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Gustavo Torres always thought of himself as a pillar of the community. More than some he could mention. Married for thirteen years, two beautiful children, a quietly flourishing business – Padre said pride was a sin, but Gustavo knew that how he felt about his life was justified, which made it more than fine in the eyes of his Lord, he was sure – members of the community were always shaking his hand as he passed, calling out his name simply to wave hello. And he was friendly with the Madrigals, of course. Why, he and Pepa had been childhood sweethearts, back in the day! That alone proved his standing to be true.
It was just a shame that the Madrigals themselves could not pick the members of their familia.
Gustavo had seen him around the Encanto these past few months, of course. Helping rebuild La Casita after his folly – and the folly of that girl, Julieta’s youngest – had brought a staple of the village crashing down around their ears. Just as he should. But there had also been the days when the prodigal seer had been, well, seen just playing with the children – honestly, the man was fifty-one years old! – or wandering alone, head in the clouds as it’d always been. It made Gustavo – hardworking, enterprising, humble Gustavo Torres – seethe. Wherever he’d been, it certainly hadn’t changed Bruno Madrigal for the better. What a disappointment he must be.
…
“Remind me again why I’ve gotta tag along?” Bruno asked, absently rubbing his hand up and down his sleeve. Pepa tossed her hair in a way that was both gently frustrated mother and haughty, bratty older sister all in one swift movement.
“Camilo needs new shoes for church. You need fresh air. We’ll kill two birds with one stone.”
Bruno and his sobrino let out twin groans of despair, reluctant to go any further even as they approached the edge of town. Pepa took their hands – “Mamá, I’m sixteen, get offff…” – and led them both like lost puppydogs along the cobbled street. “See!” she chirped, beaming a smile Bruno’s way, “it’s a nice day. A little breeze, lots of sun, good for your skin…”
“Uh, Mamá,” Camilo muttered, tugging on Pepa’s hand, “You might wanna reconsider that ‘nice day’ part.”
Walking towards them, tapping his new, carved walking stick on the ground (not that he needed it, but it was a very expensive walking stick), was Gustavo Torres. He clocked the trio, smiled, and sped up his gait to catch them. Camilo groaned. Bruno cringed. Pepa scowled.
“Pepa Madrigal,” Gustavo said, falling into step beside Pepa – nudging Bruno out of the way – “it’s been a while.”
“I saw you at church last Sunday, Gustavo.”
“Was it so long ago?” Torres smiled, looping his hand through the crook of Pepa’s free arm. Leaning around his Mamá’s back, Camilo mimed making a noose and wrapping it around his neck. Bruno swatted at him, darting a nervous look at his sister as Camilo stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes, pretending to be dead. “Not funny, Milo.”
“Did you say something, Brunito?” Pepa arched an eyebrow at her brother, and he cringed under Gustavo’s glare.
“Uh, uh – I mean, no. Sorry Pep.”
Gustavo snorted. “‘Pep.’ Didn’t you call her that when we were children?”
“Uh, I-I guess, I probably did…”
“Your sister is a mother of three now, Bruno. You should call her by the name she was christened with.” Gustavo sniffed, and turned back to Pepa, launching into some monologue about his stupid bag-making business. The one that everyone knew was more his wife’s passion project than his own. Francisca was a devil with a needle and thread – Mirabel adored her, though she stopped popping into the shop for sewing tips when Gustavo had told her they’d have to start charging for his wife’s time.
Camilo’s eyebrows were almost at his hairline. Bruno rolled his eyes, fluttering his hand in what he hoped was a ‘let it go’ gesture. He’d gotten in trouble – big trouble – a long time ago for letting his mouth run around Torres. He wasn’t about to sully his new, not-the-black-sheep reputation for a cabrón like him.
“How is your mother? It must have been such a shock,” Gustavo said, his cane tapping on the ground like flint, “losing her home like that.”
Pepa ground her teeth, and a tiny wisp of a cloud appeared over her head. Gustavo hadn’t made himself available for rebuilding efforts; only coming around to offer his services on the day the magic returned.
“She’s fine, Gustavo. We all are – we’re…adjusting.”
Gustavo nodded, his gaze sliding to Bruno. “That’s very fair. It must have been a lot to adjust to; especially the homecoming of someone who perhaps wasn’t…expected.”
Bruno winced like he’d been slapped. Camilo leaned around his mother again, now miming stabbing Gustavo in the back. ‘Kill him,’ Bruno’s sobrino mouthed, ‘Kill him!’
Ay dios, he looked like his mother’s son in that moment – usually, Bruno saw more of Camilo’s sunny, playful father in him, despite all the sass. He shook his head violently, and Camilo tutted.
“Mami,” Camilo said with a clearing of his throat, “we really need to get to the –”
“Ah, yes – you were heading into town.” Gustavo shot Bruno a look. “Bruno, I’m sure you can handle taking Camilo on his errands. Pepa; I was wondering if we could take a walk over the bridge together while we wait?”
Torres’ expression became sly. “For old times’ sake?”
Ah. At that, something hot and indignant sparked in Bruno’s chest, fanned by the memories of a pushy, arrogant Torres hanging around Casita like a bad smell when they were seventeen; cheap flowers and candies that Pepa never ate, veiled euphemisms that made her uncomfortable, boasts about his father’s money, his ambition, what he could do for her as a potential suitor – what he could do! For Pepa Madrigal!
“Gustavo,” Pepa said, patience finally running out, “that isn’t a good idea.”
“No, it’s fine.” Gustavo’s grip tightened. “It’ll be –”
And then he tugged on her arm. That was the final straw.
“From what I remember,” Bruno said, anger roiling in his chest, “you could never keep Francisca Flores satisfied for more than two minutes. Y’not gonna be able to juggle another woman, Torres, you’ll wear yourself out.”
Gustavo’s mouth opened and closed as they came to a sudden stop. Pepa’s eyes widened. Camilo was delighted. Bruno tried not to look at him, focusing on staring up at Torres and trying not to blink.
“How,” Gustavo snarled, “dare you speak to me like that, you –”
“‘You all-powerful seer of the future?’ Was that what y’gonna say?” Bruno crossed his arms, weight shifting to one hip. “‘Coz I could tell you that when Francisca finds out you’ve been hitting on my sister again, first thing she’s gonna break is that ornamental pot your Papi got you for your wedding. Over your head.” Bruno smiled as creepily as he could, and Gustavo took a step back – right into Pepa.
“And she will find out, Gustavo,” she said, softly as the rolling thunder than crept around her shoulders. Her eyes were bright with malice as she took Bruno’s hand. “Because I’ll tell her. Right after I take my son – and my brother – on our errands. Now run along.”
A flash of lightning backlit the Madrigal siblings, just for a second, in blinding white light. Bruno’s hands itched to pull up his ruana hood, to complete the image.
“Y-you’re all the same,” Gustavo stammered. “You’re all…all…”
Pepa smiled, small and feral. “Damn right we are.”
Gustavo stammered an excuse, walked backwards for a pace or two, and then scurried away.
“Yeeeeeaaaah,” Camilo crowed, curling his fingers into a very rude gesture. “Get fuuuuuuuu—”
“Camilo Pedro Madrigal.”
“Sorry, Mami. Sorry.” As they restarted their walk, Camilo leaned around his mother’s back one more time – now offering his palm for a high five. Bruno rolled his eyes affectionately, then slapped his sobrino’s palm with a wink.
A sullied reputation never felt so good.