Coco woke to the beautiful sound of her husband's snores. It sent such a rush of joy she could have hugged him right there, had her mind not been weighed down by darker thoughts. Accepting her death and the land of the dead was relatively easy, it was her father's presence that Coco had trouble wrapping her head around. Her thoughts trailed to the previous night, how excited her family had been to see her. Just being able to remember the events clearly sent Coco another jolt of energy. Feeling like she couldn't possibly stay in bed for another second, she sneaked out of the bedroom and made her way towards the kitchen.

She hadn't yet seen her father after that disastrous meeting, apparently everyone had deemed it best to give Coco the night to adjust. She could only pray she wouldn't run into the man now. What could she even say if she did? She'd been four years old when he left. Trying to conjure up an image now, all Coco could see was a man who left with a guitar… and a pile of letters in a drawer - pretty words for a naïve girl.

Coco might have lived to become a great grandmother, but something about the situation made her want to throw away all reason. For one, she could just ignore Héctor until the situation resolved itself. And if it didn't? Well, it could hardly hurt her if she didn't acknowledge it…

And there is was. Coco was behaving like a child on a tantrum. She groaned with frustration, what about this are you finding so difficult, old woman?

Perhaps, and Coco would never admit this outside the safety of her own mind, she was afraid that if she heard her father out, she might forgive him. After all, what chance did Coco stand when even mamá had been swayed?

And then there was the more frightening alternative - that even after hearing all her father's reasons, and they must have been good ones as well, she still wouldn't be able to forgive him. Some wounds, Coco had learned, ran too deep.

Mamá was the only one in the kitchen, nursing a steaming cup of coffee and staring at Coco with a soft smile. Coco breathed out in relief.

"One sugar, a spoon of vanilla syrup." Imelda said pushing a second cup towards Coco.

Coco grinned. "My favorite."

"I know, mija." Imelda smiled softly, the smile that was only reserved for Coco.

As Coco took the first sip of the delicious coffee, she was once again filled with the wonderful amazement at having mamá back after all those years.

"Mija," Imelda started and Coco could tell the conversation had turned serious. "What do you want to do?"

Coco frowned. "Do?"

"About Héctor." Imelda supplied. "He wants to talk to you, but if you need space..."

Coco nodded her understanding and pondered it. "Where-" She swallowed, thinking about the ridiculous amount of times she'd voiced this exact question. "where is he?"

"In his room, upstairs. He didn't want to upset you."

Coco paused, she hadn't fully expected Héctor to stay after yesterday's disaster.

"Coco, you know I wish you would hear him out," Imelda watched Coco nod. "but if you want him to go, he goes."

Coco saw the painful wince, the guilt behind a strong front. And yet she knew without a doubt mamá would kick Héctor out in an instant if she asked. Maybe then everything would go back to the way it had always been. Well, Coco would still be dead, but she wouldn't be forced to reevaluate facts she had held on to most of her life.

Coco took a long sip of her coffee, placed the cup down and stared at her fingers, flexing them because now she could. She sighed. "I don't want you to tell him to leave."

Imelda practically sagged with relief. "But?"

"I'm not ready to hear him out either."

"Okay. What should I tell him then?"

Coco thought about it, then shook her head sadly. There was nothing to say.

To Coco's surprise, Héctor respected her wish for space. They quickly learned to navigate around each other, existing in the same orbits but never colliding. And Coco waited, she wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but she often caught herself holding her breath for it.

As a rule, none of the family brought the issue up around her. The only time was a few weeks after her passing, when she broached the subject with Julio while getting ready for bed.

When she'd been young, Coco had loved to dance. It had seemed so untainted, yet mamá always got upset. Too much association, probably. So, Coco danced in secret, and that was how she met Julio. Just like her, he had loved to go dancing in the plaza. It was an activity he officially abandoned after meeting Imelda, yet never refused to sneak out with Coco for a quick dancing session. Her partner in crime, he'd always been on her side which was why Coco trusted him to be truthful now.

"Honestly?" He sat down next to Coco. "I think he's a great, caring guy. I hate what he did to you, but knowing what I do now, I-" Julio hesitated, eyeing Coco warily.

"You what?" Coco urged.

"Well, frankly, I feel sorry for him."

Coco blinked. She hadn't been expecting that.

"I mean, the way he died," Again Julio hesitated. It was an unspoken agreement that the full story of Héctor's passing should come from Héctor himself, once Coco was ready. "And the way he spent his afterlife until now."

Coco frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He couldn't cross the bridge," Julio watched Coco nod, she knew all about how the bridge and the ofrendas worked. "But he tried anyway. Year after year."

"That's… something." Coco started, puzzled. "I didn't realize not being able to cross was such a big thing."

"He was trying to get back to you. That's what he was trying to do with Miguel when he first met him - have the kid put his photo on the ofrenda so that he could see you, mi amor."

"M- me?" Coco choked. It was one of those things that just didn't line up.

"I can tell that he really loves you."

Coco nodded numbly. She wasn't so sure about that, despite what all this new information was suggesting.

One week after her talk with Julio, Coco received a letter. Or more like a note, really. It was hidden under her mug when she entered the kitchen one morning. Coco carefully unfolded the small piece of paper only to see neat, painfully familiar handwriting.

The note said, 'Good morning'.

Coco studied it, baffled. It was simple and on point and couldn't possibly be interpreted as putting any pressure on Coco. She took a cautious sip from the mug and was rewarded by a wonderful flavor of tea. She could have sworn she tasted vanilla.

The next note came in the book Coco had been reading. It was a little drawing of Dante, the street dog Miguel sometimes hid under Coco's bed.

The next morning Coco found the same delicious tea with another 'Good morning' hidden under her mug, this time with a smiley face attached.

"You're in a good mood, mija." Imelda commented when she entered the kitchen.

Coco quickly checked herself and hid the note in her pocket. "Si, I suppose I am."

It became a kind of game. Coco would find sweet, yet short notes hidden between pages of books, under cushions, under a mug of tea that appeared in the kitchen every morning without fail. Frustratingly, one by one they started melting that ice around Coco's heart. Apparently, her father was a difficult man to hate.

But then Coco found herself counting on those silly notes. That night she swept the pile out of her drawer and straight into the trash can. She'd just have to ask Héctor to stop.

Coco marched to the room she knew only to avoid, a few choice words ready on the tip of her tongue. For one they couldn't keep dancing around each other, it wasn't working and could only end one way. She'd known that from the start, had she not?

Coco froze, her fist inches from the door. A slow melody was coming from the room, accompanied by soft humming. Not the-song-that-wasn't-hers, Coco was immensely grateful for that.

Coco swallowed a lump in her throat, undecided. It'd been such a long time since she heard her father sing. Slowly, she lowered her hand.

The next morning, Coco left her note and tea on the table, making her own cup of coffee instead. She stayed in the kitchen until Héctor came in, eyes wide at seeing her still there.

"Good morning." She said, cool and collected. She might as well have been greeting a stranger. Héctor winced before offering a weak smile. "Good morning. I thought you'd be in the workshop by now." He tried carefully.

Héctor had no way of knowing this, but Coco disliked making shoes almost as much as she disliked him. She'd only been spending time in the workshop because she knew Héctor wouldn't be there. "It's too beautiful a day to be making shoes." Coco answered. There, civil conversation. "I thought I'd go look around town with Julio."

Héctor seemed surprised, as well as lost. This was the first real conversation they'd shared. "That's a good idea. You should check out the plaza while you're at it."

Coco hummed in acknowledgment. "Thank you, I will."

They stared at each other. Héctor stepped closer, an expression that sent a jolt of panic rushing through her body. "See you later, Héctor." She said quickly, watching her father's entire demeanor drop. He looked so wrecked Coco almost apologized, before she remembered herself and left the room.

They started talking. Each conversation was difficult and awkwardly formal, but they could now be in the same room which made the entire house breathe easier.

Coco waited for the notes to stop, yet no matter how pointedly she ignored them they still turned up, along with the tea.

"You're punishing him." Mamá said one morning when it was just the two of them.

Coco glanced at the abandoned tea, while grounding her own coffee beans. It was a good guess, Coco chuckled remembering a little girl staring out the window and deciding to do exactly that. "I'm not, mamá." She promised now, but couldn't explain what she was doing either, as she herself didn't really understand. "I'm sorry I'm making things so difficult."

"You're as stubborn as I am, mija." Imelda said with affection, then an afterthought - "You get that from your father as well."

Coco hated that she didn't hate the idea.

Coco wasn't enjoying herself one bit. Over the few months she'd been in the land of the dead Héctor and her had built a fragile piece, which was much better than avoidance. That being said, the last thing she wanted to do was go on any trips with the man!

It started with a plan to visit the market on the other side of town with Victoria, Coco was still very new to the large city. But then there'd been a mix up with an order at the store and they needed all hands-on deck.

"I could go with you." Héctor had offered after a pause, his voice was painfully hesitant. "I know all the short cuts."

She should have said no. She'd opened her mouth to do exactly that, but then Victoria was staring, and Héctor got that look in his eyes - like he was handing over his whole heart and Coco was about to stomp all over it.

So, she agreed.

And here they were side by side on the train, carefully avoiding each other's eyes.

"That tower is the library," Héctor pointed. "it's mostly filled with very old books, but occasionally we'll see some newer ones come around."

Coco nodded, appreciating Héctor's attempts at keeping up the formal interactions she'd set up. "I should visit it at some point."

Héctor shrugged. "It's just a flashy building, if you want the good stuff I know a guy in the slums. No idea how he does it."

"Do you read a lot?" Coco could remember a huge bookcase stuffed full, but it might be something she'd made up.

"Uh... occasionally. Not like when I was alive."

"So, you did have that big collection of books? In the… blue bookcase?" Coco wondered, furrowing her brows in concentration. "They'd fall out at night."

"The shelf was crooked." Héctor said incredulously. "You remember that?"

"I… guess I do."

Héctor hesitated, trying to gauge her face. "You were worried the shelf was haunted, so we made a deal… every time a book fell out, I'd have to read it to you."

A memory, perhaps not even real surfaced in Coco's mind. Her father's soothing voice dozing her off to sleep with grown up books she couldn't possibly have understood.

"Sometimes," Coco's voice was filled with awe as one image triggered another. "when I couldn't sleep, I'd sneak into the study and throw them off myself."

Héctor gaped. "You did?"

"I wanted you to read them." She murmured, lost in the memory.

Héctor's smile fell. "All you had to do was ask."

Coco met her father's sad eyes and wondered if he was thinking about more than books as well. "I didn't know that." She admitted wondering, would it really have been enough?

Somehow the trip became easier. They didn't stray into any further memories, but their conversations started flowing more naturally. As Héctor lead the way to the market he pointed out various short cuts and more interesting buildings, even going into a few misadventures associated with them. It seemed her father had a nick for trouble. Coco had spent so much time building her father up in her head, first extremely positively and then negatively, it was refreshing to get to know the real him.

In return, Coco offered a few stories of her own. Héctor's eagerness to learn anything about their living family was both amusing and heartbreaking. He held on to every detail, no matter how mundane and tried to memorize every name. For the first time, Coco began to see what Julio had meant. It stirred something long repressed in Coco's heart – a ghost of a little girl unshakable in her faith. It must have showed because for the rest of the trip her father was beaming.

Over the next couple of days Coco made an effort to go a little easier on her father. She even started drinking the tea and stopped pointedly calling him 'Héctor'.

She should have known it was too good to last.

It was the first time she went into the city alone, so when she was approached by none other than Frida Kahlo herself Coco couldn't have been more ecstatic. That was until the woman started asking about her father.

As it turned out Coco had somehow managed to remain unaware of Héctor's new celebrity status. Frida went on and on about how people couldn't wait to hear more of Héctor's music, now that they knew the truth. And Coco didn't need to hear the story to understand - after years of being a nobody her father had finally found his musical fame, the one he'd went out in search for all those years ago. There were even talks of a possible album, as Frida pointed out.

Coco swallowed the sting and smiled at Frida, promising to pass Héctor her regards. Well, that was that.

She walked home slowly, closed the door behind her and ignored Victoria with mamá. Only when she approached Hector's door did she stop and took a breath; a week attempt at putting on a mask. Cold bitterness seemed safer than abandoned little girl. She knocked.

Héctor's smile fell as soon as he glimpsed her face. "What's wrong?"

She stepped inside the room, for the first time taking in the neatly arranged books and familiar white guitar propped in the corner. The sight sent an ache through Coco's heart.

"I talked to Frida Kahlo." She began slowly.

Héctor's eyes widened. "What did she say?"

"That you're a big musician now." Coco said numbly. "That's good, I know it's what you've wanted."

"It's not quite like that."

But it was. And Coco couldn't keep living in the waiting. Dios, how could she have thought this could ever not hurt?

"I know you waited for me all this time," She had to pause to swallow the bubble of sadness threatening to burst out of her throat. "but I'm not that little girl anymore. And I never will be."

"I know that-"

She shook her head. "I did wait for you, for a long time I waited. Until I felt so empty and unwanted I couldn't possibly have waited another second."

"Coco..." Her father looked wrecked.

Coco fixed her stare on the guitar. "And that was decades ago." She paused to force the hardness she needed to come with her next words. "I will never forgive you, Héctor. Because I hate you." She breathed through Héctor's sharp, broken gasp. "You should take that guitar and go live out your musical dreams, so that everyone is happy."

"Please," Héctor reached out, but paused before his hand could make contact. "Cariña."

The old nickname startled Coco into meeting her father's eyes and she was taken aback by the amount of pain swimming in them. Didn't he understand?

Overtaken by an uncharacteristic surge of rage, Coco took one of the books form the table and threw it in Héctor's direction, missing him by an inch. "Why are you still here?" She screamed. "I hate you, I've hated you for years!" She breathed. "I don't… I don't want you anymore."

She backed out of the room, trying to take in her father's features as she did. She'd have to remember, because she'd never see him again.

After locking herself in her room and getting through the initial rush of emotion, Coco curled up in bed. And she waited. Would her family wait until morning to tell her Héctor had left?

She waited and waited, and then-

Footsteps. Silence. A knock.

There was another pause as Coco waited to hear her mamá's voice. Instead she was startled by the sound of a guitar. "No." Coco whimpered. Not this, anything but this.

"Remember me,

though I have to say goodbye."

It wasn't her song-not-her-song-not-

"Remember me,

don't let it make you cry."

She swung her pillow at the door, making the chords stumble momentarily.

"For even if I'm far away I'll hold you in my heart,"

"I don't want to hear it!" She yelled at the door, Dios she had to make it stop.

"I'll sing a secret song to you each-"

"Stop!" She threw the covers off and was at the door faster than she'd been able to move in a long time. "Please," She cried against the door. "just stop."

He did. "Then tell me what I can do. I love you Coco."

Coco pressed her forehead against the cool wood, shaking her head silently. "Why won't you just leave?"

A pause. "Is that what you want?"

"I-" She stuttered. "It doesn't matter what I want."

"That's all that matters."

The words made her laugh bitterly. "It didn't then."

"It- I wasn't-" Héctor stumbled. "I'm sorry."

"You can play music for the world now, like you always wanted. Don't stick around now just to leave when you realize it." Mamá wouldn't handle it again.

There was another stretch of silence. Coco was about to open the door when she heard Héctor's sharp intake of breath. "I'll smash the guitar."

Coco blinked. "What?"

"And I won't play music again. I went years without it, I certainly don't need it now."

"Héctor-"

"You can hate me, but then you'll know I won't disappear on you again." Quick footsteps receded form the door.

"Wait." Coco fumbled with the lock. Heart racing, she threw the door open and ran after her father.

When she burst into Héctor's room, he was holding the guitar over his head.

"Wait, don't!" She screamed, making Héctor freeze.

"Why?" He asked bewildered. "It's just a guitar."

Coco stared at the instrument. It was an early childhood she could only grasp, a happy home. Miguel giving Coco back something the world had ripped away. "Because. It's your guitar."

"Coco, all I wanted since I left home was to come back to you and Imelda. I love you more than anything. More than music." He searched Coco's eyes, then nodded, seemingly having come to a decision.

Coco watched in horror as her father's grip tightened on the old skull guitar.

She panicked. "Remember me, thought I have to travel far..." Her voice cracked in all the wrong places, but Coco felt the beginnings of warmth in her chest, as if her heart wasn't sure it was safe to leap yet, but it was testing the waters. "Remember me,"

Héctor's eyes were wide and his mouth opened in shock, but slowly he lowered the guitar and his fingers jumped to the correct chords.

"each time you hear a sad guitar." Coco continued, her voice now accompanied by the soft music.

Héctor stepped closer, his voice tentatively joining his daughter's. "Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be. Until you're in my arms again… Remember… me."

They breathed in the silence.

"Is it my song again?" Coco asked.

Héctor sucked in a breath, before setting the guitar on the ground and reaching for Coco's bony cheeks in one quick movement. "It's always been your song, mija." He promised.

Her song. She smiled.

Héctor began reaching for Coco's shoulders, deliberately slow. And this time she let him. When she melted into her father's arms Coco finally, finally stopped waiting. Her papá had come home.

They settled in the garden, watching the stars while papá finally told Coco his story.

By the end of the tale, Coco realized she'd been right about one thing at least - those were good reasons. She also felt a quick surge of anger for Ernesto De La Cruz, the man who had caused her family so much pain.

But she breathed in and let it go. There'd been too much anger to go around already and this wasn't about De La Cruz, but about her papá. "I'm so sorry this happened to you." She said.

"No, I'm sorry, Coco." Héctor countered. "I never should have left in the first place. I'm so sorry."

Coco took her papá's hand. "You're here now." Suddenly she frowned. "I don't- I never hated you, even when I was so angry I could have screamed. And those things I said, I only said them because…" She trailed off, unsure how to explain without hurting her papá more than she already had.

"You were afraid I'd leave again?" Héctor offered sadly.

Coco nodded. "Sí. But more than that. I've always wondered, you know? Like all kids do. And I thought- well, that you'd left because you hadn't wanted a child."

Héctor's eyes widened with horror. "I never, not once thought that. Coco, I loved you from the moment I first saw you- before that even."

Coco tried to soak in the words, but her head was still racing. "I just thought I needed to remind you I was a burden. You didn't seem to remember."

Héctor was shaking his head, and then puling Coco back into his arms. "Not a day has passed that I haven't thought about you. I swear to you, I will never leave again."

"I know." Coco closed her eyes. "I love you too, papá."