Every parent could attest that bad days were unavoidable. Even the most well-behaved children had their moments, and Antonio was no different.
"I don't want to go!" The devastation in her son's voice was enough to make Mirabel want to call in sick, solely so she could spend the day cuddled up in bed with him. Tears soaked the hem of her collar, and she tried not to wince when Antonio rubbed his nose on her shirt. He clung to her neck with all the strength his little body could muster.
"Ay, mijito, I don't want to go either. But sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do," she murmured, rubbing her hand up and down his spine while bouncing her hips as she had when he was a little baby.
"But why?" he whined, pulling back to look at her with those big eyes and a trembling lip. Mira pressed a kiss to his nose, then to his cheek, desperate to soothe the ache away.
"I need to go to work to have money to pay for your things, mí cielo. Niños need toys and food and clothes so they grow up safe and happy, and their parents go to work so they can give them those things."
"But I just need you."
And oh, if that wasn't enough to break Mirabel's heart, the earnest look on his little face as he said it did the job.
"You'll always have me, Toñito, no matter what. But Mamí has to work, so mí pequeño gordito needs to go to daycare. Comprendes?"
Antonio pressed his face back into the crook of her neck, and Mirabel could only tuck his head beneath her chin and rock him as the tears started all over again. On the bed, her phone lit up and buzzed angrily, but she only flicked the call away once more. Miguel could go fuck himself, some things were more important than punctuality.
Eventually, Antonio's tears eased and he clenched her a little less desperately. Mirabel was able to move him away and kiss the red splotches on his cheeks. His answering smile was watery, but it was enough for her to know the worst was over. Still, she didn't put him down once as she got both of their shoes and layers on. The hardest part was pulling her hoodie over her head while Antonio had to be pried away from her neck, but somehow they managed. She didn't bother to lace up her shoes, and his were pull-ons, so it didn't take long to get out the door.
Señora Sanchez was sunny as ever when they stood together on her stoop, though her smile faded a bit when she reached for Antonio and he clung closer to Mirabel.
"Sorry," she said, "We're having a clingy day."
The old woman's face softened, and she held out her arms for Antonio again with a knowing smile to Mirabel.
"I remember those days. I know being without your Mamí is difficult, Antonio, but if you can let her go, I'll give you some of the pop tarts I stashed away just for you."
Toñito's head peeked out from the shelter of Mirabel's embrace.
"Pop tarts?" he asked tentatively.
Señora Sanchez held her arms out a little closer to him, just barely brushing his shoulders, and nodded.
"And we are watching Finding Nemo today. Isn't that one of your favorites?"
"Pop tarts and Finding Nemo?" Antonio squealed, making Mirabel wince at the sudden volume in her ears. With that motivation, her son swung around in her arms and allowed himself to be transferred over to the teacher. Mira mouthed a silent thank you to her as they stepped back, and Señora Sanchez gave her a patient nod.
"Now, let's go get your treat," she said as she moved to close the door. "Would you like strawberry or chocolate?"
The last thing Mira saw was the widening of Antonio's eyes and his brilliant grin, and at last, the ache in her chest eased. He'd be okay, now. And she really had to get to work.
Miguel was not as much of an asshole as Mira expected. Perhaps he felt bad about the yellowing bruises still on her face, or perhaps he simply was on his best behaviour because the General Manager was just behind the office door, looking over their records for the week. It was a typical Saturday morning at the restaurant. Mirabel had been put on drive-thru and drinks, since the managers didn't want her bruises distracting the customers from their dining experience. For how the morning had started, it was a fairly pleasant shift.
At least, it was pleasant enough up until the GM left at four, and Miguel no longer had to worry about being supervised. He sauntered up behind her while she was taking an order on the POS. The customer had a mile-long list of modifications for her burger, but even that couldn't distract Mirabel from the feeling of his eyes on her back.
"There'll be an upcharge for the sauce, is that alright?" she asked, pressing the headset closer to her ear to drown out the sound of his breathing.
"Yes, that's fine," the customer said dismissively. "What's the total?"
Mira read off the total and confirmed the modifications before telling the customer to pull around. The minute her finger pressed the mute button, Miguel's voice was drowning out the noise of the car pulling away.
"You know, Mirabel, if you talked to me half as respectfully as you spoke to customers, we wouldn't have so many issues."
The man she turned around to find was not the same eager-to-please manager that had been coordinating the kitchen all day. Miguel's eyes were narrowed, assessing every muscle of her face for the slightest twitch of discontent, arms crossed over his broad chest.
"I'm always nice to you, sir," she said, careful to keep her face passive. Once, back when she'd first arrived in the city, his gaze might have felt threatening. The idea of looking any man in the eye back then had been an ordeal, but she'd worked with Miguel for almost a year now. He was an asshole, but he was no creep. There was nothing in this power play except for a pathetic display of dominance.
"Nice, yes, but you don't always respect me. Do you know the difference?"
"Of course," Mirabel smiled. "Of course I respect you, sir. I'm sorry if it seems like I don't."
Miguel stepped closer, crowding her back against the computer so she had to crane her head up to look at him. He smiled, enjoying the sight of her submission. Just earlier, she'd seen him do the same to the cook, watching over the man's shoulder until he seared the burger exactly how he'd demanded. Something must have gone wrong with the GM today, to elicit this level of micromanaging.
"If you respect me, then why are you always late? Why do you only smile at our customers, and glare at me when I come to talk to you? Why don't you answer the phone when I call you, especially when you should already be at work? Does that sound like respect?"
Somehow, she kept the smile on her face, but couldn't bring herself to drop her eyes. Camilo had always teased her for the defiance that came as naturally to her as breathing, the way she could never keep her jaw from clenching or her eyes from blazing with every scathing word she bit back.
"I'm sorry," she grated, holding his gaze despite the alarm bells blaring in her mind. Miguel was on the warpath, and she had just thrust herself onto the front lines solely out of spite. Lower your eyes, look away. Look away and shut up, she told herself. It didn't work. It never worked. "I'm sorry that you are forced to employ human beings with lives and feelings instead of mindless robots to be at your every beck and call."
And there it was. The oh-so-familiar anger as his eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. Whenever Mirabel pictured Abuela, it was always with this expression. Disappointment, disbelief, and pure rage. Mira didn't balance on the line between standing up for herself and insubordination so much as she leapt from it, throwing herself wholly into the tides of resentment that flowed freely from her lips. She had so little patience for those who tried to cow her into submission with pompous self-importance. The world was so much bigger than them, then her. Yet they still sought her out as a target for reasons she never quite understood.
"You are talking pretty loud for someone whose job is on the line, little miss," Miguel taunted. He still leaned over her, far enough away to not be another case for HR, but close enough to block off her route of escape. Fear pounded on the iron grip spite had over her tongue, but she ignored it. He wouldn't do anything, couldn't, here in full view of the windows and cameras and employees. As much as the desire to slap her was written across his face, at least she thought it was, he couldn't do shit to her here.
"Don't talk down to me," she snapped, voice coated with venom. If he wanted a power play, he'd chosen the wrong victim. She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone. There was nothing he could hang over her head, no executioner's axe waiting in the shadows.
"I think that attitude earns you a disciplinary. Maybe even a suspension, if you keep it up." Miguel's voice had dropped low and dangerous, like he was threatening her very existence. And Mirabel laughed. She laughed , and whatever power he'd thought he possessed evaporated before his very eyes. The lines of his face eased from rage to confusion, but Mirabel was already untying the apron from around her waist.
"Keep your suspension, cabrón, I quit." She thrust the apron into his chest and slammed the headset down to the metal table, enjoying the way he flinched at the noise. Pure malicious glee filled her, pulling at her smile until it was bright as the sun outside.
Miguel sputtered something at her, tone gone light and pleading, but she was already collecting her bag from the locker room. This was a stupid decision, deep down, she knew that. But all she could feel was the delicious weight of freedom on her shoulders as she strode from the glass and metal building and straight into the sunlight.
The feeling was similar to her memories of first arriving in the city. Antonio had been asleep in the sling on her chest, and though it had been night when she stepped off the bus, the neon signs glowing against the dark sky had been more beautiful than any rainbow. She'd promised herself that she would never be helpless again, and she'd be damned if some dickwad manager made her go back on her word.
The first thing she did was go collect Antonio. If Señora Sanchez was surprised to see her there before six, she didn't say anything. She just called for Antonio from the door, and Mirabel was treated to the most excited scream she'd ever heard a child make.
"Mamí," he grinned up at her once he'd collected his backpack, "You're early!"
Mirabel caught him when he launched himself at her, swinging him in a wide circle that elicited a delighted giggle from the niño.
"Sí, mí corazón, I just missed you too much to stay away any longer."
Antonio allowed himself to be set down, but he still clung to her hand and dropped his weight low, swinging from her grip like a monkey on a vine. Señora Sanchez beamed at them both, a warmth on her face that reminded Mira so much of her own Mamá that her heart ached for a moment. But then she looked back down at her son, and the ache fizzled out like static.
She listened to Antonio ramble on the bus and all the way home, chattering on about the movie they'd watched and how much he loved clownfish.
Perhaps it was the sun getting to her head, or the sudden giddiness that had swallowed her sense of responsibility whole, but Mirabel leaned down to Antonio and whispered conspiratorially, "Let's get off at the next stop."
"Why?" he asked, cocking his head at her curiously.
Mirabel pulled the bell and grabbed his little hand, holding onto him tightly as she stood.
"You'll see," she grinned. Antonio's smile was confused, but no less brilliant than her own.
That was how Mirabel found herself standing in their room two hours later, twenty dollars lighter and now the proud owner of a little black and orange spotted goldfish Antonio had named Chispi.
Chispi floated placidly in her plastic bag inside the plastic five-gallon tank. Spongebob and Paw Patrol decorations littered the floor of the tank alongside garishly-colored gravel that Mirabel thought had been considerably overpriced, especially since the fish itself had only been thirty cents.
"Mamí, can she come out yet?" Antonio asked, clinging to her arm and trembling with his excitement.
"Not yet, chiquito, she needs to float for another twenty minutes."
In truth, Mirabel didn't understand that part. The sales associate had told them to let the conditioned water sit for an hour to reach room temperature, and Chispi had been sitting in her bag beside the tank for that same amount of time. Unless the water conditioner she'd added made the tank water adjust faster than the bag water, it seemed silly to think Chispi's bag hadn't reached the same temperature just from being in the same room. Still, she knew absolutely nothing about fish. Abuela had strictly forbidden pets, and the only experience Mirabel had with animals was the stray cat she often fed outside their casita until Tía Pepa had discovered it and brought it to a shelter.
"What about now?" Antonio whined, and Mirabel laughed when she looked at her phone's timer. It had only been seven minutes, and Toñito had already asked three times.
"Why don't we draw her a picture to welcome her to her new home? By the time you are done, we'll be able to let her out," she offered, giving Antonio's hand a gentle tug away from the tank.
"I'm going to draw her some friends!"
Mirabel's cheeks hurt from how much she'd been smiling today, but Antonio's enthusiasm for life could always drag that response from her. On days like today, she felt like life could never get any better. True, she'd just impulsively quit her job with only a tentative offer of "full-time" from her second job. And also true, she was a single young mother who couldn't even afford an apartment on her own. None of that really mattered in a moment like this, though. Only the absolute delight on her son's face, and the content spreading through her own chest.
The next morning, Mirabel took Antonio to the park. He stomped through puddles and mud, thrilled with the plastic bags she'd taped around his socks to keep his feet dry.
"Mamí?" he asked, scuffing the tip of his shoe through a mass of mud clinging to the sidewalk.
"Sí, mijo?"
"When will you have another baby?"
Mirabel choked on the coffee she was drinking. Antonio rushed over to pat her hand while she smacked her chest, trying to cough up the liquid that'd gone down the wrong pipe.
"Ay… Toñito, that's…" More coughing. "That's a big question, nene. What brought that on?"
Back to scuffing the toes of his shoes along the sidewalk, Antonio gave a little shrug but turned a shy smile on her.
"Francesca's mamá is having another baby, and Señora Sanchez says a lot of families have more than one kid. I asked when I'd get a brother or sister, and she said only you could answer that. So, when? Do you get to choose? I really want a brother!"
Flashes of Antonio's father flitted through Mirabel's mind. His handsome face. His broad smile. His large hands. How strong he'd felt when he…
"I… No sé. It takes two people to make a baby, and there's only one me, so not anytime soon. Sorry, mí vida," she murmured, pressing a hand to her stomach to try and settle the coffee that was threatening to come back up.
"But you have me! That makes two," Antonio replied, counting on his fingers. "One, two, see?"
Mirabel forced a laugh and stroked a hand through his hair, forcing herself to focus on the feeling of his coarse strands beneath her fingers. The sun was bright overhead. Rain had fallen last night, so the air had that musty, somewhat fishy smell of water evaporating from cement. It was too humid for the wind to make much of a difference in the heat that almost made her want to ditch her hoodie just to feel the sun on her skin for the first time in months.
You're not there. You're not there.
"It takes a mommy and a daddy to make a baby, Toñito. The mommy and the daddy each give a piece of their DNA, and the baby is a piece of both of them," she said.
"What's DNA?"
Ay, dios, why did she do this to herself?
"Well, think of people like a puzzle. What you see is the whole thing, but they are actually made up of a whole bunch of different pieces. Those pieces are called genes, but not like blue jeans, and DNA is what tells those pieces where to go to form the whole picture," she tried, watching Antonio's brow furrow as he tried to wrap his head around what she was saying. Somehow, it seemed to click, because he nodded resolutely. Then, he turned to her with the widest eyes he had ever seen.
"But how do you still be a whole picture if you give away half your pieces? Half is almost all of it!" He sounded terrified, gripping Mirabel's hand as though she was about to fade away before his eyes. The pressure of his hand grounded her, whisking her away from the last of her painful thoughts.
"When mommies and daddies make a baby, they make copies of their DNA. We don't lose anything, we just gain a whole bunch," she said, leaning down to nuzzle his nose with her own. Antonio giggled, swatting her face away with a smile.
"But mí papí was a bad man, so that's why he doesn't get anything, right?" Antonio said, as though he were telling her the color of the sky. Just another fact of life he'd accepted somewhere along the way.
"Who told you that your papí was a bad man?" she asked, squeezing his hand just a bit harder to keep herself from drifting again.
"When I got too big and had to sleep at home with you, you told Señor Rivera that my papí was a bad papá , and that's why you take care of me all 'lone. Remember, Mamí? You said."
Distantly, Mirabel remembered the conversation. She'd thought Antonio was gathering his things, so she'd begged his night teacher to just give her more time to find alternate care. He'd suggested altering her custody agreement, and she'd had to come up with an explanation quickly.
"You weren't supposed to hear that," she chided softly. "Some things are for grown ups to carry, and niños not to worry about."
"Because if I try to carry too much stuff I'll stay squished and won't grow right!" Antonio replied, parroting back her previous words to her with absolute faith in their correctness.
"Sí, mijo. So don't worry about your papí. Your puzzle pieces are all from me, and that's why I get you all to myself." Mirabel leaned down and pretended to start eating his arm, chomping on the air above it while he tried to push away in a fit of laughter.
"Mamí, stop ," he giggled, squirming in her grip. "I need my arms to climb the monkey bars! You promised!"
"Oh, fine," Mirabel groaned dramatically, then pretended to spit all of the pieces of his arm back into place. When she pulled away, his hand in hers relaxed. A grin still split his face wide, and it stayed there even when he pulled away to go play on the playground they approached.
Mira sat down on a bench, wincing when the soaked wood registered through her leggings. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through houses on Zillow, fantasizing about the rainforest theme she wanted for Antonio's room. One day , she promised herself, one day it will all be worth it.
A woman sat beside her on the bench, fussing over a school-aged boy who had somehow gotten mud splashed on his face. He complained loudly as the woman tried to clean the mud away with her thumb, until at last she deemed him clean enough and sent him to go play. For a while, they watched the children climb the rocket ship-shaped play structure in silence. Mirabel looked up from her phone every few seconds, while the woman leaned back and kept her eyes on the children.
"Which one's yours?"
Mira startled momentarily, lifting her head to find the woman watching her expectantly. She looked like the PTA mom Mirabel dreaded becoming. Short bleached hair, a t-shirt that read "Boy Mom", and a shrewd look on her face that grew slightly judgmental when she eyed Mirabel's phone. If she told fortunes, MIrabel would guess there was an equally judgmental man waiting at home who would say the "divorce came out of nowhere" ten years down the line. Internally, she chastised herself for snap judgements. She knew what people thought when they saw her, when they realized how young she had been when she'd had her son.
"The… uh, the little boy on the monkey bars," she replied finally, realizing her sullen silence was verging on rudeness. The woman looked over and smiled when she saw Antonio, softening some of Mirabel's unease. Toñito had that effect on people. Unlike his mother, he adored everyone he met, and everyone they met couldn't help but adore him in return.
"He's adorable," she commented, turning the smile on Mirabel with more warmth than she expected. "Mine is the one on the slide. Theodore."
At his name, the little boy looked up and gave his mom a nervous smile before he ran off again, likely off to the little clubhouse below the rockwall where kids liked to hide when they sensed it would be time to go home soon.
"Very cute, I like his Batman sweater," she said. Pleasantries exchanged, they returned to their silence, and the other woman finally pulled out what looked to be a bodice-ripper romance novel, if the shirtless hunk on the cover was anything to go by. Mirabel smiled to herself and swiped over to Pinterest, happy to see her assumptions about the woman proved wrong. If she had book boyfriends, maybe she had already divorced her boring husband. Still, it didn't quite excuse the whole "Boy Mom" thing she had going on.
"It is not!"
Antonio's voice ripped Mirabel from her deep-dive into sloth-print fabrics, and she shoved her phone in her pocket as she rose. By the swings, Antonio and Theodore stood facing each other. The other boy towered over Antonio, using his finger to poke him in the center of the chest.
"Is too! Only babies like Paw Patrol!"
"Theo!" The woman's voice called out harshly from the bench, where she too had put away her book. "Apologize right now!"
"But Ma…"
"Toñito?" Mira called gently when she got within range to put herself between her son and the other child. Her bag probably knocked him backwards a bit, but she didn't really care. The world around her faded away as she surveyed her niñito. His eyes were red-rimmed and misty, but he stubbornly sniffed and looked around her, as though afraid to be caught crying too. Wrapping his arms around himself as though he wanted to hide the decals on his rain jacket, he pressed closer to Mirabel's legs. Instantly, she wrapped her arm around him and knelt down to press a kiss to his brow.
"Ready to go home, mijo?"
Antonio nodded, all signs of his earlier joy gone, and Mirabel couldn't help but glare daggers back at the other kid when she scooped him up. Immediately, Antonio squirmed in her arms.
"'M not a baby!" he protested, and she reluctantly let him back down.
"You will always be my baby," she said, but reached down to take his hand instead. "And there is nothing wrong with that, because I will always be your Mamí."
The other woman was already knelt in front of her own son when Mira looked back a final time, thin brows crossed in a furious expression. Truly, she hoped the kid learned his lesson. Her own childhood had been marred by constant bullying, and she would not allow Antonio to experience the same hardships.
That night, after they'd made it home and were curled up in bed reading bedtime stories, Antonio rolled around to look at her face.
"Can I get a new coat?" he whispered. More than anything, Mira wanted to say yes. To soothe him and promise she'd get him whatever he needed to feel more comfortable in himself. But there was something bigger that needed to be learned here.
"Because of what that niño at the park said?" Antonio nodded, curling further into her side when she closed the book and set it on the table. Mirabel pulled him to her chest, settling further under the covers until her warmth wrapped around his entire torso.
"Do you know what a bully is, mí corazón?" Again, Toñito nodded, and Mirabel gave him an encouraging smile.
"A meanie who likes to make people feel bad," he answered sullenly.
"Exactly, and that boy today was a bully. Do you know why bullies say mean things?"
Antonio shook his head, and Mirabel cupped his cheek, thumb stroking under his eye. Dampness collected on her fingertip, and she leaned over to kiss the tears away.
"Bullies are scaredy-cats, cowards who don't like themselves. So, to make themselves feel better, they pick on people who do like things."
"Like Paw Patrol?" Antonio asked, eyes growing a little brighter in the dim light of the night light.
"Sí, mijo, exactly like that. That boy today was mad that you liked something, because he doesn't know how to like anything, so he tried to make you feel bad for being cooler than him."
"But why doesn't he like anything?" Mirabel met his earnest gaze, thinking of how those dark eyes were so much like his father's, and yet nothing like him at the same time. Antonio had his father's handsome features, with the same wide nose, high cheeks, and thick hair. But there the similarities stopped. Her niño had a softness to him, a compassion and gentleness that even Mirabel didn't know the origin of. She suspected it was all Antonio, just that special part of him that existed solely in that giant heart of his.
"Some people are…They are empty. Something happened, and they lost some of their puzzle pieces. And that scares them, so they take that fear and anger out on everyone around them."
"That's so sad," Toñito whispered, "Can I help him find his pieces?"
Tears pricked the corners of Mira's eyes, and she couldn't help but press Antonio closer and pepper kisses all over his face.
"You are a wonder, Antonio Madrigal. How did I get lucky enough to be the Mamí of the most special niño to ever exist?"
" Mamí ," Antonio half-heartedly complained, but he was finally smiling again, so Mira didn't stop until he wriggled a hand beneath her cheek and pushed her face away.
"Only he can find his own pieces, Toñito, but don't let anyone bully you into hiding yours. Comprendes, chiquito?"
With a yawn splitting his face, Antonio nodded and snuggled further into her chest. His warmth against her was soothing, a solid reassurance of where she was and who she was with. And though Mirabel wasn't foolish, though she knew single conversation wouldn't chase away Antonio's newfound sense of self-consciousness, she just kissed the top of his head.
"Goodnight, Toñito. Te quiero."