timeless memories || mirabel madrigal X female reader

10. the thought of you made me smile, comforted me

"I'm so, so sorry about my Abuela, (Y/n)." Mirabel quietly apologizes as she leads you to Casita's front door after dinner. The woman had not bothered you again, but still looked at you with great interest, making you highly uncomfortable.

"I don't know, maybe I should just ask her if she has a crush on me. I get I'm pretty attractive, but-"

Mirabel stops you from going back in the kitchen to confront Alma, flicking your forehead with a smug look.

"My Abuela does not have a crush on you."

You look at her, dead serious. "You never know who can have a crush on you."

She tilts her head, eyes narrowed as you laugh to yourself. "Sol did use to say she had a crush on God before actually learning about religion. She calls that her 'young and careless' phase."

You hear a quiet laugh, coming from behind you, and turn to see Dolores smiling at you kindly. She approaches, looking around before whispering :

"(Y/n), I think you should go. I can hear your sister say she won't go to bed until you come home, and your father isn't very pleased."

"Oh, geez. Thank you, Dolores. Mirabel, see you tomorrow !"

"Yeah, bye (Y/n) !"

Both Mirabel and Dolores watch you walk down the street in a quick pace. Mirabel giggles as you almost trip on your foot, not seeing the floor in the darkness of the evening. Dolores glances at her cousin suspiciously.

"Mirabel." She murmurs.

"Mmh ?"

"I remember. Isn't she the (Y/n) you told Camilo you had a crush on in grade 3 ?"

"I was eight !"

"It was only six years ago."

"Seven, Dolores. Seven."

"It was only seven years ago."

___

"It was only one evening ! I thought-"

"You thought ? Doesn't seem like it. Looks like you just tossed your responsibilities aside without thinking twice to me."

Your father was irritated, to say the least. Rita had been unbearable, throwing tantrums for nothing.

She was very sensible despite her not-so-delicate nature, and knew all about Esme being your dad's favorite, and Sol your mother's.

So she wanted to become your favorite. Spend lots of time with you, more than the others, to make sure you'd like her more.

Unluckily for her, you didn't work like that. You didn't have a favorite sister, you loved them all for who they were and didn't make any difference in the amount of affection you showed them.

She was seven years old. She didn't understand, nor try to understand, understandably so, that your parents loved her unconditionally. If your mother was more subtle with Sol being her favorite, because of her always kind and caring behavior, your father's clear favoritism for Esme often broke her small heart. Why ?

Because your dad was her favorite parent.

She also had favorites, and was seeking his attention, in the wrong way. Throwing tantrums wasn't going to get her anywhere. Like Esme, your father had a tendency to ignore his problems when it got too loud. And oh god, Rita was loud.

So you were usually in charge of her. But tonight, you weren't there.

It was a disaster, and Rita only agreed to eat when you fed her, Sol hugging you tightly as soon as you stepped in the house. Esme kept reading. She wasn't bothered by the noise Rita could make, she learn to detach from it over the years. Any other loud noise would make her upset, though.

Now, Rita was finally silent, for the good reason she was sleeping. You put her to bed and she didn't let go of your hand until she fell asleep. Sol also asked for a goodnight kiss, and Esme kissed your nose as she usually does. She didn't like to be kissed, so she was always the one to do it, and your nose seemed to be her favorite spot.

"I'm sorry, dad. I'll tell Rita she can't do this next time."

You had already told her, of course, but she didn't seem to listen. You needed to have a more serious talk with her, but you were scared of being too honest with her. You preferred to have no filter for those kind of things, and you knew a seven years old would probably be shocked to hear the whole truth.

That you had a life on your own, that your parents did have favorites, that she had to accept it.

"But this always happens ! Why does she act like this ?"

"I don't know, dad. Ask the one who was supposed to raise her but was never here, despite living in the same house as us." You snap. He didn't seem to understand Rita didn't do this just to annoy him. There was a reason behind everything, he just didn't want to find out.

He frowns at you. You immediately apologize, but still, he feels the need to justify himself.

"You don't understand. I need this to do art, (Y/n). This is who I am. This is how I live."

"I understand that. What I don't understand is why art is more important to you than your daughter. Remember when the twins would beg you to step out of your studio for one minute ? To have a hug, a kiss on the cheek, to hold your hand ? They were five. They are growing up without any memory of you. Please explain, so that I can get it, and maybe tell them one day when they'll wonder where you've been."

He stays silent, deep in thoughts. To an outsider, it may seem like he was thinking about your words, but you knew him. You knew it meant your talk was over for him, that it bothered him too much and that he was back to his own thought, ten times more interesting than you accusing him.

You start to regret doing it, because is work does bring some money home sometimes. But you also grow frustrated, frustrated you can never finish a conversation with your dad. You felt like he was immature. You were the one that should get to be immature, you were fifteen.

"Dad." You call out, taking a deep breath so that the few tears that were trying to force their way out of your eyes wouldn't fall. "Dad, we're not finished talking."

The sound of the keys in the front door. The creaking of it opening, the steps of your mother. Your father hears all of it, but not your voice. He stands up, flashing your mother a smile before kissing her. You discreetly wipe a tear out of your face and give your mother a small wave, blowing a kiss in her direction and pointing to the stairs as she talks to your dad. She motions you to go with a wink, and blows a kiss as well.

You silently walk up the stairs, feeling defeated and strangely desperate. You didn't feel like talking anymore.

You plop yourself on your bed, exhausted. You don't feel like taking off the skirt Mirabel lent you, the soft fabric comforting you after the eventful day you just had. You were thankful for Mirabel, you had had more fun today than in a month. It was very refreshing. You glance outside your window, to Casita, and see a few lights are still on.

Now, you know which window is the nursery, where Mirabel and Antonio are staying. A shallow light is on, and you wonder if Mirabel is up sewing, as she told your earlier she likes to do it at night. Somehow, knowing she's up as well makes you smile, and you lay on your back on your bed, finally relaxing. You realize you were still crying as a few tears roll down your cheekbones to fall in your ears. You chuckle, wiping them off.

"What a strange day."

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words : 1313

note : third update today I'm on fire 😤💪 but I'll go to sleep now. hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading!

sending lots of love ❤ take care of yourself! don't stay late like I do (it is rather late for me in my country okay?)