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“Bruno?”
Bang bang.
“Bruno!”
Bang bang bang.
“Hurry up in there!” Félix called. “I need my hair oils, bro! I can’t go out looking like this.”
Bruno groaned, pulling at the bags under his eyes. “Just a sec, Félix.”
Ugh; what was it about the lighting in bathrooms that made you look so…haggard? “Y’can’t get some ambient lighting in here, Casita?” Bruno grumbled, inspecting the crow’s feet growing at the corners of his eyes. Laugh lines, Julieta called them. Not that he’d done much laughing since the last time he’d had decent access to a mirror. Unless they’d formed in the last few months, since he’d been home? Like, maybe they’d got the jump on him?
“Ayo, Tio!” Camilo piped up, “there’s a line forming here!”
“There’s other bathrooms, Milo,” Bruno yelled, applying the last of the day cream he’d swiped from one of the girls’ bathrooms last week. It was the last remnants of a jar, Pepa wouldn’t miss it. But it didn’t seem to be working, anyway. He still looked every day of his fifty years, and then some. Maybe it only worked for light skin…?
“They’re all being used,” his sobrino said from the hallway; “all the girls are on the rag together –”
“Camilo.”
“What? I can’t say they’re on the rag? Can I say Aunt Flo’s visiting? They’ve got the decorators in? Shark Week? What? Anyway; no other bathrooms, so chop chop, Bruno.”
“Fine! Fine.” Bruno swung the door wide and stamped out, walking past every guy on Pepa’s side of the family, including a desperately scampering Antonio, who barged past his brother and Papi to get to the toilet first. “Knock yourselves out. Storytime in ten, Toñito! ‘member to clean your teeth, too.”
“’kaaaay!”
He’d tried everything he could think of. Chugging water constantly just resulted in him needing to pee every ten minutes. He’d tried being in the sun; being out of the sun; lotions and potions and eating whatever Juli put in front of him (until she found out what he was trying to heal and told him, as gently as she could, that her Gift wasn’t a fountain of youth). Cutting out caffeine? Don’t even think about it. He’d gone for half a morning and then gave in and was all the grumpier and more exhausted for the attempt. It was no use, Bruno just felt…old. Old and ugly. I mean, he’d never felt like a good-looking guy, but now…let’s just say ten years was a long time to not see your reflection in anything more than a banged-up silver tea tray.
Anyway. Family Weirdo Club time. At least the kids made him feel young again. Pepa’s Storytime Rule was that Antonio needed to read a few pages of a Non-Fiction book before Bruno and Mirabel read him a storybook, and so tonight, they were learning about the Ancient Egyptians.
“‘Cleeeeap….Cleop…Cl…’”
“Cleopatra,” Mirabel said, holding a hot water bottle to her belly. “It’s a big word, hombrecito, don’t worry about it.”
“Okay, Mira. ‘Clee-oh-patr-ah was a famous Eg…Egyptian Queen. She was also the most bee-you-tee-full woman in the whooole world, because she bathed in milk and honey –‘” Antonio scrunched up his face. “Milk and honey for a bath?! Gross!”
“Sounds like a pretty good drink, though,” Mirabel said with a wince. “Oof, maybe warm, with some cinnamon…owie.” Poor kiddo; her stomach must’ve been killing her.
Antonio beamed up at her. “Juanita can make you some milk!”
Juanita was a cow Antonio had adopted from a farmer in town; apparently, she wanted to see more of the Encanto than just the pasture she was born in. So Antonio had said; Bruno kinda just thought his nephew wanted a pet cow. Mamá had said she could only stay if she ‘pulled her weight’ – and so the entire Madrigal clan were enjoying a glut of cheese, cream, butter and milk, and Juanita got her very own paddock to grow fat in.
Hmmm…milk and honey…
“Tio?”
Bruno was lost in thought; teeth worrying at his bottom lip. I mean; it sounded dumb. But a lot of things did, when you broke them down. Like social situations. Or maths. I mean; it couldn’t be less effective than –
“Bruno!”
“Uhhyyyeeaah, um, uh-huh!” Bruno babbled, grabbing a storybook off Antonio’s shelves. “Yep, yup! Storytime. Don’t worry, kid; all under control. You go relax, heh.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Okay! Toñito! Billy and the Pirates tonight, yeah? Go get comfy…”
About half an hour later, Bruno was standing on a chair in the kitchen, attempting to reach a jar of honey without knocking half the contents of Julieta’s larder to the floor. He’d done some pretty illogical things in his time, but he really didn’t know how to explain this one to the family if he got caught.
C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon…got it!
Bruno leapt down from the chair, honeypot and spoon in hand. He set both on the counter, took a generous spoonful, and decanted it into a tiny jar he’d found in his room. Screwing the lid shut, he licked the spoon clean, went into the cold larder Juli kept especially for Juanita’s exports and…
Cream. Cheese. Butter. Whey. Curds. Everything but milk. Mirabel must’ve used the last of their supply for her period-pain-remedy. “Seriously?” Bruno growled, letting the larder door swing shut as he spun dramatically, gesturing at no-one. “We own an entire cow, how can there be no –”
Out the kitchen window, he could see Juanita grazing peacefully in her paddock.
No.
No way.
He wasn’t that desperate. Surely, he didn’t feel so old and wrinkly that he would –
…
“Heeeeeeeeyy, Juanita,” Bruno cooed, ducking under the fence into her paddock. “Sooo, I need a favour.” Juanita regarded him with deadpan brown eyes. Bruno approached; hands splayed out in pacification. “You give me, like, two squirts of milk in this lil’ jar, and I get you…I-I dunno, what do cows want?”
Juanita was silent on the matter. She simply chewed her cud as Bruno retrieved the milking stool from her shelter, flicking her tail disdainfully.
“Okay, um. I-I’ll get you…carrots. Carrots! Cows love carrots, right? I know a guy. Girl. Isabela. Getcha all the carrots you…all the carrots you want.” At the sight of her milking stool, Juanita stood in place and let Bruno sidle up to her and sit down. He winced.
“Okay. I can do this. I can do this. How hard can it be? How hard can it…ay, sorry! Sorry Juanita, didn’t mean to pull that hard. Okay…just aim it at the – gross gross gross gross it’s all warm and bleeeeargh –”
Splish-splish.
He’d done it. He’d milked a cow! Look at him go! Bruno Madrigal: Practically A Farmer.
“Thanks, Juanita,” Bruno said, stirring the milk into the honey with his finger as he walked backwards out the pasture. “I owe ya. Let’s keep this between us though, ‘kay? They already think I’m crazy in that house. I mean; I am talking to a cow, I-I guess. But…yeah.” He stuck his finger in his mouth, pulling it out with a pop. Mirabel was right; milk and honey did taste good. He just hoped it worked miracles, too. “G’night!”
Juanita said nothing. Just another night at the Madrigal house. She didn’t even like carrots.
…
“Woah-ho-ho, Brunito!” Felix hooted as his cuñado sauntered down the stairs the next morning. “Looking good, bro!”
“Thanks,” Bruno preened, trying his hair up with a ribbon so he could show off his glow. “I’m aware.”
He laid with the stuff on his face for a good, oh, hour and a half after he went to bed – he clearly couldn’t take up a bathroom for that length of time, not in this house, so he used the milk/honey concoction like a face mask; reading his book and trying not to get strands of hair stuck in the sweet, sticky mess. Trying to keep the rats away had been…interesting. In the end, Bruno had locked them all in their playroom for the night, tossing in a few stale arepas to assuage his guilt. Then, he’d wiped the concoction off, slept like a baby for once and, when he awoke, had the softest, clearest skin he’d had in years. Even the bags under his eyes seemed to be receding; and that was after only one night!
It had worked. It had actually worked!
He swanned around the Encanto for the rest of the day – winking at people of all genders, occasionally patting his face and enjoying how soft it felt – until, just before dinner, Pepa lunged from the shadows and dragged him into the kitchen with a yelp.
“Spill. Now.”
“I don’t know,” Bruno said, tilting his head this way and that, “what you mean, sister dear.”
“Where has this confidence come from?” Pepa crossed her arms, a tiny thundercloud forming above her head. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
Bruno felt himself deflate, just a little. “I…I-I just feel nice today, that’s all. C-can’t I just feel nice?”
“Oh no; I’m not saying you don’t look nice. You look fantastic, it’s infuriating.” Pepa grabbed her brother by the ruana and yanked him close. “Bruno. The other day Señora Guzmán said my face had a lot of character.”
Bruno gasped. “Puta.”
“I will not be judged,” Pepa said through gritted teeth, “by a woman whose son was beaten in a fight by a plant.” She reached up and stroked Bruno’s cheek, eyes burning. “Tell me your secret.”
…
“…you are kidding me.”
A few hours later, Pepa leaned against the fenceposts as Bruno ducked into Juanita’s paddock.
“Pep,” Bruno said, spinning around and putting his feet on the bottom rung of the fence so he was at his sister’s height, cupping her face in his hands. “I love you. I think you’re beautiful just as you are. But if you want this –” he placed his palms under his jawline and posed, skin dewy even in the moonlight – “then y’gotta help me milk the stupid cow, alright?”
Pepa scowled. “…fiiiiiiine.”
Pepa ducked under the fence, making clucking noises with her tongue. “Heeeere, Juanita…that’s a good girl, come on…”
Juanita, however, had other ideas. Being harassed in the middle of the night by two humans with desperation in their eyes had not been part of the deal she’d broached with Antonio. She would not be tugged on and bullied, she just wouldn’t stand for it. And so, as soon as the scraggly-haired male human placed her milking stool at her side and sat down, she moved a few paces, just out of reach. And then again. And again. And then, when the red-haired female one tried to hold her by the halter, Juanita swung her huge head at her middle and knocked her flying. This cow was not in the mood to play two nights in a row.
“Pep, j-just grab her, alright?”
“I am trying, Bruno – if you think it’s so easy, you hold her steady, and I’ll milk her.”
“Fine!”
“Fine! Gimme that stupid stool…”
…
“’Psychosomatic,’” read Camilo, straddling the dictionary across his legs.
“’Relating to the interaction of the mind and the body.’”
His prima wrestled the huge, leather tome away from him, flicking backwards to the ‘F’s.“‘Folie à deux,’” read Mirabel, her finger raised in the air in a way that reminded Camilo a little too much of their tio, “‘also known as shared psychosis or delusional disorder.’”
They both turned back to the bedroom window; watching as Camilo’s Mami chased a cow around the paddock just outside his window, while their Tio Bruno was basically dragged along the ground, holding onto her halter, yelling ‘think of y’complexion, Pep!’ as his sister stumbled over her skirts in a vain attempt to catch Juanita; a steadily growing wind blowing her hair back from her face, which was frozen in a mask of crazed determination.
“Told you he was being weird out there last night. Now he’s involved her in it, too.”
“At least he’s feeling more confident,” Mirabel offered, leaning on the windowsill. “He deserves that.”
“Yeah, but that gunk doesn’t work,” Camilo scoffed. “It’s all in his head. Frickin’ sunlight and good food’re doing more for his skin than some magic cure.”
“Do you want to go down there and tell them?”
“Pffbt; no.”
“Then we’re agreed; we stay up here, out of sight, and come up with a name for this…” Mirabel winced as Bruno faceplanted in the mud. At least, she hoped it was mud. “…spectacle.”
“Bruno!” Camilo’s Mami shrieked; a crack of lightning punctuating her panic. “Your face! Your beautiful face!”
“…Madrigal Madness?” Camilo offered. Mirabel grinned, offering her fist to be bumped in agreement.
“Madrigal Madness. Definitely.”