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Their Casita was smaller, when they made it. The foundations were the same—after all, they had been the only thing left, in the rubble—but still, it was smaller. The courtyard was bigger, but perhaps it had only felt that way since the same butterfly-cut tiles as the kitchen had been added along the hallways of the lower floor. Bruno’s tower was gone, instead placed back where it had been when they were kids, right next to Pepa’s. Each of the bedrooms had been made smaller, too, without Casita’s magic making them fantastically huge.
Or perhaps, it was the way Julieta could feel love pouring out from every part of the house their community and family had rebuilt together that made it feel cozy. Perhaps it wasn’t smaller at all, but just the atmosphere that made it feel that way.
Either way, Julieta thought, it was a welcome change.
The kitchen, in which she, Augustín, and Camilo currently sat waiting for their tea to brew, had been among the first rooms to be completely finished during the rebuilding. Augustín often joked that she was the backbone of their society, and if nothing he had only been proven right. She had tried protesting when she realised, saying that it didn’t matter when the kitchen was finished: her gift had been lost with their original Casita, so she couldn’t cook up remedies for the Encanto’s aches and ailments anymore. The builders of the Encanto had faltered, embarrassed at their forgetfulness, but all agreed with enthusiasm when Félix hooked an arm around her shoulders and told her with a laugh that it didn’t matter her gift, the taste of her food would be enough for them to forget their troubles anyway.
The compliment no longer truly mattered, as Mirabel’s doorknob had ignited their gifts again with a spark. Julieta would be up at dawn like usual cooking enough food and coffee for the entire village to cure what injuries they had managed to sustain throughout the night, but her lips still twitched into a smile at the memory anyway. Felix had always had an easier way with words than her Augustin had.
Almost comically timed, the kettle on the stove began to whistle, and Augustín looked up from his book and blankly said, “Ah, the timer’s done.”
The timer, which Julieta used exclusively for things that went in the oven, sat untouched by the rolling pin. Julieta chuckled at her husband as he stumbled on his own feet trying to stand up, gracefully catching himself by hopping to her side until he caught his balance. With practised movements, he grabbed four mugs out of the cabinet while Julieta turned the stove off, moving around her to place them down. She handed him strainers to put tea leaves in and poured the water in after he moved to her other side, two of them filled nearly all the way and the other two left only three quarters’ full, for milk to be added in after steeping.
Usually, at this time, Camilo or Mirabel or Luisa would be picking up quiet conversation with them, asking strange questions like “do ants sleep” (Camilo, a week before Antonio’s ceremony) or “why do people give their dogs haircuts, you would think they wouldn’t need them since they don’t have hands to do haircuts with” (Luisa, yesterday), or telling them mundane gossip and cool facts they learned that day. But it seemed that they had all tired themselves out with the day's work, because even Camilo—who was usually the one staying up the latest, and waking up only when Mirabel banged on his door for breakfast—seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open.
After a moment of Julieta and Augustín watching Camilo stare at some spot on the floor, zoned out and unmoving, Augustín wrapped her in a hug (gladly reciprocated) and rested his cheek on her head. They stood there, leaning on each other over the steeping tea, and Julieta felt as if she was breathing in fully for the first time that day.
“You know, mi amor, the village really should learn how to deal with their pains on their own,” Augustín said, fiddling with the end of the string on her apron.
“I can’t just leave them feeling uncomfortable,” Julieta shot back playfully, matching Augustín’s volume. “What kind of backbone would that make me?”
“You should,” Augustín hummed, “You deserve a break. Sleep in with me, vida, you wake up too early.”
“I wake up when they need me.”
“So? They need you too early. I don’t know how you do it.” Julieta snorted a laugh. “What? I’m serious! I mean, Juli, if it were me I would’ve burned my hands off by now thinking the hot water for the coffee was for me to wash my hands with. I don’t think even the sun knows what it’s doing that early. Why not sleep in, just an hour?”
Julieta laughed again, pulling away from the embrace to pinch her husband’s nose. “Because then who would make you the coffee, when you wake up with the sun?” He swatted her hand away playfully, and grabbed it so that their fingers interlocked. “The tea’s about ready. Make sure Camilo gets to bed, I’ll be fine cleaning up.”
Augustín tutted, but went to grab the milk out of the fridge anyway. Julieta pulled out the tea strainers and dumped the contents in the trash, each with nothing but a solid tap, before placing them in the sink. She poured the milk in while Augustín scooped a spoonful of sugar into both his and Dolores’s mugs and wiped her hands on her apron after putting the milk away. “Camilo, tea’s ready,” she called.
Camilo had looked seconds away from falling asleep just a few moments ago, but he stood up dutifully to grab his and his sister’s drinks—it had started as tradition for Dolores, ages ago, when Julieta had been gifted a nighttime tea by a neighbour and discovered that it soothed her niece’s headaches enough for her sleep to be restful. Dolores would retreat soon after dinner, Casita’s soundproofing of her room offering her respite from a day of hearing, and Camilo would bring her tea hours later before both of them would go to bed. He had always liked being helpful, and carrying a mug of tea upstairs was one of the easiest ways he was able to help, when he was young.
Camilo paused in front of Julieta and bent his head down for her to kiss, as the end of their ritual. She did, and smoothed out the shoulder of his pyjamas before sending him and Augustín away with a “Go to bed, Camilo. Don’t wear yourself out too much.”
She herself then took a breath before beginning the process of washing dishes. It was methodic, and kept her mind peacefully blank as she washed each thing, one by one, in the dim candlelight of the kitchen she knew every crevice of. Or used to, anyway. There were some additions and surprises, now that it had been rebuilt.
Minutes passed, interrupted only by the sound of someone clearing their throat in the archway, as if asking permission to enter. It was Bruno, standing awkwardly in the near-darkness, as if he were unsure if he were allowed to be there at all. Julieta couldn’t even pretend her smile upon seeing him wasn’t involuntary. He took it as permission to enter, and grabbed a towel from the handle of the oven to begin drying dishes. Just like they did when they were younger.
“Augustín said you made tea,” Bruno said, after a while. Julieta only hummed in response, and Bruno kept talking. She had missed him so, so much. “It was pretty funny, actually, since— since my door was open, y’know, and I had heard their conversation in the hall…” He swallowed, continued after a beat. “They stopped right at the top of the stairs, right, and Camilo said, heh, Camilo said ‘I think Tio Bruno needs tea,’ real slow, and Augustín waited a long time to respond ‘okay.’ And then he walked up to my door, and… yeah. Heh.”
Julieta snorted. “Camilo’s never been one for subtlety.”
“Yeah, heh… From what I’ve seen of him, he seems like quite the dramatic type, y'know? Like, just the other day, I was in my room, uh. And he just, he knocked once and swung open the door, like, swung on it, like he was a monkey on a vine or something. It scared the hell out of me, if I’m gonna be honest, I…” Bruno chuckled on his words near the end, a hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, before he seemed to suddenly realise why he was there in the first place. He straightened up and turned to Julieta. “Oh. Uh, I don’t actually need tea though. Since there’s probably not enough for another cup. I just wanted to… uh. Yeah.”
The sink was empty at this point, both siblings taking up the task of drying what was left. Julieta studied Bruno, absentmindedly wiping her hands and setting the towel down on the counter. “I missed you.”
Bruno blinked like he wasn’t expecting it, and his face contorted in a way that made him look very, very vulnerable, like every emotion was bleeding through at once. Julieta wondered if it was ever just her who saw through him like this, or if this was simply just him, how he expressed himself to the world. “I mean, you couldn’t have too much, right? Why else wouldn’t you have… sorry. I’m sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
Julieta crossed over to him in a second, and Bruno recoiled, flinched back like he expected her to slap him. Julieta almost stopped in her tracks, with how intensely the movement broke her heart into two, but she didn’t, instead softly taking the dishrag and bowl her brother had long since dried out of his hands and onto the counter before wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. Everyone had thought they were identical, when they were younger, just a bit older than Antonio was now. Everyone had thought they were identical at first glance, and yet as they got older Bruno shot up like a weed, ending up much closer to Pepa in height. They were fourty-three now, and Julieta was sure Bruno’s slouching had shrunk him some, but her face still only reached his shoulder. Just like when they were kids.
Bruno tensed up at the contact, his body going rigid for a whole ten seconds—Julieta had counted, automatically, as if she was the timer instead of the actual one sitting idly on the counter; it was far too long for her liking—before he brought his arms up to wrap around her shoulders like his life depended on it. Like this was the first time he had gotten a hug since his disappearance. Her heart only broke further with the realisation, and she pretended not to hear the laboured breathing of someone trying not to cry as she tightened her grip on him. She pretended like he couldn’t hear the same thing from her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m sorry, Bruno. For everything.”
Bruno leaned into her further, but his fingers were tapping against his wrist, like he wanted to say something, but felt guilty about it. A habit he hadn’t seemed to get rid of, in the ten years he was gone. “I missed you,” is what he seemed to settle on.
Julieta pulled out of the embrace to cup her brother’s cheek, to wipe the tears that had barely begun to fall. “God, Bruno, has it really been ten years since you’ve…?”
Bruno chuckled wetly, wiping his other eye with the heel of his hand. “I, yeah. Ten years, wow.”
“You know that’s not what I was talking about.”
“...Yeah. I know. And unless you count Mamá hugging me after she found Mirabel, so was I.” He swallowed, leaning into her hand briefly before pretending to pull away like somebody who was used to contact. “Have you guys always been this touchy, or has something changed over the past decade?”
He was deflecting. “A decade is too long, Bruno. You know that. I don’t…— You’re too skinny.”
“Yeah, well, I guess... eating, eating only one meal a day for that long will do that to you.”
Julieta wanted to hold him close again, to just sit there and cry with him until everything was alright. But she knew that wasn’t how the world worked, and she knew that another hug would only overwhelm him further. He was already going through so much. So she resisted, held her arms in almost the same way Bruno was holding his. “God, if only I had known…”
“But you didn’t,” Bruno said, softly, “I kept it that way, because it was the only way I could see Mirabel growing up with the chance to avoid what I couldn’t. The only one who knew was Dolores, and that wasn’t even on purpose, I just— I forgot, I guess. That she would be able to hear me. I was so afraid, for so long, that she’d… that she’d spill the secret to someone, because she was never all that good at keeping secrets, you know her, but. You guys never pieced things together, I guess. It also didn’t end up the way I planned either, because— because, well, me not letting anybody know about the vision was what made the vision happen— and Mirabel was still treated like, treated like me because of it, but— I got food out of it, that one meal a day, from Dolores, so… uh. Do the bowls still go over there?”
Julieta blinked, the question stalling her train of thought. “Yeah, of course, what would have changed that?”
Bruno shrugged, stacking bowls into each other and walking across the room to put them away. “I dunno, it’s been a while. And with the wreck, I thought…” He trailed off, the clinking of dishes being put away filling the silence instead of his words.
“If I had known you were still here, I would have left,” Julieta said suddenly, and it surprised her how much she meant it. “I would have taken you and Augustín and the kids and moved to the edge of the Encanto, out of the Encanto— wherever wouldn’t have mattered, if I knew you were there.”
“Julieta—”
“I mean it, Bruno.” She paused, and filled the kettle up with more water. Bruno had come down for tea, she was going to make him tea. She placed it back on the stove, and turned it on. “We missed you. All of us did. We were too old for it, even back then, but on our birthday Mirabel would demand we wish for something and every year I wished for you. To be okay, and to come back. Pepa would never admit it, but she did too. Mamá… was more complicated. She loves you, she always has, but… she blamed you leaving on you, because she was too afraid of believing the truth, that it was her. She thought it would be easiest if we pretended you were never there at all. I stayed, because I knew she was hurting, and who am I but a healer? But if I knew you were there… that you were still here, hearing us leave you out as if you were never important at all, I would have left in a heartbeat. I would’ve taken an axe to Casita myself, if I had to.”
Bruno hunched in on himself, still staring at her with every emotion shining through his features. He and Pepa had always been similar, in that way. “...I left for Mirabel, not because of Mamá.” When Julieta didn’t interrupt, he continued. “The night of her ceremony, after everyone had been sent home, and you were busy with Augustín trying to calm the kids down, and Félix was busy with Pepa… Mamá asked me for a vision, because something must’ve been wrong, if Mirabel didn’t get a gift. After I saw what it was, I… I destroyed it, shattered it into pieces like you saw— and left. Because if anyone knew, you would've… Can- can you imagine? Knowing that little Mirabel was going to cause… that. How would you have treated her? I mean, knowing you, probably the same, but what about Mamá? Pepa? How would the kids treat her?
“I grew up with that, Juli. I grew up treated that way, and at that moment, it didn’t matter anything what you or Pepa or Mamá or the kids would’ve thought of me. I was used to it. I didn’t care if you guys would’ve hated me. All I knew was that Mirabel would never deserve it, and that I’d do it again in a heartbeat, to spare them what I went through.”
“Ay, Brunito…” Julieta wiped her eyes, and sat down at the table. Bruno did the same, awkward and stilted, as if he were afraid that someone would pop up behind him and tell him he had taken their spot. She grabbed his hand, once it was in reach. “You never deserved it, either. Never.”
Bruno laughed sadly, his other hand coming up to rub the back of his neck again. “I mean… I was the one who gave the visions…”
“And Mirabel was the one who first saw the cracks appear. Just because you saw it first, doesn’t mean they were right to blame you for it.” He squeezed her hand, and Julieta took a breath before continuing.
“Mamá and the townspeople, they’ve been too hard on you. They’ve been too hard on Mirabel, too. And Pepa, and the rest of the kids. Where they’ve always expected the most out of Pepa and the kids, they expected the worst out of you and Mirabel. Just because you were less fortunate with your gifts. I’ve always known, but… it took until Antonio’s ceremony, for me to see it fully. How much hurt Mamá has caused, without meaning to. And I’m sorry, Brunito, for taking so long to stop excusing it.”
Bruno studied her, for a moment. Eyebrows pinched up sadly. “Julieta, I…” He was interrupted by the kettle’s whistle, whipping his head around to the noise, and snorted a laugh. Julieta’s lips fell into a smile, too. “Sorry, uh. Water’s— the water’s done.”
Julieta rolled her eyes playfully and moved to get up to pour Bruno—and probably herself, too, since her tea surely must’ve gone cold by now—a mug, only to be stopped by Bruno jumping up instead, and pushing her back down by the shoulders.
“Ah-ah-ah!” He tutted, walking backwards to the stove as he spoke. “This was my point, actually, Julieta— first of all, I forgive you, I could never not forgive you— but second, you’re forgetting that they’re hard on you, too. How many broken bones have you healed? Headaches? Cuts? Bruises? It’s uncountable!” He opened a cabinet, then closed it, realising the mugs weren’t in there. He opened another one. “The last time I remember you taking a break was when Mirabel was born, and even then it was only a few days. You work too hard, Julieta, and nobody’s stopping you.”
“I work for the Encanto,” Julieta replied automatically. “They need me.”
“You know, Julieta, there’s a saying. I heard Augustín’s mama say it once, before you were married. That it takes a village. To raise a child, is what she said came after it, but just, in general, too. It takes a village, to keep each other safe and happy, and you’re doing it all on your own. All while taking care of a family, too. You work too hard, and no one’s stopping you. It shouldn’t be— it shouldn't be your responsibility to do all of that, all the time. And I’m sorry, I'm sorry that you were never allowed to stop.”
Bruno had finished making their tea at that point, and had brought the mugs over to the table. He set one down in front of Julieta, and one in front of himself, before squinting at it and switching them around. Julieta raised her eyebrows at him, but Bruno ignored it, instead tapping his knuckles against the table rapidly while muttering something under his breath.
“I don’t know if I can stop,” Julieta admitted quietly, once he was done. “Augustín keeps telling me the same thing. But the Encanto expects me every morning, you’ve seen the lines.”
“I always knew I liked Augustín for a reason.” Bruno nodded as he said it. “He’s a smart guy. Wise. You should listen to him. Well— on this, you should. Probably not for other things.”
Julieta laughed. “I’ll think about it.”
“Hey, no, no, that’s what you told me eleven years ago. That’s far more than enough time for you to think about taking a break. C’mon, Julieta, it’s late, and we just- we just had a very emotional conversation about this! How we don’t deserve how hard people are on us! And— and I wasn’t going to bring it up, but now it’s— now it’s relevant. We both cried. What better time to decide to take it easy tomorrow than now?”
She guessed he had a point. It was tempting, the idea of sleeping in with her husband, and waking up to the breakfast she had no doubt would already be made, as soon as Bruno knew she had taken his advice. But really, on such short notice? She was just as exhausted as Camilo had been, when she was making his tea. The day had been tiring— but routine was routine, and it started with her.
She must’ve been silent for too long, because Bruno spoke again, right when her resolve was weakest. It was late, and she was tired. “C’mon, just for tomorrow. I’ll figure something out.”
Julieta couldn’t help the smile that fell on her face, as she tried to sip her tea. “It would be nice. I’m tired.”
Bruno lit up, as he realised he had won, but held his tongue for a few minutes more as they drank their tea in comfortable silence.
“Alright,” he said, clearing his throat. Julieta had just about finished her tea, and was well aware Bruno had been waiting for her to be done. He took the mug out of her hands and placed it next to his own on the table, before standing up and nearly forcing her out of the kitchen, to the staircase. “Go on, go, go, head up to bed. I’ll finish the dishes. And sleep in, would you? I’ll figure it out. You deserve it.”
Julieta laughed, and waved away Bruno’s playful shushing. “Goodnight, Bruno. Thank you.” She placed a kiss on his cheek. “Love you. For everything.”
Bruno blinked. “Isn’t— Isn’t— Isn’t the ‘for everything’ supposed to go after the th— the ‘thank you’?”
Julieta grinned. “Aren’t I supposed to be going to bed?”
Bruno gasped, and spun her around by the shoulders so she was facing the stairs again. He patted her back and pushed her up the stairs with a laugh. “ Yes— yes, go to bed, don’t even think about coming down to finish the dishes because I’m doing those, I know where things go, go, go—”
Julieta fell asleep minutes later with a smile on her face, matching the one her triplet wore in the dim candlelight of the kitchen downstairs.
Julieta, like always, woke up with the sun. But instead of getting up, forcing slippers onto her feet and putting her apron on over her clothes, cooking until long after the sun had risen, she stayed right where she was. Under the covers of her bed with her husband, letting the rays of the sun hit her face as she kept her eyes firmly closed.
Augustín stirred beside her. “You’re not up…?” He mumbled, as confused and hopeful as one could be at this hour.
“Bruno said he’d figure something out,” Julieta hummed, snuggling into him further. Their room was smaller than what she had grown used to, even after their marriage. She liked the change, the coziness and love built into the room. It was easy to relax into.
Augustín giggled gleefully, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Oh, how I would kiss that man if he would let me.”
“Shh. Let me sleep.”