I know that the wait has been a bit longer lately. There are good reasons for that. One, I'm working on a second "Coco" story simultaneously. Two, I went on vacation for a little while and then I had to catch up on work afterwards. And three, real life just got busy. But this story isn't over yet and I will certainly be continuing. So sit back, relax, and enjoy.

"You've been avoiding him."

Imelda glanced up at Victoria's words. The pair had been setting the table for dinner while Rosita finished cooking. It had been a light day at the workshop, so the family had filled the time in with various household chores. And since it had been such a nice day, they decided to splurge on a slightly nicer meal.

At least, that was what Rosita declared as she cheerfully took over the kitchen and shooed everyone else out. Sometimes the sweet-natured woman got into a cooking mood and it was best to let her embrace her creative impulse.

The rest of the family would be joining them shortly. The smell of the delicious meal would announce dinner as clearly as any voice. But for now, it was only Imelda and her granddaughter standing around the table.

"Before," Victoria continued slowly, setting another plate down even as she refused to meet her abuelita's gaze, "you hardly left his side. You spent most of your time sitting at his bedside, waiting for him to wake up. But now… you haven't gone near the bedroom unless he was sleeping. You even took most of your clothes and set them in your study. I don't know how else to describe it, Mamá Imelda. You've been avoiding Héctor."

Imelda stared at her silently. Unlike so many people, Victoria was always one to speak her mind. She was not intimidated by Imelda. She rarely questioned or went against her, but it was always out of respect and belief in Imelda's decision. Not out of fear of sparking a sharper reaction. And Victoria was not one to dance around the subject. Out of anyone in the household, Victoria was the only one who would possibly broach the topic.

That didn't mean that Imelda would admit anything.

"I've been busy, míja. You know that. We just finished several important orders."

"You could have made time. But you didn't." Victoria paused, looking across the table at her. "I can only guess why you haven't. Either you want Héctor to leave and are just waiting until he's strong enough… or you're afraid to face him right now. And you are not afraid of much."

"I told you, Victoria," said Imelda firmly. "There's nothing wrong. I've merely been busy. I am not avoiding Héctor."

Imelda spotted a small smile tug at her granddaughter's mouth, one that faintly reminded her of her twin brothers. That expression on the stoic woman, no matter how subtle, set off alarms in Imelda's head. While her height made her slightly resembled Oscar and Felipe (or, though Imelda spent a long time denying it, Héctor), Victoria did not share many traits with the twins. It was rare to see that mischief mirrored in Victoria's eyes. That was always a sign of trouble.

"I'm glad to hear it, Mamá Imelda," she said. "We wouldn't want this to be awkward for anyone."

"You don't want to make what awkward?" asked Imelda.

Victoria didn't say a word, simply setting down the final plate in her arms. Imelda paused, something niggling at the back of her mind. Something was off. She looked at the table again. A quick mental count revealed the issue.

"Is there a reason why we have an extra plate setting?" asked Imelda.

The floorboards creaked slightly as if in answer to her question. She spun around to find three tall figures easing into the room. Imelda stiffened in surprise. His arms draped across her brothers' shoulders to let them support his weight instead of his wobbly legs and his expression already tired from the journey down the stairs, Héctor was upright and in front of her. After weeks trapped in bed, he was out of the room.

"Look who is joining us for dinner," Oscar said.

Imelda would have demanded to know what was happening, what they thought they were doing dragging the man out of bed when he still spent the majority of his time sleeping. But her thoughts were almost violently derailed as she actually looked at Héctor.

His ragged and frayed clothes were gone for the moment. The white button-up shirt and pants were clearly borrowed from the twins, not quite fitting perfectly and yet looking better than his previous outfit. The long sleeves also hid the splint on his arm and the bindings around his broken rib from sight.

His scruffy and messy hair had been washed and combed. It wasn't neat; it had never been neat at any point in his existence. But it was as close as his hair would ever manage. It practically begged for someone to bury their hands in the softness.

And while his bones still retained enough of the yellow tint to make it clear that he was nearly forgotten, they had been cleaned and polished to a smooth state. His facial markings nearly gleamed, bright and vivid. It was impossible to ignore the way they attracted attention and flattered his features. All the minor scratches caused by his rough afterlife had been buffed to the point that his bones looked perfectly smooth. Imelda was hit by the inexplicable urge to reach out and touch the polished surface, her mind already conjuring ideas of her fingers trailing along his arms and beyond.

Héctor didn't look like a broken scarecrow. In many ways, he finally resembled the man that she married so long ago rather than a pale shadow of him. He looked put together, clean, and… handsome.

Imelda shoved that thought down, thankful that she was long past the point where she could blush. No matter how much she wanted to or how good he might look, she couldn't react like a lovesick teenager. She needed to be smart about this. Nothing about the situation had changed.

They couldn't go back to the way that they used to be. Trying would almost certainly hurt them both and Imelda refused to do that. And after everything that happened, he wouldn't stay. He couldn't stay only to be hurt when he realized that she was no longer the woman he remembered.

So it didn't matter how good Héctor looked, cleaned up and well-dressed as her brothers settled him into a chair. It didn't matter how she couldn't seem to drag her eyes away from him or how it felt like a phantom heartbeat was racing in her ribcage. It didn't matter that the shy and uncertain nod of greeting seemed wrong and part of her wanted to reach out to him.

She had to remain firm. She needed to keep her distance. It would make things easier. It would hurt less this way. She just needed to do the smart thing. Though that would be trickier when her family seemed to be conspiring against her.

Imelda narrowed her eyes as she looked around the room. Obviously her brothers and Victoria were involved. And when Rosita came in with plates of lightly-steaming food and appeared unsurprised by the tired skeleton at the table, merely piling extra portions in front of him, Imelda knew that she was involved as well. Which wasn't that unexpected. For someone with no interest in finding a man of her own, Rosita spent a surprising time getting invested in other people's relationships. So far it seemed that the only one not playing matchmaker, or whatever crazy idea was rattling around their empty skulls, was Julio. At least someone in the household had some sense.

It was official. Julio was now her favorite member of the family.

Still, it could be worse. At least the family weren't pushing too hard. They weren't trying to leave the pair alone together. It was a family meal, not a private date. The seat that they picked out for Héctor was positioned perfectly. Imelda's place was neither right beside him nor directly across from him. She could handle this. The extra distance would make it easier to avoid staring at the version of her husband who was actually dressed, healthier, and didn't look like a vagabundo.

Or, Imelda reluctantly admitted to herself as her eyes kept flickering to his bright facial markings and the clothes that clung to his smooth and polished bones in a way that was completely different than they fit on Oscar or Felipe, she could at least keep her staring subtle.

He never matched the broad-shouldered, neat hair, and squared jaw that served as an example of machismo and the ideal male appearance, even in life. That was always Ernesto's strength. But she didn't fall for Ernesto. The tall, lanky, sweet, funny, and kind young man with the friendly and warm smile was the one that she found far more handsome and appealing. She missed the imperfections that had vanished upon death, the ears and nose that he'd jokingly remarked that Coco had escaped sharing. Imelda always thought they were part of his charm though. Héctor still had the same warm eyes and the same soft and tempting hair though. And the vibrant colors splashed across his face only made him more handsome.

It wasn't fair. She knew it was because Héctor was murdered young while she continued to age, but it wasn't fair how much he still resembled the young man that she fell in love with. It wasn't fair that he looked that handsome and was stirring up memories of him smiling at her as he followed her into their bedroom. He'd been gone a long time. She'd been alone for a long time; she had her family, but not an equal partner and husband to be with her over the decades of her life and afterlife. Not after he left. It wasn't fair that he looked so good, so familiar, and so… distracting.

"Hola," greeted Julio as he entered the room. "Dinner smells delicious, Rosita."

The fact that her son-in-law didn't blink at Héctor's presence, but gave Imelda a brief look of guilt… That told her that she was wrong before. The entire household was in on the plan. Literally everyone knew about Héctor coming down for dinner except her and they helped arrange it.

Traitors.

But at least Héctor didn't seem eager to take advantage of the situation. The charming músico who never missed the chance to win her approval in their younger days seemed to be missing as everyone settled in and began the meal. Maybe it was the general tiredness, but Héctor seemed mostly content to listen to the conversation. He ate the food on his plate, keeping his movements careful and slow even as he clearly enjoyed it. And whenever her brothers or Rosita tried coaxing a remark from him, Héctor seemed hesitant. As if he wasn't certain how they would react to what he might say and needed to keep an eye on his words.

There was no denying the awkwardness around the table. And it wasn't just him, the foreign timidness and hesitancy keeping him quieter than she remembered Héctor being. The conversation lacked the normal ebb and flow. It was stilted and trailed off occasionally. Imelda needed a moment to realize what was wrong.

Everyone was struggling for safe conversation topics. Perhaps they could broach more sensitive discussions alone, but the family was gathered together and everyone could hear. But what were they supposed to say?

The decades that they spent apart, the music ban, and the banishment of even his name from the household was not something appropriate for a light-hearted family meal. Comments about the latest news would inevitably lead to Ernesto de la Cruz. Any remarks about friends would be met with confusion; Héctor didn't know their neighbors and the family didn't know any of the people that he'd spent his afterlife among. It would only serve to highlight their long separation. They would have the same problem if they talked about their living relatives, people that Héctor was denied the chance to ever know.

There was no safe topic that didn't remind everyone of how long he'd been gone from their family. And thus… they were stuck with the most awkward family dinner possible. Which was only more awkward because Imelda was doing her best not to stare at his vibrant facial markings, polished bones, and soft hair.

Sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere and apparently deciding to do something about it, Oscar said, "You know, we shouldn't have been surprised that Miguel, of all people, would manage to curse himself."

"He always seemed to find trouble," continued Felipe, clearly following his train of thought. "Remember that year that everyone spent half the night talking about how the toddler wandered off and they took forever to find him?"

Smiling at the memory, Julio said, "Knowing what we do now, they should have checked the plaza immediately."

Imelda watched various family members begin to relax, their posture easing. Her brothers managed to find something that everyone could talk about and enjoy. Miguel was a safe topic. Relatively speaking. She could feel herself relaxing as well. Maybe this dinner wouldn't be too bad.

"Apparently he's pulled to music just as much as he is trouble," said Oscar. "Kind of like you, Héctor. Remember that time you tried to 'serenade' our sister outside her window that night?"

Never mind. She was going to strangle her siblings. They were still plotting. Because while Héctor had played for her countless times over the years, she knew exactly which time they were referencing. And it wasn't going to work. Not even slightly. She refused to react, no matter how many curious looks they were getting from the younger generations.

And she wasn't the only one who remembered what Oscar was talking about. Despite his tiredness, his previous nervousness, and everything else, Héctor couldn't seem to resist the urge to chuckle. It was quiet and restrained, just like all his movements so far, but he was certainly laughing at the memory.

She couldn't blame him. Imelda was barely fighting back a smile herself. She remembered that night quite vividly.

"Of course, it might have gone better if his first attempt didn't involve playing outside our window," Felipe continued casually. "The song was lovely, but a couple of young boys who should have been asleep probably wasn't the audience that he had in mind."

Holding up a finger, Héctor said, "In my defense, it was dark. And all those windows looked alike."

"We know. That's why we poked our heads out and told you where to find the right one," said Oscar. "And you still couldn't find her window on your second try."

Héctor slowly dropped his head on the table, making a sound somewhere between a groan and laughter. A few chuckles came from the rest of the family. Rosita tried to stifle them slightly, her hand covering her mouth. Julio pulled his hat down to hide his amused expression. Even Victoria raised an eyebrow at the antics. The twins didn't even try to muffle their laughter.

She did have to give her brothers credit though. The awkwardness was melting away.

"The second window, second floor, on the east side of the building. How hard is that to remember?" Felipe asked between chuckles.

"It was dark. I got turned around," said Héctor, his voice muffled by the table and his shoulders shaking slightly.

"So turned around that you managed to give your heartfelt performance to my parents instead?" Imelda asked, unable to suppress a smile any longer.

That startled full-blown laughter from most of the family. It was just too much to resist. Even Imelda chuckled at the memory of that distant night. Héctor raised his head, his eyes bright and his expression more relaxed.

More like she remembered.

"I don't think they appreciated the song," said Héctor.

"And what gave you that idea?" Imelda asked. "The late hour? The fact you woke up the entire household from a sound sleep?"

Ducking his head even as he grinned and peered up at her, he said, "It was more the way that your papá ran out, threatening to make a belt out of my hide and feed the rest of me to the coyotes."

Everyone around the table either laughed, snorted, or grimaced in sympathy at his words. Julio buried his face in his hands while Oscar and Felipe nearly fell out of their chairs. Héctor seemed to brighten in response, some of his tiredness pushed aside.

"I had to run for my life, scrambling back over the wall and fleeing into the night before he could wrap his hands around my neck," continued Héctor. "I nearly lost my guitar in the process." He shook his head slowly. "All that effort and not a hint of appreciation."

"I shouted for you to run," she reminded. "Helping you keep your head attached was my way of showing you appreciation. As was me not smacking you for being an idiota."

Héctor laughed quietly and even Imelda chuckled slightly, something that startled her almost as much as it did the rest of her family. The memory of that amusing night, being surrounded by those that she cared about, and seeing Héctor look that handsome all conspired together to remind her of those simpler days of her youth. For a moment, Imelda felt light-hearted, young, happy, and in love. Part of her wanted to get up from the table and move to his side, laughing over past misadventures and basking in the warmth of each other. She could almost see how he used to look during life as she stared at his smile, her mind restoring his skin to his features. She wanted to be a young woman, completely in love with the músico who drove her un poco loco. The impulse gripped her tight, all the way down to her marrow.

But she resisted, staying in her seat and quieting her chuckles. She wasn't a young woman, impulsive and burning with passion. Not anymore. Imelda was an old woman, one who gained wisdom with age, who was practical, who was sensible, who was responsible, and who couldn't go back to who she used to be. As wonderful as it was to remember those days and how happy those memories felt, she knew better. Imelda wasn't that person any longer. And no matter how his handsome face and smile seemed to reflect those days, Héctor wasn't the same young man who walked out the door.

She couldn't go back to how things used to be. They couldn't go back. It would only cause them both pain. She needed to remain strong and keep her distance. It would be better for everyone. Trying to recapture those happy memories and relive them anew would only lead to failure and heartbreak.

But, watching his laughter slow and grow quiet, Imelda desperately wished that she could. Staring at her husband, both far too young and greatly aged by his rough afterlife, she couldn't help loving Héctor and wanting to rekindle their relationship. She wanted what they used to have.

It didn't matter what she wanted, though. This was what was best for everyone. Including Héctor.

So Imelda settled back in her chair and just listened to her family. The conversation continued, ebbing and flowing as different members shared various stories. Light-hearted and amusing things, carefully chosen not to lead to more uncomfortable topics. She watched for a while, her gaze always returning to Héctor eventually.

As the meal began to wind down, she wasn't surprised when his eyes grew heavy and his words slowed. He took fewer and fewer bites of the food that Rosita kept piling on his plate. And none of them were surprised when he managed to doze off in his chair.

"I guess that we wore him out," said Oscar.

"Though it really wasn't that hard," Felipe added. "He's doing better, but he still needs his rest."

Nodding slowly as she stood up from the table, Imelda said quietly, "Make sure he makes it back up to bed all right."

"Of course," said Oscar.

Mirroring each other's movements, the twins took up position on either side of Héctor. They nudged him enough to produce a quiet groan of protest and Héctor let them pull him groggily upright. His eyes still closed, the pair pulled him along as his bare feet nearly dragged across the floor. His movements reminded her of a sleepwalker, which didn't seem to be far from the truth.

"This way, Héctor," Felipe murmured. "Back to bed."

"Not a bad birthday, right?" said Oscar just as quietly. "We'll start working on something to get you more mobile tomorrow."

After everything that happened yesterday, Héctor ended up sleeping deeply. He wasn't even certain how long it took for him to wake up. His strength was taking a frustratingly long time to return from his brush with the Final Death and he'd ended up pushing himself too far. Wandering the house with the twins, the warm bath, and the family dinner burned through his minimal endurance.

But as exhausting and overwhelming as it was, Héctor enjoyed the entire evening. At least as much as he remembered before dozing off.

Prying open his eyes blearily, he noticed the morning light streaming in. That meant that he must have slept through the night. No one else was in the room, which wasn't too surprising. They were probably working. They couldn't stay with him all the time. Especially when he slept so much.

As he considered the idea of resting a little longer, his eyes drifted towards the chair. He expected it to be empty. But it wasn't and that caught his attention.

Slowly and carefully, Héctor sat up in bed. Then he reached over and pulled the clean pile of clothes, his hat, and the folded piece of paper onto his lap. Curious, he unfolded the note and began to read.

- Héctor,

I was not certain if you have a particular fondness for them, but I mended your clothes as well as I could. I could not do much for your hat, but sewing is within my abilities and the rest should be good condition now. But if you prefer, we could always find you some new clothes instead.

It was unsigned, but Héctor knew it wasn't Imelda's work. Even after so long, he would know his wife's handwriting. The neat, practical, and simple letters might have a similar style, but they were different enough that he was certain that she didn't write the note.

But someone wrote it. Someone in the family wrote the note and apparently mended his clothes. Héctor unfolded them, noticing the tiny and neat stitches and the new fabric patching the damaged sections. It wasn't exactly Ceci's work, which was understandable since that woman was an artist when it came to a needle and thread. But someone took the time to clean and repair his unraveling old clothes, finding cloth that closely matched and making those fraying rags look decent again. Someone took the time… for him.

Héctor smiled, his thumb tracing along the stitches on the new section of pant leg. Whoever was responsible did a great job. It was also a kind and welcoming gesture, one that they didn't have to do. One that warmed him nearly as much as the bath, the pan de muertos, the family dinner, and a dozen other small moments that he'd experienced since waking up in Imelda's home.

Why would he want any other clothes than the ones mended by his family, a family that he could finally be a part of again?

He didn't deserve this. He left. He left his wife and child alone. He hurt them. He didn't deserve all of this. It was too good. It was too perfect. He was going to ruin it. He was going to do something and they would hate him again.

He shoved those thoughts away. He needed to be positive.

He glanced down at the ill-fitting pajamas that the twins must have wrestled him into the night before, though he'd been too groggy to really notice at the time. If he had to guess, Héctor figured they belonged to Oscar. He thought he saw a tiny "O" stitched into the cuff of the sleeve, barely noticeable.

He should give them back. Once he stopped feeling completely run down all the time, he would change into his own clothes and return the pajamas.

It would be nice to wear his own clothes again. It would feel like progress. After everything, progress was nice.

His recovery was progressing even when his situation with Imelda remained ambiguous. For a moment, when they were both laughing over the past, he felt that same flicker of hope that he did when Imelda called him the love of her life. When she sang on stage. When she threw herself into his arms. Héctor felt that hope. But then the distance opened up between them once again, a gapping maw that was as uncrossable as the marigold bridge.

Maybe he pushed too hard. Héctor didn't know how though. He didn't know what he said or did that would count as too much. But maybe he pushed too much and made things worse. Maybe he crushed even that small chance.

But Héctor hadn't given up completely. Not yet. Imelda's fiery determination might be impressive, but he could be stubborn too.

And even if that tiny chance remained out of reach, Héctor would be fine. Imelda didn't hate him. He was getting to know his family. He was no longer being forgotten.

No matter how limited it might be, how conditional it could turn out to be, or how it might end up in the end, Héctor felt wanted. He would accept even the smallest fragments of affection and belonging. Even if it might be snatched away again without warning, he would enjoy it while he could. And whatever Imelda wanted or asked of him, Héctor would accept it.

It was more than he could have hoped for. It was more than he deserved. After decades, his family wanted him at least a little. His carefully-mended clothes were solid and tangible proof of that. He wouldn't ask for anything more.

A "grace note" is an extra note added as an embellishment and not essential to the harmony or melody. It is something that adds a little style and makes the song seem more impressive. It is essentially a decorative touch to a section of music. Like the song is already amazing and wonderful, but adding some grace notes to the section just accentuates that fact.

You know, like how cleaning up a skeleton and putting him in some different clothes accentuates the fact that Imelda still thinks her husband is attractive.