Monday came around far too quickly for Mirabel's liking. She and Antonio had spent Sunday making decorations to tape to the back of Chispi's tank. When the small tank ran out of room, Mira began taping Antonio's drawings of Chispi's adventures to the wall behind the dresser. There was still a small stack sitting on top of the microwave, waiting for payday so Mira could buy more tape. Her little niño was completely taken with his new pet, and Mira had absolutely no regrets until she dropped him off at daycare the following morning.
"Hola, señorita, could I have a word?" Señora Sanchez seemed grim, but Mirabel simply nodded before kissing Antonio's head and sending him off to play with the other children waiting for breakfast.
"Que paso?"
"Fees were due yesterday, and I haven't received payment from you yet."
Mierda. Mirabel had completely forgotten. She only had the change left from Bruno's payment in her pocket, and that would need to last them the week in groceries and other necessities. Fifty dollars and change was all that was left over after the fish supplies.
"Si, lo siento, Señora. I can pay it on Friday."
"Fees are due weekly." Señora Sanchez seemed uncomfortable, but no doubt she had her own bills to pay.
"I'm in between jobs right now, can we please work something out? Just for this week? Maybe I can make a down payment today and give you the rest as soon as I have it? I might get some extra tips this week," she pleaded, hoping to see a crack in the woman's stern facade. Señora Sanchez sighed, and there it was. The smallest, tiniest crack of empathy, but Mirabel could work with that. Abuela had certainly given her less.
"I will charge a late fee of $5 per day, starting today."
"Si, perfecto! Muchas gracias, Señora! I can give you fifty today, OK?"
Mirabel tried not to mourn the cash as it left her wallet, but it truly was all she had left until payday. She'd already transferred half of the rent to her landlord, so that left half of that to pay on Friday and $75 to the daycare…Plus another $125 for the following week, $50 for the late fee, and $25 for the late fee for the bill… The first of the month was coming up too, and she'd need to renew her bus pass. Far too often, her paycheck was spent before it even hit her account. Her final one incoming would be no different, it seemed.
"Have a good day, Señorita Madrigal."
With that, the door closed and Mirabel was off back down the steps. It was only as she boarded the bus that she realized she'd never confirmed a time with Bruno about her new hours. What if he wasn't a morning person? What if 8 AM was too early? She tried to hold the worry at bay, but only succeeded in chewing her lower lip until the cut opened again. By the time she reached Bruno's house, it was tender and swollen.
Thankfully, Bruno answered the door a few minutes after she knocked. He stood on the threshold in an undershirt and frayed pajama bottoms. Mirabel was shocked to see his right bicep had a large tattoo on it, but she could only vaguely make out an hourglass shape from where she stood on the porch.
"Buenos días, Señor! I'm so sorry for coming unannounced, I didn't realize until I'd already knocked that we never agreed on a schedule. Is this a bad time?" It wasn't quite the truth, but Mira wasn't about to tell him that she'd decided to come despite her lack of planning.
Bruno leaned against the door frame with half-lidded eyes, blinking uncomprehendingly at her while the silence crept on. Just as Mirabel was about to apologize again, he jolted up as though just realizing what was going on.
"No… uh, no, esta bien. I just need… Uh… Come in, come in," he stammered, opening the door wider. After the usual process of taking off her shoes and collecting her plastic bag from her mochila, Mirabel followed Bruno through to the kitchen when he waved her on. She wondered if he wanted her to do more work in there today, but he said nothing. Instead, Bruno stood in his pajamas and watched an ancient coffee maker drip liquid into a pot half-covered with limescale stains, seemingly oblivious to the awkward silence that had Mirabel picking at stray threads on her clothes.
"Coffee?" Bruno finally asked when the pot was done, tipping it into a large ceramic mug. Without waiting for a reply, he fished another, smaller mug from the cabinets and filled that one too. Mirabel walked forward and took it with a murmured thanks, looking around the counter briefly for sugar or cream before she realized Bruno was drinking his black. Well, it wasn't how she preferred it, but far be it from her to make a nuisance of herself over free coffee.
Despite the age of the coffee maker, the drink itself was smooth and earthy with a flavor Mirabel thought might be called full-bodied, though perhaps that was wine. Camilo had been the coffee connoisseur back in their casita, always trying different flavors and combinations. To her, it all tasted like nasty hot bean water that she drank solely for the energy it gave her after her many sleepless nights.
"So…" Bruno started after practically chugging his coffee. "The detergent came. Technically it came last Wednesday but the kitchen needed more attention than the laundry since it's just me here and I wear the same thing all the time…But yeah, there's laundry. Another bathroom. Maybe the living room? I don't know. Do you do organizing? I don't think decluttering is really a housekeeper thing but what about deciding on a spot to put things?"
"Slow down, Señor. I'll do whatever you want me to do, just point me in the right direction." For what he was paying, Mirabel would be housekeeper, personal shopper, chef, and garbage collector. She needed this job badly enough that her professional boundaries were quite relaxed– as in, almost nonexistent.
"Sí, lo siento. I just… I want the place to be nice, in case my family wants to come visit more, y'know?" he said.
"Yeah, sure," Mira replied. In truth, she had no clue. Her family would never visit her. The Christmas cards she sent every year from her and Antonio always got returned without being open, and none of her siblings had responded to her emails. She looked around the large house, with its no doubt comfortable rooms fallen into disrepair, and wondered just how often Bruno saw his own family. It certainly didn't seem like he got many visitors, and the idea made her chest ache. "Are your kids coming for Father's Day?"
Bruno cocked his head at her, and for a moment she wondered if she'd said something wrong. Before she could start to panic, he waved a hand dismissively.
"No, I don't have kids. But I do have una sobrina…I… I'm hoping she will visit more often," he explained hesitantly, looking away to the empty cup in his hands. He's lonely , Mira realized with a pang. Though her family consisted only of her and Antonio now, at least they had each other. Bruno seemed to not have anyone, if his sudden self-consciousness was any indication. Having grown up in a multi-generational house, Mirabel couldn't imagine that. What that silence might look like.
This could be you one day, her mind supplied. The thought burned, but it wasn't wrong. When Antonio was grown and off to start his own life, is this what she would become? That idea was too depressing to give any more of her energy to.
Mirabel drained the last of her coffee from the mug, and reached out a hand to take Bruno's from him. He let it go with a puzzled expression until she put them in the sink and grabbed the nearby dish soap. There wasn't much in the sink at all. Either Bruno had only used a couple of plates and two cups since Thursday, or he'd done a load of dishes himself over the weekend. Still, Mirabel desperately wanted to prove she could be useful. She had to anticipate his needs, make him see that hiring her was a good idea. Now that she had told Miguel where to shove his sense of superiority, she was solely reliant on whatever Bruno would pay her to keep a roof above her head.
Another awkward silence filled the space between them as Mirabel worked, trying to lose herself in the repetitive motions of doing dishes. With the feeling of Bruno's eyes on her as she worked, the kitchen felt far smaller than it had when she'd cleaned it last week. Luckily, there were only a few dishes, so she was done before his eyes had time to burn holes in her shirt.
"So, would you rather I start with laundry, or the living room? I don't need to leave until six, so my time is yours," she said with more cheer than the situation called for. Bruno still stared at her, but the gaze wasn't judgemental or assessing, it just…was. Like he'd adjusted his eyes somewhere and then forgot to move them until something jolted his attention away.
"Maybe… the living room? I think it needs the most help," he said finally. His lips twitched, and Mira could almost swear it was an attempt at a self-deprecating smile. But the dark shadows and bags under his eyes betrayed how little energy he had for facial expressions, despite having drained the coffee pot in two cups.
"¡Como quiera, Señor!"
In a way, the work was satisfying. Mirabel cleaned the same way she'd cleaned the house she'd shared with her family. Though she didn't need to sort items based on who they belonged to, she organized her piles by room and purpose. Dishes and mugs went on the coffee table to bring to the kitchen. Clothing went on the armchair near the fireplace to bring downstairs to wash. Knickknacks and miscellaneous items went on the floor in front of the bookshelf to sort later. On and on her piles went, until at last she was able to start clearing those away too.
Rather than fill his sink and leave it, Mirabel took her time to pile large dishes into the dishwasher and wash the rest by hand, so they could dry in the strainer while she focused on other tasks. The laundry, by far one of the smallest piles, went into the washer. To her delight, Bruno had left the detergent on the shelf. She noticed that he had even cleared away the lint, though a more distant part of her wondered if that might have instead been the rats. Either way, it left plenty of room for her to sort the whites from the colors and set them aside to wash in a second load. Bruno's green hoodie had made its way into the load, left on the arm of the sofa upstairs at some point. She checked all of the pockets twice to make sure there were no furry stowaways before finally closing the lid and starting the machine. Like everything else in the house, it was fairly old. It groaned when the drum moved the first time, and she wondered how long it had been sitting unused. If the smell of that hoodie was anything to go by, Bruno didn't seem to mind stewing in his own musk for long stretches at a time.
Once the laundry and dishes had been dealt with, Mirabel tackled the shelves. Though Bruno had plenty of books in both English and Spanish (and quite a few in a language she thought might be Latin), he had adequate storage for them. All she had to do was clear the more nonsensical items from the shelves. Like a random bag of cotton balls, a few dirty socks, and…
Mirabel screamed when her hand closed around something furry. The object squeaked at the same time as she lost her balance on the foot stool, and both her and the rat she was holding tumbled to the living room floor. She lay there a moment, trying to find the breath that had been knocked out of her. In her palm, the rat squirmed, and she took a moment to check it over for injuries. She could see the appeal, if she pushed away her innate disgust to the creatures. The rat she held was a gray and white speckled color, with soft fur and big round ears. Its dark eyes were frantically searching for a way to escape, but not once did it turn around and sink its teeth into her fingers.
"You're okay," she murmured soothingly, ignoring the ache in her arm to bring up her other hand and scratch the little rodent behind the ears. Pressed into her chest, it had no choice but to accept the affection. Even so, it seemed to lean into the touch before she finally opened her palm and let it scurry off to wherever it lived. Which was, apparently, the collection of cotton-stuffed toilet paper tubes and shredded paper on the top shelf she'd just been cleaning.
"Are you alright?" The voice made her jump to her feet, quickly dusting off any evidence of her fall from her clothing. No doubt, dust from the rug coated her hair, but hopefully that would go unnoticed. Bruno was panting, hand still on the banister he'd whirled around to survey the damage she'd caused, one foot still on the stairs. "I heard a scream."
Mirabel wrung her hands over her chest, an old habit from childhood she'd never quite shaken, and shook her head.
"Everything is fine. I'm so sorry, I just got startled by one of your pets. It won't happen again," she said. Bruno's eyes flicked from her to the top shelf above her head, and realization settled on his face.
"Sorry, I should have… Juanita likes that spot. The others sleep in their tank, but she prefers to free roam. I should have warned you," he mumbled sheepishly.
"No, it's fine. I should have been paying more attention, I just didn't see-"
"I know most people don't really like rats, so I should have been more considerate-"
"-Nothing was broken. So maybe, if it's not too much trouble I could-
"I never meant for her to startle you. I'll make sure to be more forthcoming, if you'd still agree to-"
"Stay," they said in unison. Mirabel's jaw snapped shut, and Bruno's hand slapped over his mouth to cut off whatever words he'd been about to say next. For a few heart-pounding minutes, he looked like he wasn't going to speak at all. Perhaps he hadn't heard her? Considering she'd been rambling over his own words, it wouldn't be that surprising. Surely, though, it would be rude to ask forgiveness again if he did hear her. Mirabel was so certain that the next words out of his mouth would be asking her not to return, she didn't quite comprehend what he said next.
"Why wouldn't I want you to stay?" His head was cocked again, a lock of hair falling over his brow as he scrutinized her.
"Just… Well, I almost hurt your rat, and… She's fine, I promise!" Mirabel hurried to assure him when his brow furrowed even more, and winced at how pleading her tone had become. Oh well, might as well put all of her cards on the table. "I just… I really need this job. And I am really, truly sorry for not being more careful, I swear-"
Bruno held up his hand in the universal gesture for Stop talking , and Mira's jaw clicked shut once more. Abuela had loved that gesture. Often, it was the only thing that got through Mirabel's thick head when she got stuck in a loop of over-explaining herself in hopes of smoothing over some of her family's ruffled feathers. In a house with such big personalities, her words got lost too often if she waited too long to speak them.
"Mirabel, it's alright. I'm not mad, I was just worried about you. I'm glad Juanita is alright, but she isn't the only one who could have been hurt by my negligence. Are you okay?" Bruno's normally disorganized thoughts were suddenly crystal clear, a fierceness burning in his eyes that for once was not directed at her.
"I… I'm fine, sir," she mumbled.
"I know you've probably already eaten your lunch, so why don't you come with me to the kitchen and we'll see what kind of snack we can find." Bruno's tone left no room for argument, so Mirabel followed him through the swinging door and sagged against the counter while he raided the pantry.
"How do you feel about a sandwich? I don't know what you had for lunch, but I've got peanut butter, and I can probably find some jam in the fridge. I think I had some last week, or maybe the one before," he muttered, mostly to himself. It wasn't until he turned back with a quirked brow that Mirabel realized he was waiting on an answer.
"A.. A sandwich sounds great, Señor. Whatever is easiest for you. Really, I'm okay." As though it was determined to serve as her personal lie-detector, Mirabel's stomach let out another hollow growl. Bruno's eyebrow inched higher, an assessing gleam entering his gaze.
"You did eat lunch, right?"
Aiming for a reassuring smile, Mirabel felt like her cheeks had pulled just a bit too tight to be convincing. She felt like a niña again, sneaking a cookie out of the kitchen under her mother's knowing glare.
"I…si?" she tried, grinning broadly. Bruno leaned away from the pantry, setting a jar of peanut butter down with a thud that made her flinch.
"It's nearly four, Mirabel. Please tell me that you ate something today," he pleaded, face softened into something sorrowful. His brow was still furrowed, but the downturned tails of his eyebrows made his eyes almost as convincing as Antonio's puppy looks.
Nearly 4 already? She'd certainly lost track of time. Not that it mattered. She didn't have anything for lunch anyways. They only had enough groceries for dinners, and she was not about to go taking extra meals before she knew where the next one would come from.
"Lo siento, Señor. I just wanted to get a decent dent in the work before the day got away from me. But, I guess… it already has," she said miserably, curling in on herself slightly. For whatever reason, Bruno's gentle concern brought out a side to her she'd managed to hide from everyone else. Anger, impatience, and pity she could deal with. But genuine worry? No one really looked at her that way anymore, not since she'd last seen her Mamá.
When it became clear she wasn't going to make any more excuses for herself, Bruno pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed. Deeply. And that? Oh, that was familiar. Disappointment. It tasted sour in her throat.
"Mirabel, from now on, consider a paid lunch as part of your compensation," he said slowly, like explaining to a child how to spell their name. "Take half an hour– no, an hour break every day. Whether you want to take it all at once or piece it into smaller breaks is up to you, but I want you to promise me you won't work yourself to death under my roof," Bruno said, holding her gaze and not flinching away from the severity of his tone in the slightest. Mirabel stood equally still, mouth dry and heart hammering. The first day of her new schedule, and she'd already pissed him off.
"Sí, Señor," she choked out.
"Good," Bruno replied, much more gently this time. "Good. Now, do you have any allergies?"
Just like that, it was like he hadn't lectured her at all. The heaviness was gone from his face, shoulders uncoiled and at ease. Mirabel still felt like a butterfly pinned to a display, but desperately surged forward to pull the focus away from her failures.
"No," she said. Bruno assessed her once more, like he expected her to lie about something like that just so she wouldn't risk offending him… which wasn't entirely unfair of him to assume, she supposed. Still, whatever he read in her face seemed to convince him enough, because he grinned at her and proceeded to throw together two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while she tried to convince herself that this was still reality. In what world did a seemingly rich employer make his maid lunch? Especially after she'd screwed up not once, but twice in the span of fifteen minutes?
Bruno did, apparently. He pressed the plate into her hand, then pointed to the cushioned chair at a battered wooden table.
"Go ahead and eat, I'll go make sure Juanita is calmed down too."
Unable to come up with any excuses that he would accept, Mirabel only nodded and slumped gratefully into the chair. In truth, her feet were hurting a bit, and it felt nice to take the weight off of them. The door of the kitchen squeaked behind her as Bruno left, and then she was alone with two sandwiches that she apparently wasn't expected to share. Though her stomach was still uneasy from the guilt that persisted despite Bruno's reassurance, she'd learned to eat food when it was available.
The sandwiches were slathered with thick globs of strawberry jam and a generous helping of peanut butter. Even if the bread was slightly stale, it was still soft enough to be a delicious meal. After polishing off both sandwiches, Mirabel got up just long enough to fill a glass of water at the sink, before gratefully sinking down into the comfortable chair once more.
I'll become spoiled if this keeps up , she thought. Dios, wasn't that such a nice idea? To have enough abundance to worry about becoming spoiled? What would life be like if she could take this kindness for granted? If she no longer felt baffled by a boss that saw her as more than a slot to insert a to-do list?
This was… This was too good to last. She'd need to work harder if she wanted any chance of remaining employed here. The pang of desire– of want – coursed through her so desperately that it almost hurt. It had been so long since she'd wanted anything more than to make it to the next pay day. Mirabel never cared what job she was performing, not really. So long as it paid the bills, she would take it without complaint. She'd only started having any resentment towards Miguel when he'd cut her hours, even though he'd always been an asshole.
But this? She wanted this with a vehemence that surprised her. Bruno was kind and thoughtful, and the work he tasked her with was enjoyable in a way. Working here felt like long days in the kitchen with her mother when everyone else had gone to their jobs in town. Just the two of them, steadily amassing mountains of empanadas or kneading miles of dough to sell at her bakery, all while Mamá hummed along to the oldies station on the radio. It had been so long since she'd known peace like that. It was so strange to find it after all this time, in such a different environment. But Bruno's dark eyes and concern for her welfare really did remind her of her Mamá, and being here soothed some of that bitterness she'd carried since being forced to choose between her family and her son. Mirabel would never, ever regret that choice, but that didn't mean she didn't regret the consequences of it.
After she'd drained her glass of water, Mira was able to make herself sit still for another twenty minutes before the antsiness overrode any sense of self-preservation. She'd go crazy spending another twenty minutes sitting uselessly at that table. So, she crept out of the kitchen and wandered back into the living room. Bruno was sitting on the sofa, still in his pajamas, with the gray and white rat curled up under his chin.
"Is she alright?" Mirabel whispered, creeping closer in the same way she had approached Antonio's cradle after he'd finally quieted, hoping not to disturb his rest.
Bruno looked up at her sharply, and she almost expected him to chastise her for not taking a full hour in the kitchen, before a smile softened the hard lines of his features.
"She's fine. Just had a scare. Much like you, I'd imagine. You sure you're alright?"
Mirabel nodded, though there was a pounding in the back of her skull that spoke of future headaches thanks to landing on the barely-padded floor, but she had experienced much worse before. A headache she could easily survive, and certainly wasn't worth worrying Bruno for.
"I'm good," she said. On his shoulder, the rat's little paw clenched and relaxed in her sleep, like she was reaching something in her dreams. "She's actually kinda cute."
Bruno's smile grew broader, and he patted the cushion beside him. As soon as Mirabel lowered herself to it, he transferred a rat from his sleeve into her lap. Unlike Juanita, this one looked much closer to the ones she'd learned to avoid in tenements and shelters. Its dark brown fur was almost black, and though it was glossier than any rat she'd seen climbing under her door, it was also much larger. Tentatively, she reached out to brush her fingers along its back. It arched up into her touch, and the queasiness in her stomach uncoiled.
"What's this one's name?" she asked.
"That's Santiago," Bruno replied, still grinning. Whether it was at her, the rat, or both, Mirabel didn't know. It didn't really matter, not when that sense of peace she'd been aching for settled back over her like a shroud.
"He's very handsome," she told Bruno, though her eyes were still on the rat. She knew immediately she'd said the right thing when Bruno beamed at her, much the way Antonio had looked when she'd told him to pick out a goldfish.
Yeah , she thought, I really could get used to this.
Despite it being a ten hour day, Mirabel felt like she still had energy to spare when her alarm went off that evening. After her break, the rest of her shift flew by. She'd made a considerable dent in the work to be done in the living room, and even remembered to move the clothing over to the dryer for both loads. The kitchen was a manageable sort of messy once she put the dishes away, and Bruno read quietly from his perch on the couch while she worked around him. Without his eyes on her, the silence almost felt companionable.
He looked up at her Antonio alarm, glasses sliding down from the bridge of his nose in a way that reminded her of her papá so much she almost giggled. Everything about his smile was soft now, contented and easy even as he passed her an envelope of cash.
"Sorry there's no tip today," he said with a shrug, "I'll get it tomorrow. I had only taken enough cash out for eight hours and tip. I hope that's alright."
Mirabel took the cash with trembling hands, mind already doing the math in her head. Fifteen an hour for ten hours meant 150. Even with her coming daily, he'd planned to tip her $30 on top of $120 for an eight hour shift.
"You really don't have to do that, Señor. I can even cut you a better rate since my hours will be more regular now, I don't want to take all of your money." The words tasted sour on her tongue, but she forced herself to say them. Regardless of how desperate she was, she wouldn't be a crook. Especially not to a man as nice as Bruno.
As she expected, he waved her words away like $150 was of no consequence. And perhaps to a man with a house like this and money enough to fill it to the brim, it wasn't.
But that money sat heavy in her pocket when she rode the bus to the daycare. Somehow, she knew that even if she one day took Bruno's kindness for granted, that weight would be something she could never ignore.