Love Me for Eternity || Bruno Madrigal

Chapter 20: Will You Marry Me, Pendejo?

"Papi, how nice should my clothes be for tomorrow's dinner?"

Your father took a momentary pause from drinking the coffee Julieta had given you. Mateo knew that Bruno was going to propose to you tonight (he did mention it in passing three weeks ago when he brought the boy to Alejandra's headstone) so he supposed you should wear something fancier.

But he didn't want to spoil the surprise.

"Well, this is you madrina we're talking about. She likes perfection and being classy. So something a little bit more fancy maybe?"

"Yes, I get the fancy part. But how fancy are we talking?"

"Uh, I don't know, maybe more colorful skirts—maybe a nicer blouse—"

"You have no idea, don't you?"

"It's been years since I've had dinner with your madrina! She and Pedro always loved to have more formal dinners while Alejandra and I preferred to have a picnic beside a nearby lake!"

"...sure, papi."

"My dear daughter, do you not trust your father's fashion sense?"

"Not really, no."

Mateo deflated like a defeated man. How could his own daughter not trust him with his stylistic choices? As if sensing your father's plight (and he was obviously sulking), you pat him gently on the back almost condescendingly.

"There, there. Not everyone has an amazing sense of fashion."

"And you do?"

"No, but at least I don't pick frills and utterly bright colors for my thirteenth birthday. I almost looked like a piñata, papi."

"But you looked adorable in pink—just like a princess."

"No."

Mateo continued to sulk.

You laughed and stood, dusting your skirt free from hilo grass. You gave a kiss to your father's cheek and waved him goodbye,

"I'll be back later in time for supper! I'm just going to find something nice to wear that doesn't involve pink frills and bows!"

Your father waved back, still sulking.

He'll get over it.

—

You didn't have nice clothes.

You gave your wardrobe a long stare. How can you not have any nice clothes? Your skirts either had some patchwork done, were faded in color, or just plain. There were some clothes you got from the community dances, but they were reserved for jovial town festivities, not a dinner with your madrina. You were sure your godmother had seen the majority of these clothes, and they didn't look up to par to her standards.

You picked up one of your more formal blouses from five years ago, but the fabric was washed out and there were a few loose seams here and there. No, your fiesta dress wasn't proper enough for a formal dinner. It was too vibrant, too festive. And no, your cumbia dress was too bright—too red, too yellow, too blue—for a homey meal (well, as homey as it gets with your strict madrina).

You reminisced about the time when you danced the cumbia in the town square with several other women. That must have been the time other men started to see as one of the most beautiful women in the Encanto (you still shudder at the thought of other men seeing you as pretty since they always teased you for being a tomboy). Dancing the cumbia —a sort of courting dance ritual that had become more of a spectacle than an actual courting dance—was only meant to tease Bruno when he wore that silly white shirt of his while wearing a sombrero . You still laugh and coo at the thought of him being out of his ruana and stumbling over his own feet while trying to keep up with you.