Mirabel's ringtone was still the default that came with the phone, a little neutral bell motif like Abuela's old house phone. At 6:15 in the morning, however, it was a method of torture. Antonio pressed closer to her chest as she tried to reach around him and grab it from the TV tray, a little whine escaping his lips at being disturbed. She pressed a kiss to his forehead when her fingers closed around it and she was able to fall back to the pillow. Her eyes were still blurry with sleep, but she recognized the caller as Jueputa. Her thumb swiped to answer the call while she swallowed back a whine of her own.

"Hola, Miguel. Qué pasó?"

"Where are you?"

"What do you mean? I'm not in till nine today."

"Not according to the schedule," her manager snapped. "You were scheduled for 6."

"I checked the schedule on Tuesday. It said I worked a nine to three." Mirabel couldn't keep the venom out of her voice. It was too early in the morning for this crap, and certainly wasn't the first time they'd pulled this on her.

"Someone called off. Didn't you check the schedule yesterday?" Miguel's frustration was mounting, and Mirabel could almost imagine how tightly he was gripping his phone.

"I wasn't in yesterday."

"That's no excuse. When can you get here?"

Mirabel sighed and looked down at Antonio, blinking up at her wearily from his pillow. She'd need to get him up and fed, since he'd likely miss breakfast by the time they got to daycare. She needed to do laundry, but she could probably find some semi-clean clothes in the hamper. The bus to daycare was half an hour, and then another twenty minutes to work. It'd take Toñito fifteen minutes at least to eat, if she could get him to hurry.

"I can be there for 7:45 if the buses cooperate."

"You can't get here any sooner? That's almost two hours later than when you were scheduled!"

"My availability is 7:30 to 6:30, Miguel. I don't know why I keep getting scheduled outside that time. I don't have a sitter."

"Fine. Just get here." He hung up the phone before Mirabel could respond, and she let it fall back onto the bed.

" Caramondá ," she muttered.

"What does caramondá mean, Mamí?" Antonio asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his little fists.

"Ay, mí corazón, don't say that word. It's bad." Mirabel leaned over and scooped him into her lap, peppering his face with little kisses until he giggled and tried to wriggle away.

" You said it," he accused, but his voice was still breathless from his laughter. She ruffled his hair and shook her head, a smile tugging on her lips.

"Porque, mijo, my manager is a bad person," she explained. Mirabel waved away Antonio's questions and shooed him from the bed. "We have to get ready. I have to get ready for work, and you need to eat breakfast."

"Sí, Mamí," he said sullenly, "Can I have cereal?"

While Antonio ate his cereal with the last of the milk, Mirabel sifted through the hamper beside the dresser, smelling the clothes as she went. Her outfit from Tuesday smelled a bit metallic because of whatever the rain had deposited onto it, but otherwise it seemed like her best bet. She crammed that into her bag and threw on her uniform. It still smelled like rancid oil and fries, but no one would notice once she walked into the kitchen. The entire restaurant smelled like that, most people went nose blind after an hour or two.

"Toñito?" She called from where she knelt beside the hamper. "Where are your socks from Tuesday?"

Antonio looked up from the video playing on her phone and tilted his head at her, sending a mass of curls into his face. She'd need to apply some gel to them to keep them out of his face. By wash day, his hair was stretched out and almost longer than hers.

"No sé, can't I just wear the ones I wore yesterday?" He looked over to the window where his socks were hanging from the ledge, drying from his impromptu puddle dances on their walk to the library.

"I haven't washed them yet, they'll be crusty. Is that okay?" Antonio wrinkled his nose, and Mirabel laughed. "Un momento, hombrecito, I'll check under the bed."

She made a show of struggling to climb under the bed at his feet, bumping the mattress up and down with him on it. Antonio squealed with laughter while she kicked her feet theatrically, pretending she was trying to wedge herself further beneath the bed.

"Got them!" Mirabel's hand closed around a pair of yellow and blue "Chase is on the case" socks, then gasped loud enough for Antonio to hear over his show. "Oh no!"

"What?" Tiny bare feet balanced on the back of her calves as Antonio slid off the bed, his voice full of concern. "What is it?"

"I'm stuck!" Mira wriggled her hips and shoulders convincingly, pushing herself up against the top of the bed frame.

"Oh no! We need Rubble!"

"No time!" Mirabel squirmed again, adding in a few grunts for good measure. "I need you to pull me out!"

She felt his little hands close around her ankles, and Antonio counted to three before he yanked back on her legs. Mirabel shoved herself back with her arms against the wall in time with his movement, and Antonio grinned wildly when she rolled herself out from under the bed.

"My hero!" she cheered, opening her arms just as he threw himself against her. "I thought I would have to live under there with the dust bunnies and your smelly socks!" His laughter tickled the skin on her neck as he snuggled closer. For a minute, Mirabel just held him tight, enjoying having him so close.

Despite her playful distractions, they made surprisingly good time getting ready. Antonio managed to put his socks on by himself and let Mirabel tie his shoes without fussing about doing it himself. He rode on her back to the bus stop, giggling every time she paused to pretend she was about to drop him. Even Señora Sanchez was in a good mood, not bringing up the late fee that Mirabel had yet to pay. Her luck lasted until she got to work and Miguel managed to make her day a living hell.

If an order was wrong, somehow it was always her fault. He yelled at her for being a minute late clocking in from break, even though someone was using the tablet to take a drive thru order, and someone spilled a shake all over the ground right behind where she was standing. They had walked away to get a mop without warning her, and now Mirabel's shoes stuck to the ground slightly with every step despite the greasy tiles. But the cherry on top of the shit cake was when one of her coworkers opened up the freezer just as she was walking past with a box of fries blocking her vision. She box bounced off the door, ramming her knuckles into the metal and slamming the corner of the stiff cardboard into her brow. Pain blossomed across her fingers and forehead, and someone called out to her to watch where she was going. Her coworker came out of the freezer at the noise, a slender wisp of a girl who hardly looked old enough to be working on a school day.

"Oh fuck, Mira! You're bleeding!" Lupe gasped, immediately grabbing the box and setting it on the nearest counter.

"How bad?" Mirabel's lip stung when she spoke, but Lupe's eyes were on her forehead.

"Um…You should probably go get a bandaid from the office," she replied. Holding back a sigh, Mira nodded and pressed her fingers to her forehead while she turned toward the office. Luckily, Miguel was there. The first aid kit was locked in the desk for whatever reason, and she would hate to have to hunt him down just to ask for a band aid like a first grader.

"What are you doing… Ay, not another one, Mirabel!" Miguel groaned when he looked up from his papers and saw her. Evidently, Lupe hadn't been exaggerating. Her fingers were bloody when she pulled them away from her eyebrow, and her lip definitely felt swollen. Her knuckles were skinned too, though luckily none of them were bleeding. Miguel rifled through the desk with all the delicacy of a drunk miner until he found the "first aid kit", which was just a bandaid box with some alcohol wipes stuffed into it. He passed it to her and sent her on her break. "Make sure you clean that off and make yourself presentable again before you come back."

The staff bathroom had a rusty, chipped mirror above the sink. It was filmy from whatever had been used to disinfect it, but Mirabel could see enough to know her face looked rough. A small gash split her lower lip on the left side, and her left brow had a larger cut where the box corner had gouged her temple. It was bleeding sluggishly, smeared across her forehead from her fingers. Reaching for the paper towel dispenser, she sighed when she discovered it was once again empty. The managers were terrible at remembering to order the rolls to restock it, considering the customer restroom had hand dryers. She leaned over and grabbed some toilet paper instead, trying to wet it just enough with the tap to wipe the blood off. Bits of it stuck to her skin, and she threw the wad into the trash and grabbed an alcohol wipe instead. The wipe stung the cut, but otherwise managed to clean off most of the blood. After dabbing it dry with the corner of her sleeve, Mirabel grabbed one of the bandaids and plastered it to her brow, trying to ignore the annoying tail of it being so close to the corner of her outer eye. There was nothing she could do for her lip, but she washed her hands with the purple hand soap and returned the kit to the office. Miguel had wandered off somewhere, so she left it on the desk and made her way to the dining room.

The smell of food made her stomach rumble, and Mirabel grabbed out her wallet to see if she could afford lunch. She'd skipped dinner the last couple of nights, wanting to save the macaroni and other little meals for Antonio, but the bread and margarine sandwiches she'd been eating for lunch weren't as filling as a value meal with a burger and fries would be. The wad of bills in her wallet looked exactly the same from when she'd crammed it in there while leaving Bruno's two days ago, and she realized with some embarrassment that she had never counted it. Carefully, she unfolded the bills and counted them. Four twenties. She counted them twice more, just to be sure.

She charged $15 an hour for cleaning, and he'd booked her for two hours. So, for some reason…Bruno had tipped her $50. It was unfathomable. She could definitely afford a $5 meal with it. But then Mirabel remembered the late fee at the daycare, and how badly Antonio needed rain boots. His shoes had still been wet that morning, like hers had been from Tuesday. The misery of going about his day in wet shoes was not something she wanted him to worry about. He was only four, for fuck's sake, he should be able to play in puddles and get his clothes soaked without paying the price for it the next morning. She glanced back up at the menu, eyes hungrily tracing the pictures and bright colors, before she sucked in a breath and tucked the money back into her wallet.

If he tipped her again tonight, she could buy lunch tomorrow. If he paid this well every week, she might be able to eat full meals more often without worrying about making rent. Her stomach growled, but Mirabel just grabbed a cup from under the counter and took advantage of the free soda employees were entitled to. Some sugar wasn't a replacement for a meal, but it would perk her up enough to get through the rest of the day. She'd eat dinner tonight. Maybe.

The trek to Bruno's house was much more pleasant under the springtime sunshine. Mirabel's tongue poked out to play with the cut on her lip once more before she caught herself and forced it to stop. The cut was already swollen thanks to her absent-minded toying with it.

Bruno opened the door to her on the first ring of his doorbell, making her wonder if he'd watched her coming up the driveway. The old house was large, but city homes still tended to have rather small front lawns, so it wasn't much of a stretch to think he saw her out a window and beat her to the door. It was a much better idea than thinking he'd been sitting by the door and waiting for her to show up. That one was equal parts depressing and creepy. He had an actual smile on his face today, and was in the middle of opening the door wider and stammering out some sort of greeting when his eyes landed on her face. Mirabel followed the path of his eyes from her brow, scabbed and raw-looking since her sweat kept making the band aid fall off until she finally gave up on it, to her sore lip.

"What happened?" he asked, smile dropping. Mirabel was sorry to see it go. He'd suddenly aged twenty years in the span of a few seconds, but she had no good excuse.

"I walked into a door," she offered sheepishly, stepping inside and kneeling down to unlace her shoes. She felt Bruno's eyes on her, and he gasped when he saw her swollen knuckles. Though the cuts hadn't been deep, the impact had bruised them a rather impressive purple.

"A door?" The disbelief in his voice was palpable, but she had never been a talented liar like Camilo. The truth was all she could offer. It was up to him if he wanted to believe it or not.

"Yeah, I wasn't paying attention and.." She shrugged, sliding her shoes into the corner and standing in front of him in her socked feet. He was still watching her, eyes roving over her body in a way that wasn't predatory but definitely made her feel like she was being seen . There was something beyond confusion in the twist of his lips. Brow furrowed, eyes sharp, he looked almost angry.

"Is… Does this have anything to do with Antonio? Do you need help, Mirabel? I can… I can… There are places that help in these situations. I can go with you, if you need me to." Despite the stammer, it was probably the most confident statement she had ever heard him make. Her mind breezed through her memories, trying to figure out how he knew Antonio's name. What he might be implying. But then she remembered.

It's 6:30. Time to pick up Antonio.

Right. Her alarm. He must think Antonio was her boyfriend, and that she was some battered woman in need of saving. Nope, no thank you. She didn't need anyone else trying to take care of her. She'd made that mistake once, and would never allow herself to be in that position again.

"Antonio is four, Señor. Unless it's a trip to a petting zoo, there's no need to go anywhere. I'm fine. Truly. I walked into a freezer door at work. That's all." She spelled it out the same way she walked Antonio through tying his shoes on the days they had enough time for him to fumble his way through it.

"Four?" Bruno repeated, deflating. The furrow on his brow eased, and some color returned to his cheeks. Mirabel tried to smile at him, but the split on her lip made it a bit strained.

"Five in May. He's my son," she offered. Now it was Bruno's turn to look sheepish.

"Oh, I… I'm sorry, I thought…" He didn't finish the thought, but they both knew what he had been implying. Though he had been a little too direct in his questioning, Mirabel still felt more at ease with him after the offer. Not only had he tipped her more than she made in a day, but she felt better knowing he was the type to intercede should he find someone in an abusive situation. She could have used someone like that five or six years ago. Now? Now all she wanted was to earn her pay and go back to her little room and enjoy the life she'd built for herself.

"It's alright, I appreciate the thought. Really." She gave him a brighter smile, ignoring the twinge in her lip, and walked further into the house. "Now, where shall I start?"

To her dismay, Bruno had picked the kitchen. Thankfully, it seemed like he'd done some cleaning since the last time she was here. There were no pots on the floor and the dishwasher was ready to be unloaded. When she'd first started housekeeping, the amount of people who cleaned before the maid came over used to surprise her. Did they really think she wouldn't notice the wet sponge or trash bags piled by the door? But now that she was older, she understood the embarrassment more. Letting a stranger into your personal space was an exercise in humility. Her clients were telling her, without words, that they were having trouble keeping up and felt overwhelmed enough to pay someone to help them manage their household tasks. Apart from the rich employers who simply believed some people were above menial labor, most of her clients were simply folks who just happened to have more money than time.

An hour flew by quickly, so quickly she only noticed it because Bruno knocked on the swinging door of the kitchen like she owned the room and tentatively poked his head around it.

"Would it bother you if I just grabbed something from the fridge? It's the rats' dinnertime, and they get impatient if they have to wait too long."

Mirabel's head shot up to gape at him.

"Rats?"

As if in answer, one little fuzzy head poked up from the front pocket of Bruno's green hoodie. She wondered briefly if the tattered hem of the pocket had anything to do with tiny teeth.

"Oh, of course," she said, giving Bruno and his rodents –plural, he had said rats– a wide berth. She wasn't afraid of rats, at least not completely, but she'd lived in some less than savory places before finding her current room, and the sound of little paws scurrying over her floorboards was close enough for her lifetime.

Still, she watched while Bruno propped open the fridge and more rats crawled from his sleeves. There were four in total. One in his pocket, one that clambered out of his hood, and two from each armhole. He ripped apart pieces of fruit and veggies and what looked like lunch meat to pass them, feeding each one an equal portion while murmuring under his breath. It was… sweet, in a way.

Mirabel's stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. Bruno, who had been closing the fridge, paused at the sound. He turned to survey her with that same assessing stare he'd given her at the door when he noticed her bruises, though the rat cleaning itself on his shoulder made the scene a bit more surreal.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, obviously aiming for a light tone but sounding more anxious than anything else. "You can stay for dinner, if you like."

"Thank you, Señor, but I need to pick up Antonio after I'm done. The daycare closes at 7," she replied automatically. At a dollar per minute, any meal she ate with Bruno would cost more than whatever she could have ordered at the restaurant earlier.

"You could pick him up and come back, if you like? I have enough for both of you." Bruno's tone was so earnest, but Mirabel still shook her head. There was something too intense in his gaze, something knowing that made her feel uneasy again.

"It's alright. He doesn't really like strangers," she said. Bruno's shoulders sagged, and he nodded like she'd just insulted him. He looked so dejected that she almost wanted to change her mind. Almost. There was no reason to introduce a man she barely knew to her four-year-old son, no matter how comfortable she felt around him sometimes. He still had that slightly feral edge to him, which would probably only make Antonio's curiosity stronger since he actually loved talking to strangers, but it was still her job to protect him.

"Right. Of course. Sorry. Just…feel free to help yourself to the fridge. Or the pantry, while you're here. Mí casa es su casa."

She only nodded and thanked him again. That was an offer she wouldn't be taking him up on, she didn't take favors that extended beyond social niceties. Too often, there was a context she ended up missing behind them. All it would take was her accidentally eating something he'd saved for himself, or the rats, and she could kiss her job here goodbye.

Bruno left after watching her for another moment, and Mirabel let herself breathe a sigh of relief. She glared down at her stomach, frustrated. She'd gone longer without food, when things had been really tight shortly after her breast milk dried up and she had to supplement with expensive formula. Antonio had only been a few months old, and Mirabel's experience babysitting never extended to buying formula. Though she'd stood there for ten minutes just staring at the containers, no one had stopped to help the obviously overwhelmed fifteen-year-old girl with her newborn son, choking back tears that she couldn't even make enough milk or choose a good formula for her baby. Panicked about possibly getting the wrong kind and poisoning him, it took an elderly woman approaching and asking if her mother had forgotten to give her a list for her little brother's items before sending her to the store. Mirabel had been too tired to argue, and just let the woman guide her into lying about recognizing a brand she said she'd used for her grandchild. Abuela's words had never been louder in her head.

You can hardly take care of yourself. How do you expect to raise a child? You're being selfish.

Selfish. Her stomach growled again, and Mira just knelt back on the floor and went back to scrubbing at baseboards. Those words haunted her more than she wanted to admit, even all these years later. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to return to her work. She wasn't getting paid to feel sorry for herself.

Her 6 PM alarm went off just as she finished mopping the floor. Mirabel allowed herself a moment to admire her work. For only two hours, the kitchen was unrecognizable. She'd managed to clean the walls, floors, and counters in that time. Freed of their layers of dust and build-up of grease, the kitchen was one she could only dream about having one day. Bigger even than her Abuela's, it had a large window to bathe the white tiles and dark wood cabinets in natural light. She could easily see herself passing a Sunday afternoon in a cocina like this, somehow both roomy and cozy. It was a far cry from her mini-fridge and microwave back in her room.

Bruno was standing by the front door when she left the kitchen, twisting his fingers around each other nervously. His anxious posture made her steps slow, a feeling of anticipation snapping in the air between them. He wanted to say something, and Mirabel wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. Was he going to tell her not to come back? Berate her for something she did wrong? Tell her he overpaid and needed the extra $50 back?

"I was thinking…" Bruno started, letting go of his hands to stroke a finger over the forehead of the black and white rat in his pocket.

"Yes, Señor Bruno?" Mirabel prompted when it became obvious he wasn't able to finish the thought on his own.

"This place is… Well, it's a mess."

Understatement of the year, she thought.

"And, well, I think I need more help than I originally anticipated…"

Right, here came the kicker. Was he going to ask her to stay later everyday? Would he be mad when she declined? Or would he just tell her he was going with a professional cleaning company over some freelancer from an online ad?

"Would you…Would you like more hours? A full-time housekeeper would be ideal, but obviously if you already have another job, that's fine. I'll…I'll take whatever you can give me, y'know? Pero si quieres…" It took her a few moments to process what he had just said, but when his rambling finally translated in her head, Mirabel had to clench her jaw to prevent her mouth from falling open. Full-time. At double the pay she made at her minimum-wage job.

"If… if you are okay keeping it under the table?" She had no clue how to go about setting up her own business or reporting income on taxes, but she did know that making too much money would mean losing access to subsidized daycare Señora Sanchez ran from her home. Even with doubling her income, she wouldn't be able to afford after-hours and weekend care at the normal rates.

"Sí claro, I just need the help, clearly," Bruno said immediately, offering her a soft smile. The fist that had clenched itself around Mirabel's lungs eased, and she managed to exhale some of the tension out of her shoulders. This was… Good. It was good. It gave her a chance to save up some money, maybe even get Antonio some new clothes for school. And if it kept up, if she had income she could just rely on like that, she might even be able to get them their own apartment.

"You have yourself a deal," she said, offering her open palm for a handshake. Bruno stared down at her extended hand like he didn't know what to do with it. They stood there awkwardly until Mirabel almost retracted her hand. Only then did he finally grasp it, just as he had on that first day.

"Glad to have you," he said, so soft she hardly heard it. His gaze was locked on her knuckles, still swollen from her efforts scrubbing and caked with red where the motions had finally opened up some of the skinned joints. There was a furrow between his brows again, but he let her hand go before she could try to pick out the emotion on his face. She thought it might be concern again, which was always a strange feeling to come from a near-stranger. But with Bruno?

She felt seen in a way she never had before, and she didn't quite know what to do with that.