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“For one so small, you seem so strong. My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm. This bond between us can't be broken; I will be here, don't you cry.” - You’ll Be In My Heart, Tarzan
Mirabel had spent most of her life watching her family, quietly observing them as they performed miracles, or simply watching them at the dinner table.
Everyone in her family was unique. They all had different ways of showing affection.
First, there was Julieta. She delighted in being over the top as she showered her daughters in affection and, lately, Mirabel had seen her do the exact same thing to her siblings: grabbing hold of them, poking at their noses and kissing all over their faces as she showered them in praise.
Her papá wasn’t quite so dramatic, but he still called them by childhood nicknames: Miraboo, Lu-Lu and Bela. He gave everyone in the family reassuring pats on the back or squeezed their arm or shoulder; everyone, not just his daughters.
Tia Pepa, as always, wore her heart on her sleeve. She’d cup your face in her hands and kiss your cheeks (three times on each cheek to be precise) and sometimes your nose and forehead if she was in a particularly happy mood.
Tio Félix was a hugger. He was a champion hugger; Mirabel was hard pressed to choose between him and Luisa. They both knew how to squeeze just right. Tio Félix always hugged tightly and swayed back and forth, then he’d ruffle your hair and give you a beaming grin.
Then there was Abuela. Until recently, she’d been much more reserved. Sometimes it seemed like all her affection was solely aimed at Isabela, and occasionally to Julieta, who responded with cool politeness, never smiling and giggling the way Isabela did. Mirabel had watched, her heart aching, as Abuela kissed Isabela’s cheek and walked through the village with her, arm in arm, or holding Isa’s hand. Like Tia Pepa, she tended to hold your face, oh-so gently with a warm smile. Nowadays, her affection was distributed much more evenly. That tension between Alma and Julieta was slowly dissolving, and Mirabel saw her mamá nod in approval when Alma hugged Mirabel or stood on tip-toe to kiss Luisa’s cheek and adjust her hair ribbon.
Luisa was another champion of hugs. She was always careful not to squeeze too hard (and she usually lifted Mirabel, Camilo and Antonio straight up into the air) and she held on for as long as she wanted her to.
Isabela used to be distant. Her shows of affection were limited to giving someone a pretty blossom and gracious smile. Pretty, elegant and oh-so perfect, exactly like a princess. Everything about her had been soft…And fake. Now she was getting better at giving proper hugs, initiating high-fives as she loudly laughed, playfully ruffling Mirabel or Camilo’s hair. She walked arm-in-arm with Dolores and hugged their parents every chance she got. Mirabel had even seen her carry Antonio around, balanced on her hip as she gardened.
Camilo was, as always, a chief gremlin. He did his best to make people smile and laugh. He tickled Antonio and threatened to do the same to Mirabel. He pulled silly faces and poked your nose, cracking jokes and terrible puns until you smiled.
Antonio hadn’t changed a bit: he was still so innocently loving and easily affectionate. He hugged everyone, smiled at everyone and wanted to introduce everyone to his animals. He’d quietly take your hand and hold on if he felt shy in a crowd. He was like a little ray of sunshine, warming everyone he met and melting hearts everywhere. He certainly melted Mirabel’s heart.
Dolores was always quiet. Her smiles were soft, her gestures equally gentle. Her hugs were feather-light and it wasn’t unusual for her to pop up out of nowhere, hug you and hurry away again without a word.
As for Tio Bruno, he was still getting used to letting people touch him, or touching other people at all. For all that he was doting on his pet rats, he still sometimes tensed up if anyone came at him too fast or hugged him too tightly. Depending on his mood and the type of day he’d had, he’d either cling to his sisters or hide in a corner.
Mirabel couldn’t really blame him. She wouldn’t know how to handle an onslaught of affection after ten years of isolation either. If she still sometimes watched Abuela with wonder, she could only imagine how the triplets felt.
But Bruno was improving every day. He returned his sisters’ hugs instead of standing in their embrace with a confused expression on his face. He didn’t always tense up when Abuela brushed his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t flinch so much when Félix barrelled into him, or at all when Mirabel hugged him.
He slowly started to return the gestures. His hugs felt so familiar, and Mirabel wished she could remember him better. Seven-foot frame her butt! His smile was shy and infinitely loving and he looked at all his nieces and nephews like they were doing something amazing, even if they were just setting the dinner table.
Mirabel noticed he tended to pat them on the head (especially when he couldn’t handle a full hug) and, as he did, deja vu always hit. He must have done the same thing ten years ago.
Mirabel noticed it in the same quiet way she always observed her family; a little fact about her uncle, something to ponder.
After all, everyone showed affection in their own way.
She just didn’t expect Antonio to copy it.
Thanks to her habit of watching everyone, she noticed it first and, Mirabel had to admit, it amused her to no end.
“Good morning Tio Brunito!” Antonio chirped as he took his seat at breakfast. Félix let out a loud bark of laughter, grinning sheepishly when Abuela shot him a chiding glance. Bruno didn’t seem bothered; he was clearly biting his lip and doing a terrible job of hiding his grin.
“We’ve been over this, Tonito,” Pepa sighed, sipping her coffee. “You don’t call him Brunito.”
“But you do, Mamí!”
“Sí, because he’s my little brother. He’s not younger or smaller than you, baby.”
Antonio looked at Bruno with a pout. “But Tio’s not even tall,” he protested and Bruno finally burst out laughing, alongside Camilo, Félix, Mirabel and Luisa.
“Ay, Pepa, I don’t even mind!” Bruno said between chuckles.
“Nope,” Pepa said, swiping at him. “He’s having good manners if it kills me.” (Bruno immediately knocked on the table, chanting under his breath.) “Quit encouraging it, you gremlin.”
Antonio’s big sad eyes were lethal. Pepa made the wise decision of not looking at him directly.
“Tio, I didn’t mean to get you into trouble,” he said, biting his lip.
“No one’s in trouble, little tesero,” Bruno said, patting Antonio’s head.
“Oh,” Antonio said, looking relieved.
And then he pat Bruno on the head.
Bruno didn’t even seem to notice, too busy wincing as Agustín spilled his coffee and knocked over Julieta’s glass of juice as he scrambled for the napkins.
But Mirabel noticed.
She decided to keep quiet. Let’s see how long it took anyone else to pick up on it.
Dolores noticed next, by the end of the week, with Bruno himself close behind her. Well, no, not quite. It was more like Dolores noticed and then announced it to Bruno while he and Mirabel were working on the next rat telenovela: Mirabel was working on costumes and Bruno was designing a new set.
“Tonito is copying you,” Dolores said, walking right into Bruno’s room. “I knocked,” she added, but Mirabel hadn’t heard her. To be fair, she’d been engrossed in her work and wouldn’t have noticed a stampede of Antonio’s animals, which had happened before.
“Copying me?” Bruno repeated, tilting his head. Come to think of it, Antonio had started doing that too.
Aw, someone’s got a favourite Tio, Mirabel thought fondly.
“Sí. He’s patting everyone on the head. He called me mi luz this morning.”
Okay, that got a giggle out of Mirabel. Antonio really was copying Bruno, right down to the nicknames. Next thing they knew, he’d call Pepa Pepita to annoy her.
Actually, no. That would be more up Camilo’s alley. But Mirabel was starting to expect a request for a little ruana.
“Er, are we sure Antonio should be copying me?” Bruno asked, biting his thumbnail. “Because I’m kinda, y’know…” He blew a raspberry and pulled an exaggerated face of disgust for good measure.
Mirabel slapped his arm with a pillow. Positive reinforcement.
“It’s sweet,” Dolores said. She looked at the set with curiosity and hummed. “He loves you. He thinks you’re cool.”
“...Is he feeling okay? He didn’t hurt his head did he? Oh Dios mio, what if he has a fever and we didn’t even notice? Or- or?” Bruno tugged on his hair, eyes wide and increasingly distressed.
“Tio!” Mirabel set down her sewing and untangled his hands from his hair. “Antonio’s fine. C’mon, I think you’re cool.”
“So do I,” Dolores said with a shrug. “Hm. Remember I always followed you around?”
“Ooh boy, you screamed Casita down when I tried handing you to Agustín,” Bruno said with a wince.
Dolores nodded. Bruno had just proved her point.
“You’re good with him,” she said. “And the rats gave you a glowing review, so he was won over before he even met you.”
The rats squeaked, as if in agreement. Come to think of it, they probably were agreeing.
Bruno’s expression softened. “Oh,” he mumbled. “Well…”
“Hey, so long as he doesn’t start sassing people,” Mirabel said, flinging her arm around her uncle’s narrow shoulders. “I didn’t know you swore, Tio!”
Bruno flushed at the realisation Mirabel had heard a certain Fish Lady incident, but stuck his nose in the air, utterly unapologetic. “Pezmeurto had it coming,” he insisted. Mirabel quite agreed.
Dolores sat next to Bruno and held her hand out for one of the paintbrushes. Bruno handed it to her and she joined in on painting the set. Mirabel got back to work on the costumes, smiling to herself.
Sure enough, later that night, there was a knock on her door and Antonio poked his head into her room.
“Mira?” he asked, his eyes big and earnest, his smile eager. “Can you make me a ruana, please?”