Camilo x Reader -Broken Reflection

Chapter 9 (One more day)

Y/N POV (First-person POV)

Camilo's birthday was in less than 24 hours and I still didn't know what to get him. I mean, we weren't exactly the best of friends, but what kind of person would I be if I just waltzed into his life without notice and didn't give him a gift? That was a level that I wasn't willing to stoop down to.

I asked his parents what to get him and their only reply was that he would appreciate anything. I figured they were right but their reply was vague as heck and painfully unhelpful. Maribel proposed I sew something for him but I didn't have the time.

"Get him something to eat. He loves food," Dolores said, and then, "Hm." But I wasn't nearly as good at cooking as Julieta or Maribel was. Camilo was already used to eating their delicious food and if I were him, I'd be a lot less than grateful if I got less than edible arepas.

I thought about asking him what he wanted, but I had a feeling that he'd give me a sarcastic answer or simply not answer at all. He was in town anyway with Antonio and Félix, picking out a dress shirt for him to wear the next day while the rest of the Madrigals were busy with preparations.

So, I went to work. Mr. Muñoz gave me lessons for two hours and taught me the basics of fussy cutting and how to sew stray pieces of cloth together to make a beautiful pattern. I helped him repair the cuffs of three dress sleeves and the entire time, I racked my brain with ideas of what to give the shapeshifting diva.

"What's got your face all scrunched up?" Mr. Muñoz asked me. I glanced in a mirror hanging from one of the shop's light pink walls to see my reflection. I looked like I'd walked past a junkyard and couldn't bear the stench.

"I'm in a bit of a dilemma," I admitted with a sigh.

"Oh?"

And that's how I told my boss about my complicated relationship with Camilo Madrigal. Mr. Muñoz laughed at how simple the issue was, though it didn't real easy at all.

"Give him anything. An hourglass. A kettle. Draw him a picture or hug him. Give him nothing at all or something he'll use every day. Give him something entirely useless that he'll hide in his drawer but can't seem to throw away," he told me as he folded the cloth inside out. He said it with ease as if he were speaking about how beautiful the weather was.

I looked at the man. He was in his late 40s and his black wavy hair was streaked with gray. He wore a light gray suit that was a little stained with ink and a small spotted tie. He was only a foot taller than me with warm mocha skin and an even warmer smile. He was about the most average-looking man that I'd ever seen, yet his advice sounded like the words of a world-renowned poet.

"Where did you go to find such a magnificent dialect?" I asked him in his voice. He chuckled a little but said nothing. His words felt like they meant a lot but were still ultimately useless to me. I left the shop an hour later and with even fewer ideas of what to give him than I did before.

+++

"Mirabel!" I heard Julieta call from the laundry room. I was in our room, laying on my cot with one of Luisa's dresses in my hands. She'd asked me to mend a tear she made in the sleeve while doing bicep curls. Mirabel was still out babysitting so I placed the dress on one of Mira's dressers and went to the laundry room in her place. It was amazing how Julieta's voice managed to reach me from so far away.

"She's not home," I said to the kind woman when I got there. I rested my hand on the doorway, glancing out of the window to see that the sun had set. Julieta stood up with a large wicker basket full of clothes.

"Can you give these to Camilo?" She asked. I peeked inside to see at least three ponchos, all of them being bright yellow and orange with chameleons embroidered into the sides. Is that why he seems to wear the same thing every day? Does he have multiple of the same clothes? Didn't that get boring? I wondered to myself.