Chapter Text
Pepa took a seat at the dinner table, happily bringing with her a fresh loaf of bread and some butter. Dolores was puttering around in the kitchen with her aunt, and Camilo was sitting a couple seats down. The home was fairly and calmly quiet, the remaining family occupied elsewhere and she was happy not concerning herself with them. She was very happy, in fact, so pleasantly content that all the clouds in the sky were natural, and she didn’t have a single one hovering.
Her son grabbed the loaf, slid it right out of her grasp as she reached for the knife. That was fine, a bit annoying, but nothing truly abnormal. Pepa was still happy. She sighed and shook her head, pushing the knife his way. Camilo kept his attention down on his open book, ignored the knife, and ripped into the loaf with his fingers. Dolores sighed behind her and Pepa’s jaw firmed.
“Camilo,” she called sweetly.
He hummed absently, eyes darting up at her from under wayward curls. He took a bite of his jagged, uneven slice, crumbs falling freely on his book and the table. Pepa pursed her lips, but took a deep breath and remained calm. Calm and happy. At least she got an answer.
“Why don’t you use the knife?”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug.
Well, now she did have a cloud.
“It’s right there and it’s cleaner than,” she waved a hand towards him, encompassing his crumb filled spot, “todo eso[1]. And a plato, mijo,[2] it’s not as if we don’t have any. Just,” she pinched her thumb and index together, bringing the hand up to her chin on an inhale, a shadow strong above her. Julieta passed by her, clean plate in one hand and the other waving Pepa’s cloud away. She exhaled, hand dropping and fingers forcefully spreading against her thigh. Her sister placed the plate underneath Camilo’s bread-holding hand and patted his shoulder before returning to the kitchen. “Manners, Camilo, some manners.”
“Si, Mami,” he grumbled. But he did pull the plate closer when he took another bite of his bread. That was enough. She would like more, but it was fine, he was a teenager and her son. Some mood swings were to be expected, better it be her than her mother.
She grabbed the loaf and positioned it gingerly on the cutting board. Habitually, a series of tsk’s came from her as she cut a thin slice to remove the uneven edges. It still wasn’t good enough. The bread was sloped, uneven in a different manner now. No matter, she would just cut it again. She cut it a second time, more slowly and carefully for while there wasn’t anything bad with cutting another slice, she would rather not have to spend her tea time doing this. All because Camilo decided to eat like he was raised in the jungle. It was fine.
Thankfully, it was only a second time to correct it. From there, she was able to quickly cut her own two slices. Thick as a finger, neatly straight, and the loaf was still immaculate. She placed them on her own plate and began to butter the first slice. Slow strokes, making sure the butter didn’t overflow the bread edges or cut through the bread’s center. The last thing she wanted was for a fistful of butter, especially with a day going as well as it had been.
Was going. Is going. She darted her eyes above, shoulders relaxing as her cloud dissipated on its own. Is going, as well as it is going.
The tea kettle just barely whistled before it was taken off the stove. Pepa cleared her throat before speaking. “Camilo, how’s your book?” Dolores whispered something to Julieta, her soft voice lost in the gentle clatter of teacups. Camilo remained fixated on his reading, without a response. “Camilo? Camilo.” Silence still. “Camilo!” Not fine.
A sharp wind mused his pages. He gave a yelp as in synchrony his chair was tipped back, courtesy of Casita. “What!”
“I asked you a question!”
“What, what was it? I didn’t hear!”
“Didn't hear?” Pepa’s voice was incredulous, a high pitched laugh punctuating her words. “We’re not in a tornado!”
“Uh,” he opened his arms, directing her attention to the whips of wind circling the table, “not for long at this rate!”
Pepa gasped and Julieta jumped in to admonish him. “You know better than to do that, what’s gotten into you?” Now Julieta tsk’d, Pepa’s winds staying constant as the teenager moodily crossed his arms. “Discúlpate.[3]”
“I’m sorry, Mami,” he grumbled, not looking at his mother. Casita made his seat jump, but rather than screaming, he sighed. He looked up then at Pepa, brown eyes checking the space above her head (that infernal cloud, of course she had one with the wind still whipping her braid everywhere), and then met her gaze for what felt like the first time that afternoon. His expression softened, but he didn’t shapeshift. Her son was truly apologetic, appearing a bit late to the consequences of his actions. “I shouldn’t have said that. I am sorry.”
Pepa frowned. Not in displeasure as the winds slowed, but in concern. Mood swings were one thing. That low blow? Casita having to shake him to attention? She knew her children, and this was starting to seem more than hormones. “Okay,” she said softly and leaned forward in her seat, “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
“No, Mami, it’s not you. I should’ve–” he sighed. She stayed quiet, eyes wide and pleading as he visibly struggled to find the words. Camilo sighed again, shrugging so hard it looked as if his entire body moved. “It’s nothing, it’s fine. I was rude, you were right to get mad.” Pepa opened her mouth, but he spoke before her. “Can I be excused?” She closed her mouth, lips pulled into a frown, but nodded her agreement regardless. “Provecho, permiso[4],” he muttered as he stood, hastily swiping up his book before stalking out the kitchen.
Once he was out of sight, Dolores appeared at her side. She placed Pepa’s teacup in front of her, precisely to the left of her bread plate just as she likes it. Her eldest pressed a soft kiss to her temple, unbothered by the dark cloud filling her curls with static. “Tu técito[5], Mami,” she whispered.
Pepa sighed, smiling up at her daughter. “Thank you, muñeca[6]. Sugar?”
“All done.”
“Wonderful. Thank you.” With a nod, Dolores stepped into the background with Julieta once more. The house was quiet again. But as Pepa sipped her tea, hot enough to spread an easy warmth through her belly and sweet against the fading taste of butter on her tongue, her cloud remained. There weren’t any winds or additional storm clouds high above, but static was raising her bangs the more she thought.
When was the last time Camilo’d had an outburst like that? He was sarcastic, goofy, and always ready to rib on his cousins, but mean? And to her? Her son was also unbelievably sweet and compassionate, always ready to lend a hand. That’s why all the children loved him, all the adults- he had his father’s charm and used it well. Morosely, she ate her bread, a faint mist falling around her. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been short with her. It had been wrong for her to react so strongly, but it wasn’t uncharacteristic for her to react. Her children also knew she expected answers when spoken to and even her baby boy never had issues paying attention. A rumble sounded above her and she irritably waved her own cloud away, mist leaving in those same movements.
Julieta and Dolores quietly took their seats across from Pepa at the table, their teacups in hand. Pepa carefully looked at her daughter, intently listening to whatever her aunt was whispering to her. She wasn’t concerned with knowing their conversation, aware that Dolores was spending more time learning additional housekeeping mannerisms from Julieta. Their temperaments were more similar, and Pepa was happy that her daughter had someone closeby for help in what she couldn’t offer. She wasn’t a negligent wife by any means, but the sisters had different ways of operating, such as in the kitchen. At least Dolores was taking an interest, giving Pepa and Félix hope that her budding relationship with Mariano was going to stay positive.
It was good. Everything was good. Even if something was upsetting Camilo to the point that he didn’t want to talk to his mother, still, that wasn’t the end of the world. Learning to unlearn the want for perfection was a battle, she thought as mist gathered around her again, but it was alright. It was all alright.
“Dolores,” she called once there seemed to be a break in their conversation, “is everything alright with Camilo? Has he… told you anything?” The distinction was important, even before their recent family events. Pepa shifted her teacup, handle on the right side and cup centered on its plate. It would be alright if Dolores didn’t know anything, she wasn’t supposed to listen in to her brother’s private affairs. Still, she couldn’t help adding, “Or have you noticed anything?”
The young woman froze, teaspoon caught half-stir, encouraging her mother and aunt to lean in closer. She bit her lower lip, clearly mulling something over. When she was younger, Pepa was just as guilty as Alma of pressuring little Dolores into saying what she heard. As she grew, Pepa worked it into a healthy (or moreso, expected, wished for, wanted––) gossip habit. Her mother thought that was a waste of time, but the triplets always said that Pepa’s own love for gossip had to come from somewhere. Likely whoever preferred to keep a pulse check on the town, but what did they know?
“Dolores?” She reached across the table, slipping the spoon out of her daughter’s grasp. Pepa held onto her lax fingers, milky skin a sharp contrast to her caramel, a welcome reminder of Félix. He was out in the town, or else he would have already tugged her away by the shoulders. The thought of him as she looked down at their hands was enough to remind her to breathe deeply, relax her shoulders, her gathering mist clearing up. “No tienes que[7].”
She sighed, lips jutting out in a pout. “I don’t, but also…” Her soft voice faded, eyes darting to the open doorway connecting to the courtyard. It took conscious thought for Pepa to not squeeze her daughter's hand, wanting to support without influencing too much. She was trying to be better, trying to step back. Warm brown eyes met her green ones with a nod. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Pepa raised an eyebrow, sharing a look with her sister. Dolores nodded. “Okay. Va.[8]”
“Mariano told me that his nephew, Pepito, you know, Laura’s kid?” The older women nodded, and Dolores let out a deep breath as she clasped her hands to her chest. “Pepito’s in Camilo’s class, with–”
“Alé, and Luz, and Maggy,” she rushed her daughter, even as Julieta rolled her eyes, “ya se, sigue.[9]”
“Luz told Pepito that Benito told Marco that he told Camilo that his impression of Yamilet, Marco’s older sister who runs with Luisa after church sometimes, was a failure.” Pepa’s jaw dropped and Dolores nodded energetically. “Exacto. So then apparently, Camilo asked Marco what he got wrong, and the way that Marco tells it––.” She waved a hand with pursed lips, disagreement clear.
Pepa scoffed loudly, indignation at the insults Camilo received darkening her cloud. Julieta motioned for the bread to get passed to her – clearly uninterested now in the conversation – and Dolores dutifully handed it over as she nodded with wide eyes. Pepa passed the cutting board and knife without additional request, waving away Julieta’s murmured thanks as she thought over Dolores’ news.
Having encouraged Dolores to speak to her about when she heard something meant they’d always spent time talking. Which meant that Pepa absolutely knew more than she should about the constantly growing town, even as Dolores had learned to keep more things to herself in the last handful of years. If it weren’t for their shared gift of strong memory, Pepa was sure Casita would have crumbled under that stress in her own childhood. A small cloud, blowing puffs of chilly air, gently formed with not just that thought, but also trying to correctly locate the perpetrator in her memory banks.
As her sister cut her slices, and Pepa made sure to not stare her down, Dolores took a sip of her tea. Pepa shifted so her right hand held her head up and circled the teacup’s edge with her other hand. With a couple of quick taps against the porcelain, she looked directly at her daughter. “Isn’t Marco the one that–”
The young brunette nodded, cutting her off. “With Ernesto!” Dolores took a sip of her tea, looking sharply at Pepa’s fingers as she gave a victory snap.
“What?” Julieta laughed airily as mother and daughter turned identical, incredulous gazes at her. “What did Marco and Ernesto do?” She waved a bread-filled hand, rolling her eyes at Pepa’s darting looks to the crumbs falling, “Or am I not supposed to follow along?”
“The church.” The redhead’s eyes widened as her sister kept a deadpan expression. “I was pregnant with Antonio–”
“–Bianca was pregnant with Cecilia–”
“–I’d just been at the corn crops–”
“–Mami’s heartburn made the rains quick–”
Pepa huffed, her tapping quickly stopped as she aggressively pointed at Dolores. “¿Quién está hablando, ah?[10]”
Meekly, Dolores held her teacup close to her chest. “I’m sorry, Mami,” she smiled at her mother’s fumes, able to recognize superficial annoyance, “go on.”
“What did these boys do, Pepi?”
“I was talking with Bianca, who’d been getting friendly because it was her first baby and Señora Valbuena was tired of hearing her–”
Nonetheless, Dolores interjected, “–Going on and on about Alejandro spending too much time on the farms.” Pepa barely waited a beat to continue.
“–and I’m already drizzling in the garden so the last thing I want to hear is some chiquilla con su voz de pito[11], when Marco and Ernesto crash right into me!”
Julieta nodded slowly, just as calmly drinking her tea. “Is that–”
“–¡No!” Dolores winced at her mother’s shout. “They don’t apologize, their mothers are nowhere in sight, and mi Camilito saw the whoooooole thing, so you know what he did?” Julieta didn’t try to respond, finishing her tea. “He shifted into Padre Ignacio and got them right into the front pews.” She sliced the air in front of her, a clap of thunder echoing her actions. “Resuelto.[12]”
“Hm.” The oldest triplet nodded, pushing her chair back at the same time. She gathered her teacup and Dolores’ extended empty teacup, stacking all three of their bread plates as she moved around the table. “I guess I must’ve missed mass that day. How does that relate to Yamilet?”
“Because esa[13] Yamilet told Padre Ignacio after mass what Camilo did, which got Mamá yelling at me for not controlling Camilo, when he didn’t do anything wrong! Mi Félix agreed that Camilo didn’t do anything wrong, which Mamá didn’t like but,” she waved her hands dismissively while also taking the opportunity to wave away her cloud yet again, “then Josefina–”
“–Marco and Yamilet’s mom.” Julieta mouthed a ‘thank you’ to her niece before turning away to the kitchen. Casita did Pepa the favor of spinning her chair in her sister’s direction, clearly enjoying Pepa’s energy.
“She tries to come up to me!”
Turning on the sink to wash their dishes, Julieta hummed. “Now I understand why the Eslava’s stopped eating my food.”
“Not my fault!” shouted Pepa.
“I understand, Pepa, I’m not saying it is. Just,” she shrugged, “makes more sense now.”
She sighed, sipping her tea - realizing too late it was lukewarm and nowhere near hot - and shook her head. “Either way, it must have really gotten to Camilo for him to get like this.”
“Oh, that wasn’t the first time.” Thunder clapped as Pepa’s cloud quickly stormed to cover the length of the table. “Today must’ve just been his limit.” With that, she squeaked on a shrug, giving no further details.
Which told Pepa everything.