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It was deep into the night, when the adults had ushered all the grandkids into their temporary beds. All the mixed-up emotions, all the confrontations, revelations, crying, hugging, reunions… everything that had happened earlier today had started to settle down. Now the adrenaline or getting swept along in happy rebuildings or heated arguments started to cool, leaving everyone exhausted and a little confused about their feelings, and a lot to mull over.
Pepa, Julieta, and Bruno were sitting together around a table with steaming cups of coffee that they really, really needed. Bruno was staring down at his cup, fidgeting with his fingers. Julieta sighed, running a hand through her hair. Pepa had downed her coffee in one single gulp and went to get more. In the dim lights, it really showed how much the triplets had aged since the last time they’d been together. The fact weighed heavily in the silent air.
Bruno was the first to break the silence, as he cleared his throat awkwardly, as the stifling atmosphere caused more awkwardness than he had anticipated.
“Um, I’ll, uh, be off to bed, now?” the comment was accompanied by a light chuckle, as the green clad man started to slide off his chair, trying to make a dignified exit. But really, he was itching to flee the room as quickly as possible.
“ Ten years , Bruno,” Julieta’s voice, a little raspy, croaked out. “We thought you were dead .”
The man froze, clearly not wanting to be caught in this conversation, but knowing it’d be unwise to run away. It certainly wasn’t the reply he’d hoped for when he said he was “off to bed”.
“Uh…I’m, I’m sorry?” he tried, miserably sliding back into his chair, deciding that tonight was going to be long.
“You already said that,” Pepa muttered into her coffee. She was in the middle of drinking more.
“Whoa-oh, hermana, um, maybe you should, say, slow down on the coffee?” he offered a smile. It hung emptily in the air, and Bruno’s slumped down in defeat. He sighed. “I know.”
“When your door went out, I couldn’t breathe. You could’ve been dead, or you could’ve ran away, or—But we didn’t know . How could you—” Pepa started again, and nearing the end, her voice came in gasps and coughs. Bruno winced, and she turned away. A few muttered ‘Clear skies’ and deep breaths later, her voice rose to a shout, as she swirled back towards him. “Idiot. You. Are. An. Idiot, Bruno Madrigal!”
He flinched back, spilling a few drops of coffee. Pepa’s eyes softened, then her face scrunched up and crumpled the same way it would every time she tries not to cry but fails, and she turned back to the table, gasping for breath and starting to sob, everything a little too much for the woman who had been taught to stifle her emotions for decades in the past.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh , I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I just—just, I—”
Julieta, beside Bruno, with soft eyes, leaned over to Bruno as she got off her chair, “I’m going to the kitchen to get her some Deditos de Queso. You know she loves them. Try to help her relax.” She gave him a ghost of a smile, tired, but there.
Bruno tried to push back the realization that he had almost forgotten Pepa loved those snacks. He tried to swallow down the panicked bile rising in his throat as he approached the sister he hadn’t properly talked to in ten years.
“I know. You miss me,” he reached for her braid, gently fidgeting and stroking it, knowing it made her feel better when someone touched her hair. “Um, and, you…you assumed the worst. And, I made a mess.” He lowered his eyes, focusing on his sister’s red hair, rather like leaves in the autumn, or a cozy fire crackling in a fireplace. “A-And, you blame yourself for getting swept up in the whole ‘We Don’t Talk About Bruno’ thing. And, well, um, things.”
Halfway through his little speech, Pepa had lifted her head tearfully to look at Bruno, but he pretended not to notice. “It was the vision,” he instead said, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t really sure if he was ready to talk about it yet, but… “The, uh, vision about Mirabel. I…I just knew. I mean, I just knew I couldn’t stay. And, besides, it wasn’t like I was much use, was I?” Something that was supposed to be a light-hearted chuckle, but really came out as a heavy grimace followed.
His sister shook her head frantically, tugging her braid away, before sitting up straighter, eyes flickering towards Bruno’s. “Still an idiot,” she sniffled, but this time softer, and Bruno knew , knew like he knew as he had that life-altering vision, that she wasn’t mad at him, not this time. “I thought we’d gotten over the whole ‘You need to be useful to exist’ sorta thing. And besides, um, you’re pretty useful, by my standards.” She smiled at him, all puffy-eyed with fresh tear tracks on her cheeks, but it was a smile nevertheless. And he smiled back.
And so they sat there for a while, grinning at each other awkwardly like idiots. Dios. They were a mess.
“I feel left out,” Julieta’s voice rang out from behind them, causing them to jump and snap their gazes back towards her. “Here, ‘Cheese Fingers’ for you, Pepi, and buñuelos done just like how you like it, for you, Bruno, and that scrawny body of yours.” Bruno was about to protest when Julieta gave him a pointed look, and any sounds of denial died inside his throat. So he just picked a buñuelo up.
Julieta sat down next to them again, smoothing out her apron. “I’m not one to eavesdrop, but…” she started. “Really, Bruno, you know you could always come to us, right? Count on the Triplet Tickets.”
They all smiled at the silly little name they had made up when they were kids. ‘Triplet Tickets’ were the go-to every time they felt upset. They’d made little tickets from scraps of paper, too, and would hand each other those if any of them were feeling down. It would usually end up with them in a blanket pile together, or a sleepover, or even just a small gossip session. Sometimes, it’d be Bruno’s little rat theater.
“And right back at you, hermana. Stop being so stubborn and open up about your problems,” Bruno said, dead serious.
“I don’t have any problems. I help people, that’s all,” she insisted. Stubborn as ever.
“What about your whole staying-up-the-entire-night-so-I-can-cook-for-the-entire-fucking-village deal? And your nightmares about losing someone you hold dear? Get a grip, sis. We all know,” Pepa shot back, shaking her head. “Triplet Ticket, you said it yourself.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you, too.”
Bruno stared at his sisters, and his heart warmed. They still had a long way to go, but he was home. Home .