Elena, as a small child, was much quicker than her parents. That and the closer Coco and Julio got to the inevitable conclusion of where she was heading, they slowed their steps collectively since it wouldn't help and would in fact make matters worse if, they went barreling into the front room like errant teens on top of what their daughter had to tell!
"I said sorry, right?", Julio asked yet again.
"Yes", Coco sighed, but not at him, "and it's not your fault, it's...oh it's all of mine! How many times does she have to tell me...".
Julio frowned, and felt a tinge. He wanted, for all the world, to reassure that his wife's own dreams were not silly, and shouldn't be smothered, but...this had been an issue before he came along, and even Coco had admitted to why. Her unshakable faith could be seen as childish naivete, but...it helped keep Julio from being too hard on Hector himself and having the story just from his mother-in-law.
When the two reached the main room, where a break was being had amidst the work in the shop, and something Coco herself should have been savoring, chatting with her mother and sister-in-law (who were shown to be in the room with Elena now), the cat instantly blocked their way as if helping the girl. Coco sighed at it and shooed it aside. Julio pressed against the opposite door frame a bit as he entered; he was more than a bit afraid of the constant Rivera companion.
"Mama...I", Coco saw the dance shoe in her mother's hand as she entered, and knew all was up. She broke off whatever else was coming. Imelda regarded her and then the shoe again. Her expression was unreadable and that was not a good thing. Behind her, Rosita looked a mix of concerned and sympathetic. The lecture after whistling last week might have had something to do with it, but she was also just very caring and very caring of her sister-in-law; and nieces.
"Elena says these were in a back store room. I was just explaining again that we do not make such shoes", Imelda said matter-of-factly. Not assuming or criticizing, but laying her rule firm as ever. She had never confiscated the shoes, just made it clear Coco wasn't to dance in them. Them or the slippers in her hideout...no one must know of those then.
Coco flinched inwardly at the thought of secrets from her family, of...causing more hurt on top of...
"Mija...", Imelda's voice drew Coco back to the present, "I was just saying maybe it would be best you went by the donation bin on your way...".
"No!", it wasn't said harshly, more panic-stricken, and fished out what Imelda might have been casting for. Though she probably just did want the shoes that kept showing up too much out of her sight and mind. She retracted, and frowned suspiciously.
"Perdón...?".
Coco saw Rosita tense behind Imelda, could feel Elena shifting her gaze. In front of either of them, but mostly Elena, was not the time for this. She glanced down, and regrouped her thoughts. "I...was just thinking...maybe...", she met her mother's gaze, saw the hard warning there. The fear though only someone without that emotion would ever call out such to Imelda Rivera. Coco tried a small smile, "They're...a part of...my childhood too...j-just as a...reminder of the good with...".
"There is nothing good in such...frivolous waste of...no", Imelda was her own firm, though the words came off calmer, and handed the shoes out, with a disdain as if they represented Hector himself. They did after all...
"Take them to the bin, mañana", Imelda went on. Coco bit her lip.
"Coco", Imelda awaited obedience and proof of her daughter's agreeing as she still held the shoes out. Coco searched her mother's face, looking torn. Of course she understood! Yet at the same time...no...she did not! Her mother was denying a lot of things and it wasn't good for any of them maybe.
"Mama...", maybe Imelda caught some of what her daughter was about to say in her look, because she stalled the question written there by turning instead to her son-in-law who already was wishing to disappear
"Julio. The bin". She plopped them, and a very very hard position, into his hands. Rosita's further sympathetic look showed it.
"M-Mama Imelda...", Julio tried to explain, to deny this responsiblility, but Imelda just strode from the room.