Imelda didn't want to think about it. There was too much to do and she didn't need the distraction. She was the first one to cross over to the other side. She needed to get everything ready for when the rest of her family died. The Department of Reestablishment helped her find a place to set up shop again. She tried her best to make her home look exactly like the one she built in Santa Cecelia. A few things were off about it. For one thing, Santa Cecelia had a warm color pallet of soft yellows and oranges while the Land of the Dead was splashed with color everywhere. Another was the vertical build of everything. She'd grown used the little piece of the world she carved out for her family and wasn't interested in having upstairs or downstairs neighbors. In the end, she settled for a couple bottom levels of a building. The ground floor was the workshop while the upper 2 levels was their living area. There were a few perks to being on the bottom floor. For one thing, it made it easy for customers to visit. For another, she didn't have the uneasy feeling that her business might one day topple over. Her favorite part, however, was the courtyard.

In life, she loved her courtyard. It was the place where her family gathered to relax after a hard day's work in the shop. She had fond memories of family meals with her daughter and granddaughters. She and her brothers would sit out at night and have drink after the children went to bed. Sometimes, she'd just quietly pet her cat, Pepita, and watch the stars. She hoped that one day, after her family members lived their lives and crossed over, they could do it all again. Although, she doubted Pepita, now a massive jaguar alebrije, could still curl up in her lap.

It took her a few weeks to set up her workshop again. It was thankfully a peaceful few weeks all things considered. Sure, she had to deal with gathering supplies, putting machines together, and getting the word out to her old customers that she was back, but she did so without anyone to bother her. She was worried a certain husband of hers might rear his stupid, grinning head again. She thought she scared him off in the Center for New Arrivals, but she couldn't be sure. He never was one to be intimidated. She remembered how unafraid he was when he first approached her. He was nervous, he later told her, in the way a schoolboy was when talking to a pretty girl, but not intimidated. So many other men were threatened by her independence, but not him. He smiled and joked about the macho act his peers put on. He went so far as to perform an exaggerated impression of her other suitors, deepening his voice and flexing his barely-there muscles. To her surprise, he made her laugh.

No, he certainly wasn't afraid of her. He never was. But then, why did he leave? Was it simply because she asked?

This thought didn't have time to warm her, however. The day before she was to open her shop, he turned up again. She was in the middle of putting up the sign for her zapateria. Her ladder wobbled as she struggled to align the sign with the hooks in the wall. Just when she thought she might fall, she felt someone below hold the ladder steady. She breathed a sigh of relief, put up her sign, and began her climb down. "Gracias señor."

"No es problema. Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

She froze mid-descent. That voice. He was at the bottom of the ladder.

She jumped the rest of the way down and turned to glare at him. He simply grinned and held a bouquet of five vivid purple morning glories. He remembered her favorite, that bastard.

"I wanted to congratulate you on opening your shop," Hector said, offering her the flowers.

She pushed the bouquet back into his chest. "Don't touch my ladder," she huffed, shoving past him.

"I can't tell you how proud I was when I heard you opened your own shop," he said, following her. "I was so worried what you'd do once I was no longer around to provide for you and Coco, but I always knew you were a power source unto yourself."

She cast a glare over her shoulder. I wouldn't have needed to if I didn't have such a worthless husband.

"And for the time," he continued unimpeded. "I hear women these days can vote and got to college and all sorts of things. It's about damn time too, if you ask me. But when I was alive? I heard how successful you were and I thought, 'Dios mio, my wife is a queen, a diosa, of course she can do anything she wants.'"

She felt the fury burning in her stomach. The nerve of that man. So that's why he returned after all these years. She was successful, so he came back to leech off of her. "Is that what this about?" she snapped.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard your poor wife has money now, so you come crawling back. Is that it?"

His mouth fell open. "I…no that's not what this at all," he stammered out. She rolled her eyes and stormed back into the house. He followed after her. "I'm simply happy for you. I married an amazing woman and I'm proud of you."

"Not amazing enough for you when we were alive, though, right?" she slammed the door before he could get in.

"Please, just let me explain," he begged, appearing at her window.

"Ernesto explained." She slammed the shutters in his face.

"Ernesto lied," he shouted from the other side. "I don't know what he told you, but he lied."

Oh this was rich. She flung open the shutters again and looked his dead in the eyes. "If you don't know what he told me, how do you know he lied?"

"Because he lied to me," he answered. "He lied about a great many things." Imelda rolled her eyes and began closing the shutters, but he stuck his hand between them "Please just talk to me," he begged, trying to hold one shutter open. "Did you even know I was dead?"

Imelda paused and he froze. The true answer was no, and in that moment they both knew it. The realization washed over them and their expressions shifted simultaneously. Imelda hated it. She experienced this before, this temporary melding of minds. It reminded her of a time when she and Hector worked as a well-oiled machine, going through their day, parenting Coco, and then of course, the music… It brought her comfort, once. She took it as proof she and Hector were perfectly matched. Now, it served as a painful reminder of what they once had, of what could have been.

Determined to shut out this feeling, she gathered the strength to pull the shutter from his grasp and slam it closed.

"You didn't know I was dead," he muttered from the other side of the window. "That's it, isn't it? That's why you never put my photo up… Ernesto must have…" A frantic knock sounded on the shutters. "What did he tell you? I need to know!"

"Why don't you go back to your other girls, you cul-"

"Other girls? What other girls?" he called back. "Imelda, there's only you! You really thought…" Pleading mixed with anger in his voice. "Dios mio, don't you know me at all?!"

She had enough of this. Boot in hand, she opened the door. Before he could react, she launched the boot at his head. It collided with his face and knocked him on his back. "Go away! I mean it, Hector! I don't want you here!"

He lifted his head and she caught the wounded look in his eyes. She closed the door again before she let it soften her. It went quiet for a few minutes and she thought he left. But then, she heard a rattling sigh at the shutters. "Things must look bad to you, I know," he said. "I never meant you any trouble. I'll go."

She listened as his footsteps disappeared into the distance. Once she thought he was gone, she opened the shutters to make sure. She couldn't see him anywhere, but she did find two things left on her window sill, the morning glories and her boot.

[-]

The twins followed her a few years later, together on the same day. She marched into the Department of Family Reunions prepared to scold them about how she knew their experiments would get them killed one day. It turned out her lecture was unwarranted. They simply caught pneumonia at the same time and died only a few hours apart from each other. Her temper calmed by the still-boyish look of her little brothers, she gathered them in her arms, happy to have her family again.

The Land of the Dead absolutely fascinated them. The technology was unlike anything they had in the Land of the Living. They spent their free time exploring every inch of their new home. One day, they come home from one of their excursions abuzz with news for Imelda.

They talked over each other, both wanting to be the first one to tell her what they saw. She waved her hands and said, "Alright, alright, one at a time."

"Well, we were in the Plaza today…" Oscar began.

"Trying to examine how the vertical trollies worked," Filipe finished.

"And we ran into someone."

"Someone you know."

"Someone you used to like."

"A lot."

"Who?" Imelda asked, wishing one of them would just spit it out.

The twins glanced at each other, suddenly nervous.

"Well, you see…"

"It was…"

"Hec…"

"…tor."

"What?!" she shouted, causing them both to cower in their rib cages. "You dare bring his name into this house?! Tell me you didn't speak to him."

Oscar was the first to poke his head back out. "Not, intentionally…"

"We fully intended to completely ignore his existence," Filipe added.

"Si, but, then he ran up to us."

"He asked about you."

"Wanted to know if you were doing well."

"And what did you say?" Imelda growled.

"Not much." Filipe threw his hands up, defensively.

"Said you were doing perfectly fine."

"Then we got away."

"As fast as we could."

"Without looking rude."

The twins glanced at each other nervously and Imelda could tell there was more to the story. "What else?" she said, rolling her wrist to signal them to go on.

Oscar was the first to speak up. "It's just, we were talking on our way back."

"And we agreed that he looked very young."

"So young."

"Too young."

"Like, too-young-to-have-slept-his-way-through-half-of-Mexico young."

"Wouldn't have had the time."

"So we were thinking."

"And this is just a hypothesis."

"That maybe…"

"…when he didn't come back…"

"It wasn't…"

"…entirely…"

"…his…"

"…fault?"

The brothers reached for each other, awaiting the inevitable explosion.

It turned out to be a slow burn. "You two think it's wise to come into my house and try to make excuses for him?" she growled.

"No, no, no, no, no!" the twins burst out in a panic.

"It's just, we fancy ourselves scientists," Filipe explained.

"We like to examine all the evidence," Oscar added.

"And when we were presented with this new piece of evidence…"

"…it put a different spin on the situation."

"I'll spin you across the floor if you bring him up again!" Imelda shouted, sending her brothers back cowering in their rib cages. "What is so difficult to understand? We do not speak of that man! We do not speak to that man! If I hear you talked to him ever again, you'll find a new place for your experiments! Do I make myself clear?"

"Of course, Imelda."

"Of course."

"We'll never speak to him again."

"Never."

"And if he tries to talk to us again…"

"…we'll spit in his face."

"Or do something equally as rude…"

"…depending on whether or not we can spit here."

The twins got distracted by arguing about what constitutes spitting for a skeleton. Imelda sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright, I forgive you. But do not mention that man in my house again. As far as we're concerned, he does not exist."

"Of course, sister."

"Yes, sister."

With that, the brothers went off, discussing possible experiments to test the degree to which skeletons could spit. Imelda was left in the kitchen, clenching and unclenching her fists. The nerve of that man. How dare he speak to her family? If he weren't more than dead to her, she'd hunt him down and make his skull spin. She spent decades building a life for her family which did not include him. If he thought he could waltz back in after all these years…

Coco will cross over someday. The thought struck her like a boot to the face. Though she hoped it wouldn't be for a very long time, she looked forward to the day she could see her daughter again. But, she never had the hold on Coco that she had on the rest of the family. Coco was rebellious and did as she liked…and though she tried to hide it, she never let go of her father. She'll want to see him, and I can't stop her.

[-]

Years passed with Hector cycling in and out of her life. Sometimes she'd go years without seeing anything of him except maybe a quick glimpse at the market or the trolley station. Some days, usually on her birthday or wedding anniversary, she'd find a purple morning glory left on a window sill. If he was feeling bold, he might leave a note. Once, early on in her afterlife, he tried going to the shop under the pretense of needing a shoe repair. Pepita chased him away before he got much of a word in.

As the years went on, his attempts became less instant and more hopeless. He stopped leaving her flowers for their anniversary and only every few years on her birthday. If he left a note, it was short and simple, to the effect of "I'll always love you, even if you no longer love me." She might falter for a second, let herself doubt her anger, but she'd quickly steel herself against it. He made that choice all those years ago. She held onto her anger this long, it was her right. If he wanted her love, he wouldn't have abandoned her.

But one day, he did something that made her heart melt for him, if only for a moment. It reminded her who she fell in love with all those years ago. If it was all an act for her, it might have made her angrier, but the truth was, he didn't even know she'd seen.

She was out running errands one day and had to cut through the plaza. It was particularly busy, she noted, as she picked her way through the crowd. She was lost in her own thoughts, thinking about orders that needed finishing or supplies that needed refilled, when she heard a painfully familiar voice. She tensed up, preparing to scare him off, when she realized the voice was not directed at her.

She peered through the crowd and spotted Hector kneeling down and speaking softly to a crying little girl.

"It'll be alright, niña," he said, offering her a handkerchief. "We'll find your family. What is your name?"

"Adelita," the girl answered, rubbing her eyes.

"Oh, such a lovely name," he cooed. "Who are you here with?"

The girl sobbed harder into the handkerchief. "I want my mamá."

"Okay, we'll find her."

"We can't," the little girl shrieked, stomping her foot. "She's still on the other side."

"Oh, oh I see…" A shadow passed over his face. He took a second to collect himself, then recovered. "Who did you come to the market with?"

"Abuelo," the girl answered through sniffs.

"Is he a nice abuelo?"

"Mmmhmm," she murmured, peaking her face out from behind her hands. "He tells me funny stories."

He gave her a gentle smile. "Sounds like a fun person to hang out with while you wait for your mamá, sí?"

"Sí."

"And you'll get to see your mama again soon. Dia de los Muertos is only a few months away," he added, his voice becoming more animated. "That wait feels like nothing here." The girl looked up, intrigued. He smiled and went on. "You know, I have a daughter just like you, and I go to see her every year. You can go to see your mama too."

That was a lie. Imelda knew it was a lie. Now that she was dead herself, she knew for a fact he couldn't cross over. She tore his face out of their photo decades ago. He couldn't cross without it. She crossed the bridge every year to visit her family and he was never there. How dare he tell a blatant lie to child?

But then, she saw the look of hope on the child's face and wondered if it was such a bad lie. Surely the girl's living parents would put her photo on the ofrenda. What harm could come from it?

"My daughter, do you know what I call her?" Hector went on to the now-smiling child. "I call her mi vida. That's funny, right?"

The girl beamed and said, "My papá called me princesa."

Hector let out an exaggerated gasp. "Oh I'm so sorry, Princesa Adelita. I had no idea I was speaking to royalty." He bowed low and the girl dissolved into giggles. He grinned and popped up to his feet. "Come on, Princesa. What is your abuelo's name?"

"Arturo."

"Okay, you can sit up here and be the look out," he said, picking her up and placing her on his shoulders. "Let me know when you spot him." He ran off into the crowd, the little girl squealing with laughter and both of them calling for Abuelito Arturo.

Imelda watched him disappear. Some jaded part of her mind wondered if he just put on a show for her, but she knew that wasn't true. He had no idea she was watching. He never even glanced her way. Besides, this was nothing new for him. She couldn't count the number of times they paused a date to help a lost child in the market or plaza find their family.

She no longer had a heart in her chest, but that didn't stop it from melting. She tried to steel herself against it. This changed nothing. He still abandoned his family. That fact was set in stone. But watching him with that little girl moved something in her. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of the man she married.