at the toucan sitting on his shoulder. “The birds say she’s crying.”
Camilo pressed his lips together. Damn it. “Where?”
“In her room,” Antonio said, sounding concerned. “You should go and talk to her.”
Camilo sighed, then knelt down and ruffled his brother’s hair, a small smile coming to his face. “Look at you. You’ve only had your Gift for one day, Toñito, and you’re already telling me what to do?”
Antonio laughed. “It wasn’t me. It was the birds!”
Yep. Definitely the stuff of storm clouds.
Dolores’ room was usually strictly off limits—she made that very clear whenever anyone tried to come inside—but Camilo entered it without any trouble this time, which was concerning. It was a quiet room with four walls and a ceiling instead of a vast expanse. Something simple and grounded, just the way Dolores liked it.
Dolores was sitting on her bed with her back to the door, her shoulders shaking silently. Camilo approached cautiously, though he knew she had heard him enter.
“I know Antonio told you to talk to me,” she said before he could say anything, her voice thick. “And I don’t need you to. I’ll be fine.”
Camilo hovered by the bed, feeling uncomfortable. He never quite knew what to say when his sister got like this—she’d inherited some of their mother’s intense emotionality, and usually Papá was there to help her through it, but Camilo was sure Dolores would die of embarrassment before she’d ever talk to their parents about this, so… it was up to him, then.
“You’re still in love with Mariano Guzmán,” was what he settled on. It came out sounding more like an accusation than he intended. Dolores turned her head to look at him. Camilo braced himself for an outburst, but there was no trace of indignation or anger on her tear-streaked face.
“Yes,” she said finally, her bottom lip trembling. “I am.”
“Oh,” Camilo said. “I mean, I knew you were this whole time, but—I’m sorry, Dolores.”
Dolores groaned and threw herself down on the bed melodramatically, covering her face with a pillow.
“I feel so stupid,” she said, voice muffled. “Of course he would marry Isabela, she’s so pretty and perfect, like him… and I’m just a nervous wreck who can’t even talk to the guy I’ve been in love with for five years. What’s wrong with me?”
“Okay, well,” Camilo started, stepping forward to pull the pillow off her face. “First of all, you’re right. You are a nervous wreck.”
“Your second thing better be really good,” Dolores muttered.
“But that doesn’t mean Mariano wouldn’t like you if he got to know you!” Camilo said, sitting next to her on the bed. “You know who else is a nervous wreck? Mamá. And look, she found someone, right?”
Dolores sniffled and chuckled humorlessly, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Mamá never had to compete against Isabela, though.”
“Pff, whatever,” Camilo scoffed, nudging Dolores’ shoulder. “Isabela may be perfect, but you’re just as pretty as she is and way more interesting, ‘cause you know everyone’s secrets. If you say you’ll tell him all about whatever is going on with the Riveras he’ll drop everything and run away with you, promise.”
Dolores was silent for a long moment, and Camilo was afraid for a moment that he’d said something wrong. Then he felt her grasp his hand and looked down to see her smiling softly up at him. His shoulders relaxed in relief, and he smiled back at her. It was a nice moment, until—
“Aw, baby brother,” Dolores said. “You really think I’m pretty?”
Camilo pulled his hand away from her like he’d been burned. “Ugh, why do you have to ruin it?”
“You’re the one who said it!”
“Goodbye!” Camilo exclaimed, getting up and storming towards the door in faux annoyance, but he was still smiling, and he could tell that behind his back, she was, too.