Even as a child Victoria had pieces of Héctor in her, more in her physical appearance than her personality. Imelda knew from the moment Victoria was born that she'd look almost exactly like him, the only difference being their genders and the fact that Victoria was the tiniest bit skinnier and her hair was longer and thicker than his.
Victoria had almost no personality traits from him: she wasn't as loyal, passionate, or even as nice as Héctor had been (well, that last one wasn't very suprising; no one could be as nice as Héctor, except for Rosita). But her eyes were the same shade of brown, her chin and cheekbones were just as pronnounced as his, and her mouth could stretch as wide his when she smiled or laughed (neither of which she did much of).
She was also an expert at putting on the same blank expression he'd used from time to time, though hers was a lot more convincing. She had his creativity, his bravery, and his sensitive manner. She was tall, not easy to overlook, and not very well liked by the other kids in town, just like him.
It bothered Imelda that nearly every time she stared at Victoria, she saw Héctor next to her. When Victoria was reading with Rosita and the two of them were laughing about some of the parts, Imelda saw him laughing, too. When Victoria was rolling her eyes at Oscar and Fellipe's games or conversing with Imelda or Coco, Imelda always swore she could see an illusion of Héctor there as well.
When Victoria and Elena braved the risk of punishment to hum or sing something they heard playing outside, when they questioned Coco, and the few times Victoria asked a member of their family about their feelings or how they were doing... Héctor was next to her. It was him doing those things instead of her.
Thankfully as Victoria got older, Imelda started getting better at not thinking of those things. And when Victoria turned ten, Imelda stopped imagining those things completely. She stopped seeing Héctor's large and warm brown eyes in Victoria's smaller and colder ones. She stopped hearing Héctor's laugh. She stopped remembering the days they'd spent together, talking and grinning at each other while keeping an eye out for Oscar, Felipe, or Ernesto. It was as if Victoria was the key to those thoughts disappearing from Imelda's mind.
Imelda didn't nessecarily lose those thoughts; it was hard to forget things like Héctor's intense but loving gaze or his quirkiness or his vivid imagination or... other things like that.
But it was easier to put them out of her mind, to pretend they never happened at all. Now she had two shields to keep her from the memories of her useless husband: the bussiness, and her granddaughter.
Sometimes, though, even with those distractions, Imelda still unknowingly let Héctor invade her thoughts, just as she had years and years ago. But unlike those times, even with things to keep her busy and even with Victoria around, she was somehow worse at stopping those thoughts and not better. It made Imelda feel enraged, ashamed, and, weirdly, kind of pathetic.
And she hated those sensations more than anything else. She hated how vulnerable those moments and memories made her feel.
One Saturday evening, Victoria had caught her, walked up to her and tilted her head in that way Héctor always used to when something confused him, but also gave her a look of concern mixed with sterness that she couldn't ever remember seeing on Héctor's face.
Imelda was sitting in her favorite living room chair, the one taller and slightly wider than all the others that was positioned at a perfect angle in the corner of the room so she could have a perfect view of the sunset and the way the light enhanced all the buildings as it diasappeared behind them.
Her legs were against her chest with her arms wrapped around them, and she was leaning against the windowsill as she watched all the stupid mariachis stroll past her house, pitching their voices especially loud and pretending not to see her glaring at them and their crisply ironed suits looking especially sharp and pronnounced in the fading sunlight. She closed her eyes and turned her head away as the sobs spilled out of her, for once not having the energy to chase the musicians away or calm herself down.
Imelda didn't count on anyone finding her there; everyone had gone to sleep two hours ago and she could hear the snores of her family members coming from their rooms. So when she wiped her eyes and started to uncurl herself from her position and she heard the sound of scurrying and footsteps coming from the darkness of the kitchen, she jumped and shot up from her chair, whipping off one of the slippers she was wearing and holding it above her head as of she was holding her boot.
When the unknown figure steeped out from the darkness, the light from the fading sunset glinting off of her glasses and enhancing the darkness of her hair and the all too familiar skinniness of her frame, Imelda felt more tension seep into her as she returned her slipper and brought her other hand to her face to wipe the second wave of tears that had come when she had first been shocked.
Imelda crossed her arms and stared at Victoria, one eyebrow raised, as she tried to gather her thoughts. She felt a wave of weariness wash over her, though, and she could feel her defensive mask slipping much quicker than it usually would. The lateness of the day was now fully getting to her, mixing with her embarassment and her earlier despair. She closed her eyes and dipped her head to her chest, foolishly hoping that Victoria would walk away, would take the hint and avoid interrogation for just this one time.
But she didn't. She, too, crossed her arms and mirrored Imelda's stance, and when Imelda opened her eyes and lifted her head, she could see the defiance and concer etched into Victoria's expression, reminding Imelda of Héctor once again, of a time when he'd looked at her that way as well.
Victoria's voice was a whisper when she spoke, but Imelda could still hear the curiosity that was woven in.
"¿Por qué te ves tan triste, Mamá Imelda? What's wrong?"
Imelda made sure her face was as firm as possible, keeping her arms crossed and trying to ignore the the fact that her heart threatened to bounce out of her chest.
"I'm not sad, Victoria," she said, kneeling to the girl's level and uncrossing her arms to put a hand on Victoria's shoulder. "Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking about something." She barely supressed a cringe when she realized how forcefully optimistic and fake her voice sounded.
Victoria narrowed her eyes, and when she did she stepped back out of Imelda's reach, the interrogation in her gaze looking ten times more vivid in the moonlight from the window. She glared a few minutes more, not moving or saying anything, and suddenly two memories came to Imelda's mind: the look Héctor had given her when they argued about his leaving, and years before that after she had assaulted Ernesto and tried to apologize to Héctor.
Imelda stood up and Victoria's eyes followed her, her expression becoming slightly more intense like she could see exactly what Imelda was thinking. Imelda dipped her head low again and her gaze with it, feeling like the memories in her head were the present time instead of the past and Héctor was there instead of Victoria, giving her that look, maybe reading her mind. She waited for Victoria to say more, bracing herself for more questions that might be asked.
But she didn't hear the sound of Victoria's voice at all anymore. Instead when she heard the sound of receding footsteps, and she looked up to see that Victoria had turned her back to Imelda and was now headed back toward her bedroom, as if nothing had happened, as if she'd never seen Imelda there in the first place. She didn't look back or say anything else as she disappeared into the hallway, the moon making white streaks and outlines on her hair and down her body.
Imelda watched her until she could no longer see her anymore, hearing Héctor's empty but unmoved voice in her memories, and she tried and failed to calm down the twisting and wild beating of heart. She slowly sat back down, leaning to left and using the wall for support as she rested her head on it, feeling her earlier weariness return to her as chased Héctor out of her mind, closed her eyes, folded her hands on her lap, and let the tears fall again.