Seeing Rosita and Coco together always reminded Imelda of Héctor and Ernesto. She didn't get why, didn't understand what made her replace the image of her daughter and daughter-in-law with memories of her husband and his awful best friend. But almost every time Imelda Coco talking and laughing or working with Rosita, that's what always resurfaced in her memories.
Maybe it was the fact that Coco spent more time with Rosita than any other family member. Maybe it was how they looked when standing next to each other: Coco, with her tall, thin build, and Rosita with her short, round body. Maybe it was how their "conversations" almost always consisted of more laughing than talking, much like Ernesto's times with Héctor often did, when Héctor's barking laughter filled the air and made Imelda jump at the first sound of it.
But thankfully, though Coco looked and acted way too much like Héctor for Imelda's liking, her slighly large figure was the only thing Rosita had that provoked thougts of Héctor's Superhero. She acted nothing like him, showed none of malice and hatred in her eyes that Ernesto had shown to Imelda, Coco, and sometimes even Héctor years ago.
Rosita had all the love and loyalty that Ernesto lacked, and she didn't click her tongue make snide remarks about Coco or Imelda the way he would. Rosita didn't care about the fame and recognition the Riveras recieved for their business; she just loved being next to Coco and Julio as she worked. Rosita's tone was always genuinely sweet with only a small amount of firmness laced in, whereas whenever Ernesto used to talk with Héctor, an immense amount of anger was clear in his voice.
Imelda would stare at Coco and Rosita from her spot in the workshop or at the kitchen table, and instantly the memory of Héctor and Ernesto walking out the door, their arms around each other's shoulders, would make her stomach twist as she thought of the men. It would make her anger come back as she tried to ignore the memory of the two of them walking out the door.
Countless times Imelda tried to think of something else when looking at them, tried to bury those memories again as she had so easily done when Coco was younger, but no matter how hard she tried, the thoughts would cloud her mind until Coco and Rosita went their separate ways.
Imelda was good at hiding this from them. She never called Coco or Rosita by the names of the people in her memories, never gawked at them, never stared at them outright or for too long. She'd had some close calls, but no one pressed her for answers or asked her what she was thinking.
Sometimes Imelda would just be getting to bed after a late night at work and she would hear the sound of two very familiar voices. She would quietly walk to the end of the hallway and glance in the direction of the living room, where one or two candles would be dimly lit and Rosita would have her arm around Coco as they sat in their chairs and talked. Their voices would always be hushed, never above a whisper, and they'd more often than not be talking about things Imelda had forbidden them from bringing up.
Like questions about the ban on music. Or Coco's earliest memories of Héctor.
One night Imelda heard Coco crying through her words, which were watery and barely understandable beneath her weeping and shaky breaths. Mixed with her sobs were Rosita's words, hushed like always and full of a concern that only she was capable of.
Imelda listened closely for any sign that anyone was awake. She only heard the sound of the wind against her window and soft snoring from the bedrooms next to hers.
So very carefully, Imelda slid out of bed and tried her best not to bump into anything in the darkness. When she opened her door, she did it fast to make sure it didn't creak and quietly made her way down the hall again, stopping to take a glance at the picture of Coco standing next to Rosita and Julio at the afterparty for their wedding.
Leaning up against the wall once she was close enough, Imelda peered around the corner. She had to put her hand over her mouth to stiffle a gasp at the sight she saw. Coco's shoulders were hunched and her face was in her hands. Her blue nightdress was wrinkled at the sleeves and Imelda could see dark spots of water where Coco's tears had fallen on her skirt. Her hair, undone from her braids, fell long and loose past her shoulders, looking matted and tangled and not nearly as shiny as usual.
Rosita was running her hand through Coco's hair and leaning in close to her, her voice quiet as she seemed to whisper things into Coco's ear. Her own pink dress was damp as if she'd been crying, too. Her hair was still braided from that morning, as if she'd been too preoccupied with Coco to undo it. A closer look confirmed that both women were shaking as they sat together, only visble by the moonlight and the dim candles on either side of them.
Imelda bit her lip, supressing her own tears as she tried to decipher their hushed words. Her mind was already playing tricks on her, making her imagine that it was Héctor instead of Coco sitting on that chair and sobbing, with Ernesto instead of Rosita right next to him, an expression of feigned concern on his face.
She tried to force that thought away as Coco's cries became quick and hoarse breaths, and her watery voice became more understandable and a little louder. Rosita's voice went quiet as Coco talked, her voice strained with what Imelda could only hope was just anger.
"I just wish she wouldn't be so enraged with him anymore!" Coco's eyes were blazing and her wet hands were now fists at her sides. "How can she love him one minute and hate him the next? She should at least try to give him another chance."
Imelda's chest tightened at the words, either from defiance or acceptance at Coco's statement. She couldn't tell which.
Rosita just nodded as she brought her hands away from Coco's hair and folded them in her lap, her solemn eyes looking glossy in the candlelight around her even though it had become a little darker since Imelda had started listening.
Coco wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sighed as she shook her head. "It's one thing to not have music," she siad, fisting her hand again. "But to forget about him, or worse, pretend she never knew him at all? It's hard for me, too. It's not just her who lost someone she loved."
The cracking and unmistakeable venom in her voice made Imelda's breath catch as she turned away for a second, hearing the words someone she loved run through her mind. Her stomach twisted as she put a hand to her heart and once again replaced Coco with phantom images of Héctor.
Rosita spoke up at last, tugging at a stray strand of hair that fell between her eyes. "Why do you think he never came back?"
Imelda wrung her hands until they turned white, her heart sinking at Rosita's question because she had never put much thought into it herself.
But it was obvious Coco had, because not more than a minute after the question was asked, Imelda heard Coco let out another breath as she spoke.
"I'm not sure." Her voice became thoughtful and Imelda peered around the corner again to see Coco put a hand under her chin. "Maybe it had something to do with our Superhero."
"His who?" Rosita stared at her with raised eyebrows.
"That's what we used to call his best friend." Coco's gaze swung up to the ceiling, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Or maybe something terrible happened to him, like he got hurt or sick or..." She trailed off and swallowed, her eyes closing for a moment and her hand moving to her lap as she interlaced her fingers and leaned over onto Rosita's shoulder, crossing her legs at the ankles.
Putting an arm around her, Rosita shook her head. "We'll never know what happened to him, Coco. I just wish I could've met him."
Coco opened her eyes and scowled in a way that she never had before. "Well, with Mamá in charge, that will never happen."
There was along silence as Coco broke into tears again and put her face in her hands, her body trmbling as her sobbing filled the air again. Rosita resumed her earlier action, stroking Coco's back and running her fingers through her hair.
Imelda's mind was racing so much it made her sick as she thought of Coco's words, a metalic sort of taste in her tounge as she raced back to her room and quietly closed the door, slowly getting back into bed. Her hands were shaking and her own eyes were watering as she stared at the dark and empty side of her bed, which seemed larger than last night with unwanted memories flashing before her eyes.
As she finally willed herself to calm down, she tightened her grip around her blankets. She pulled them over her fiercely and grit her teeth as her favorite photo of Héctor and Ernesto seared her brain again, rolling towards her open window and staring into nothing until she closed her eyes.