Chapter 38: Birthday Eve

"Hola, Coco." Miguel said happily, leaning in to give his sister a kiss on the cheek.

Coco smiled as she tilted her head to accept it. "How are you, Miguel?"

"Good, now that school is out."

"Are you excited about your birthday tomorrow?"

"No."

With a small sigh Coco shook her head and pointed a thumb to the back of the house. "Well go on to your little club meeting then. I'll ring Papá and tell him you're over here. You know how he worries."

Miguel rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me."

"Don't forget the Cokes!"

"Gracias, Coco!" Miguel grabbed two ice cold bottles out of the refrigerator and raced to Victoria's bedroom upstairs, taking two steps at a time.

Over the years Coco's house had become a sort of safe haven for Miguel to spend his free time. Yes, he had friends at school that he could hang out with, but nothing compared to how stress-free, homey and normal Coco's house was. A spacious yet modest colonial style home built near the town's border, it was the perfect place where Miguel could relax and actually be himself with no fear of his love of music being discovered by his parents.

Never really understanding his father's unwavering stand on having no music listened to or played in his vicinity, Miguel was forced to keep his passions to himself until his older sister took pity on him and let him listen to dozens of records from her own private collection. He was also joined by his niece Victoria, and their shared secret hobby had led them to becoming each other's best friend.

His smile faded as he reached the door when he saw another little girl standing in a huff in front of it, her face blotchy from having been crying, and she threw him a hard glare. With a stomp of her foot, she pointed at the door. "Tío, make her open up!"

"You're not coming in here, Elena!" Victoria's angry voice called out from the other side. "Get out of the way so Miguel can get through!"

Elena whined and hopped up and down. "Why does he get to come in and not me?!"

"Because he didn't feed my tutu to your stupid goat!"

"Diego is not stupid! And I didn't feed it to him, you just left it out!" Hands on her hips, she smiled smugly. "Besides you deserve it. If Abuelito knew that you were dancing he'd be mad at you. Maybe even hate you!"

Not liking how that line in particular made him feel, as well as not wanting to waste anymore time, Miguel held one of the Cokes out to Elena. "Here Elenita. Have a Coke."

As her eyes settled on the bottle, Elena gasped in delight and reached for it. "Gracias tío!" Tilting it back and taking three large, refreshing gulps, she sighed in satisfaction. "Ahh, delicio-"

*SLAM!*

"HEY!"

Locking the door behind him as Miguel managed to zip inside, Victoria laughed and leaned against it while Elena kicked and yelled from the other side. She was already clad in her leotard and pointe shoes, but sans tutu of course. She nodded approvingly at Miguel. "Very clever Miguel. I'm impressed."

Miguel chuckled and set the remaining bottle down. "Not that clever. Now we have to share one."

"I know what you're doing in there!" Elena screamed at them. "You're dancing and playing music! Abuelito hates music! I'm gonna tell on you!"

"That's only when Abuelito's around, estupida! Mamá says we can do whatever we want with music as long as he's not here, so you're not allowed to tell!" Victoria crossed her arms and smiled smugly. "You're just jealous because your legs are too short and fat to even walk, let alone try to dance."

There was a moment of silence, before the sound of quick footfalls flying down the hallway and the piercing cry of "Mamá!" echoing off the walls let them know that they were finally alone. For now.

Miguel pulled his guitar out from underneath Victoria's wardrobe, smiling reverently and brushing his fingers lightly against the crudely drawn skull on the stock. It was an old thing, the wood worn and splintering slightly along the edges despite how much gold paint he had slathered all over it. Limited artistic abilities aside he was quite pleased with how much he made it to look like Ernesto de la Cruz's famous golden guitar. He just needed to get a Sharpie or something to draw in the final details. It wasn't the best guitar in the world, but he was too scared to buy a brand new one. The fear of Papá somehow finding out kept him from doing so.

It could be worse though. It could have been a guitar made from scraps, screws and nails.

"So what do you want me to play?" Miguel asked as he tuned the strings to perfection. "Lago de los Cisnes again? Ooh, or maybe El Cascanueces because it's almost the holidays. I've been working on the Russian dance if you're up to the challenge."

There was a time where Miguel wasn't exactly fond of playing classical ballet songs for Victoria to dance to, considering it boring and her dancing to be prissy and goofy. That was until Victoria angrily challenged him to try it himself. He arrogantly agreed, and his one attempt to stand en pointe resulted in a dislocated big toe and a nail split down the middle. He had to lie to his parents about it too, saying that a horse had stepped on his foot. Now he treated Victoria's dancing with the awe and pride that it deserved. And the songs were good practice for his plucking anyway.

"Not yet Miguel. First… I have to give you these." Victoria placed a box in front of him, a small yet pleased smile on her face. "Feliz cumpleaños, Tío."

With a roll of his eyes, Miguel took the lid off the box. "C'mon, Victoria. Why couldn't you just wait to give it to me to-… morrow?..."

"Because Abuelito would throw a fit if I gave it to you in front of him."

"Leather wrist bands!" Miguel cheered happily, throwing the box to the side and slipping the brown leather over his hands. "Just like the ones Tío Nesto used to wear! They actually look like the ones he wore in El Camino a Casa!"

Victoria nodded proudly. "Yep! I worked really hard on them to make it look exact."

Miguel looked up at her in wonder as he finished fastening the buttons tight. "You made these?"

"Uh huh. I used leftover leather from the old workshop after the museum tour guide finished the shoe demonstration. I'm very good at weaving leather, who would have thought?"

The old workshop, along with the entire Rivera household, had finally run its course. After years of hemming and hawing Héctor had finally conceded that it was time to move into a bigger, safer house for his growing family. Not as flashy as any of Ernesto's mansions, it was still an enormous complex with enough bedrooms for all the guests that were coming to Miguel's birthday celebration. With high security walls, a lush garden full of both lovely flowers and fresh vegetables, and a five-car garage with the latest models inside, it was a house that truly showed off the Rivera's wealth.

The old house had been turned into the Rivera Shoe museum, showcasing it as the origin of Imelda's business as well as a small monument to the history of the family. There were demonstrations on basic shoe repair with workshops on cutting and sewing leather for tourists to enjoy, a gift shop to buy Rivera souvenirs as well as the usual fittings for their own custom-made shoes that they could order.

That was only during the weekdays. On the weekends it was closed to everyone but the family, and it was also where they would be having Miguel's birthday party and where the ofrenda would be set up: So Leti could visit her real home.

But over the years the actual holiday came second to Miguel's birthday. His father put all his time and energy into giving his youngest the best birthday a child could ask for: Mountains of food, games, presents and all his friends at school would come over and have the time of their lives.

Miguel had loved it.

At first.

But as he grew older his father's exuberance over his birthday became more and more embarrassing. It was his main focus on all the days leading up to it, and on the day of the party he became unbearably chipper and happy. Never mind the fact that Miguel would soon be turning twelve years old. Papá always acted like he was celebrating a five year old's birthday. And despite the pleas from his friends parents Papá insisted that he celebrate his birthday on the day of, refusing to move it to another day so the families could also celebrate Dia de Muertos. Also since every party had no music for entertainment they became increasingly boring for all who came.

So eventually his friends stopped coming to his birthday parties, and it just became a family get together. Miguel would have rather just not celebrate at all, but Papá wouldn't let him. He insisted that Miguel celebrate his birthday, but the boy knew by now that it wasn't for his sake.

Papá needed to celebrate his birthday. To have something joyous to focus on, so as not to think about the daughter he had tragically lost, nor the day that his best friend and brother had been gruesomely ripped away from him. His birthday was a blessing to his father: the one good thing about Dia de Muertos.

And so Miguel endured it. But as he flexed his wrists and admired the exquisite craftsmanship of his sobrina, it made it feel like it would be easier to do so this year.

"Gracias, Victoria. They're great! I feel just like Tío Nesto now!"

"De nada, Miguel." Victoria smiled warmly. "And yes, I would like to try the Russian Dance. Your tempo has been poor lately, I'd hate to see if those wrist bands somehow make it worse."

"Ha! Yeah right, just try to keep up!" Miguel laughed, and broke out with a loud flourish of his guitar.

"Well I hope you enjoyed your little nap, Héctor." Vicente grumbled as he and his supposed boss walked down the streets of Santa Cecilia, both munching on street food. "It's not like quarterly report meetings are that important to your financial wellbeing as well as the thousands of people who work under you. And the board was even willing to come all the way to Santa Cecilia just so it wouldn't upset your holiday plans."

Héctor waved him off. "Ah, Chente, I'm just a figurehead for the company. You're the one who should care about these things, not me. I'm like the uh… I'm the King George to your Neville Chamberlain!"

"It's Churchill now."

"Whatever. The point is you take care of the important stuff while I force a grin and wish the shareholders a happy holidays once a year." Héctor grumbled, taking a huge bite of a tortilla filled to the brim with garlic, onions and fried chapulines. "Mmm… Oh yeah, last batch of the season is always the best… Besides I caught some of it. Especially when old man Tapia suggested we shut down some of the soup kitchens. Can you believe it?! That viejo looks like he's never missed a meal in his life! He has no idea what it's like to starve or do a hard day's work for your food. Do you know what my first job was ever?"

"Catching grasshoppers when you were four years old."

"Catching grasshoppers when I was!-… Oh, I told you that one, huh?" Héctor mumbled. "Well no matter. My grandchildren are coming in from America for the celebration tomorrow. They'll appreciate my stories!"

Vicente smiled. "Ah, I haven't gotten to see the newest one yet. It's nice that they get to experience an authentic celebration for Dia de M-"

"Miguel's birthday!" Héctor cut in quickly, his grin stretching a little wider than normal. "Si, it's nice they get to see celebrate their tío's birthday. All kids love parties, right?"

Vicente winced a little, nervously thumbing through the work papers in his hand. "… Right. Still I love this time of year. I remember being so excited to get to stay up all night for the festivals in my hometown when I was little. Helping my Papá decorate the ofrenda, sampling all the dishes my Mamá and my sisters cooked. The stories. I'm sure your grandchildren will love it. It's always exciting to experience it the first time with your family when you're little."

"Wouldn't know." Héctor grumbled around a mouthful of tortilla, his earlier mirth gone. Vicente could tell he was trying to shoot down this conversation flat. "My parents dumped me in the orphanage when I was a baby, and the nuns thought Dia de Muertos was too pagan to celebrate. Didn't really join in on the festivities until I moved out with E-…" Héctor paused, a flicker of pain in his eyes, before he forcefully swallowed down a too dry bite. "Until I had a family of my own."

"Ay, Dios mio, speaking of families! Sorry Héctor I forgot." Flicking through the pages he pulled out a couple of sheets. "I had this under miscellaneous since it had nothing to do with this morning's meeting, but a certain Señor Domingo Cavallero approached me with this last evening while I was in the market."

Héctor stared at the papers and groaned in disgust as he took them. "Domingo Cavallero? What does he want?"

Ever since the late elder Cavallero had brutally lost his position of the town's mayor and the source of his embezzlement was taken from him, the whole family's wealth had been steadily decreasing over the years. So set in their old ways they had kept up their lavish lifestyle until the pooled funds had trickled down into a puddle. What was once a proud and dignified family now lay on the very brink of heading off to the poor house. Héctor remembered quite clearly ever since he was a little boy the way Domingo had sneered in disgust at him every so often when their paths happened to cross. Now the former mayor's son was coming to him?

"It seems that he and his son Ignacio are trying to build a hotel nearby. A family venture, he said, though it's clear it's a desperate attempt to reclaim their past wealth. I'm assuming they've scrounged up whatever money they've got left over to fund it but it's not enough. They are humbly asking for a donation from you to make their dream come true… Or, rather, as humble as they are capable. I spent two minutes with the man and his son, and it was two minutes too many."

"'El Dorado.'" Héctor read the description. "Hmph, very original… 'A glorious extravaganza that combines superb customer service, gourmet meals delivered right to your room, and an astounding décor guaranteed to amaze and excite every guest.'"

"Sí. They've included blueprints and an artist's rendering of the place to further incite you."

Flipping to the next page, Héctor's eyes widened as he looked at the illustrated drawing of what looked like the main lobby: Everything was gold. Gold furniture, gold wallpaper, gold plants. The wet bar, the piano in the lounge. Carpet, drapery, every single item nearly the exact same shade of gold. Not one other color to balance it out, not even a white or a brown. Just gold and gold alone.

"…This is the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

"I've been told Ignacio came up with the theme himself."

"That's not saying much. How much are they asking me to contribute?"

"Oh, roughly seventy five percent."

"Seventy-five?!" Héctor sputtered, folding the sheets in half and flinging them back to Vicente as if holding them anymore would burn his skin. "Why don't I just pay for the whole damn thing myself?! Anyone with half a brain cell can tell that that… thing… wouldn't last even half a year. Well, you can tell them that I am simply not interested in putting my time and effort into a lost cause."

"Wh-?... Oh you've got to be kidding me!"

Héctor looked over to see Vicente with his face in his hand in frustration, and grimaced. "What, you think I should pay money for this basura?"

Vicente looked up. "Huh? Oh, no, I agree. It's an eye sore. I'm sorry Héctor, but something's just come up. I need to go to the cemetery for a minute, I'll meet you at the house for lunch. Adios!"

Héctor blinked, just now noticing that they were in front of the town's cemetery. As he watched Vicente head straight towards Ern-… The biggest mausoleum in the center of it all, he immediately turned heel and walked away as quickly as he could. All he needed to do was wind through some off the path streets, far away from the plaza, and he would be home. It would take longer, but that was okay. All the more time to plan for Miguel's birthday surprise tomorrow. Héctor smiled, he was so excited to see Miguel's face light up when he told him the big news. And he would have to thank Chente afterwards, he gave him the idea after all! He couldn't w-

"Arf!"

"Gyah!"

Looking down Héctor sighed in relief when he just saw Dante, once again, sneak up on him and scare the living daylights out of him. And he wasn't so sure if it was purely unintentional on the dog's part either. "Hola Dante. You're looking… remarkably well these days, especially for a twenty-year-old dog. No arthritis, vision loss, anything?… Sometimes I think you won't die until you take me with you, the way you keep scaring me."

Dante yipped again and gently tugged on Héctor's pants leg, pulling him back towards the road to the plaza, but Héctor shook free of him. "Stop it Dante. If you're going to the plaza you can bother someone else there. Because I'm not going. Now go on."

Ignoring the whine of the dog behind him, Héctor made his way home. He had a party to organize, after all. And a surprise.

Walking up the path towards the mausoleum, glancing around to see if there was no one else within earshot to hear them, Vicente approached the man standing at the front gate glaring inside. Wrapped up in a thick poncho and wrinkled baggy pants, he held a cigar to the side before bringing it in for a thick puff. His wild sandy brown hair, thin patchy facial hair and piercing golden eyes made him look like he was a dirty vagabond no different from the ones lounging out in the street of the slums. No one would ever be able to tell that he was actually the head of the entire art department for Rivera de la Cruz productions with several prestigious awards to his name.

Especially not the way he was pouting childishly at the painting of Ernesto de la Cruz mounted high above his crypt and his shiny golden guitar.

"Javier, what are you doing back here?" Vicente asked tiredly.

"Just looking at the artistic travesty that has the power to make every true artist unfortunate to lay eyes on it retch in disgust." Javier blew out a thick cloud of smoke, sneering all the while. "Look at it. Any child with a broken crayon could have made a better likeness of Señor de la Cruz."

"Javi, how many times must we do this?"

Javier ignored him, continuing bitterly. "The background is such a slash and slop of blurs that it gives true focus on the face. That ugly horrid face that looks nothing like the man himself. Such cold, dead, expressionless eyes. You can feel it sucking your soul out."

"Javi-"

"And that chin cleft. Is it a cleft, or did a psychopath just cut into him with a rusty knife? Might as well have given him a Glasgow grin while we're at it."

"Javi!"

"The person who made this painting should be drawn and quartered in front of the entire artistic community in order to avenge the death of art itself!"

Pinching his nose as he felt the pain of a headache coming, Vicente growled out. "Javier, Javi, mi amor… For the millionth time, and I don't know why I have to keep saying this… YOU painted it!"

"All the more reason why I'm allowed to critique it." Javier smiled widely in a way he knew always made his lover's inside squirm. Seeing him flush slightly Javier drew his attention back to the painting. "I can't believe I used to think that this was my masterpiece. You'd think I was the one on drugs at the time, not the other way around... Heh, though I was tempted to add a few white sprinkles on there. Ha ha!... But seriously this thing is un pedazo de mierda."

Vicente sighed. "Look, if it bothers you so much maybe you can retouch it a little? Or we can put in another painting."

Javier whirled around, eyes blazing fire and cheeks burning red. "And sully the greatest contribution to society I have ever made?! Commissioned by Ernesto de la Cruz himself, Mi obra maestra, mon pièce de résistance?! Are you loco?!"

Vicente stared blankly at him, then turned to leave. "I give up. I'm going to the house for lunch. Stay here and starve or come and eat, I don't care anymore."

"Ooh, comida!" Hopping down the stairs and running up next to Vicente, he flicked the head of his burnt off cigar up into the air, not caring when it landed in an offering dish of one of the graves with a clang. "Gonna get me some carnitaaas~…"

Fighting back a smile, Vicente pretended to glare at him. "You're hopeless."

"I'm hopeless?" Javier chuckled haughtily as he attempted to smooth down his flyaway hair. "No, I'm an artist. I live in the now, paint what's in my heart, love it and then despise it years down the road. It's part of the package deal, you've known that for a long time. No, you are the one that's hopeless."

"Me?"

"Sí, tonto." Javier said. "This hopeless idea of yours: Getting Héctor Rivera to take his little coddled son under his wing and to pursue music with Rivera de la Cruz Productions. The same man who practically hisses like a cat at the mere sound of even a maraca shaken by a baby? Yes, I do think it's hopeless. Childish even. A fool's dream."

"I think it's a good idea!" Vicente said grouchily, shoving Javier slightly to the side. "And Héctor has always known that Miguel is nothing like his brother in terms of interests. So, while Mateo works with his mother and follows in her footsteps, literally in their case, heh… then Miguel will follow in his father's! This will give Miguel an opportunity to branch out on his own and eventually and pursue his musical dreams. Maybe a record producer, or a talent agent. He'll be surrounded by music. I think it will be a nice birthday present for him from his father. And since it was my idea then technically it's my present to the boy."

Javier hummed a little at that, worried. "I don't know… Are you sure you convinced him properly?"

Vicente huffed. "Please, Javi. If I can convince Pedro Infante to record a cover album of the best of de la Cruz at half his normal pay rate, then I can convince Héctor to let Miguel work in the music industry. Trust me, when this all falls into place, you will be bowing down to me in awe and praise."

"Ooh, that would be a nice change of pace, eh? Usually it's the other way around." Javier smiled widely again, enough to wipe Vicente's smirk off his reddened face, and was shoved away again with more force.

"Mija, I'm coming in."

"Is Elena with you?"

"Sí."

"She's not allowed in, Mamá! I've forbidden her!"

"Too bad, I'm overriding you. Come unlock the door. Now."

With a loud, drawn out groan Victoria unlocked the door and opened it for her mother to come in. Julio was also with her, holding onto Elena's tiny hand as the little girl sniffled and glared daggers at her older sister. Victoria stuck her tongue out at her, which Elena paid in kind with a full-blown raspberry. Before a full-blown slap fight could break out Coco flicked both girls on the forehead. "Stop it."

"She fed my tutu to Diego, Mamá!"

"She called me short and fat!"

"No, I said your legs were-"

"I said stop!" Coco said loudly, and when both girls quieted down she stood over them with her arms crossed. "Now, what do I always say when you two fight over silly things like this?"

The two sisters, still glaring at each other, said through gritted teeth "'Be nice to your sister, because she's the only one you've got'."

"That's right." Coco said. "You'll never know how precious she is to you until, somehow, she's gone for good."

Both girls immediately looked at their mother with wide eyes before ducking their heads in shame, while Julio gently took his wife's hand for support. "We're sorry Mamá."

Miguel had never known his older sister Leti. Despite all the stories he had heard about her over the years, she was a practical stranger to him. He knew how she had acted with Coco and Matty, but the feeling that he had never had his own relationship with her gave him a weird empty feeling in his chest. He didn't know how her voice sounded, how she laughed, any of her own special quirks and tics. And yet there was a longing deep within him to know what she was like, so strange to long for something that he never had. He knew, however, that his pain was several times less than the ones who actually knew her.

To break up to sudden tension, Miguel set aside his guitar and grinned. "I guess I'm lucky that my brother and sister are too old to fight with. Older than dirt-OW!"

"I'm not too old to flick you too, gordito." Coco smirked as Miguel rubbed his stinging forehead. "Now Miguel I know you're never especially thrilled when it's your birthday, but I think this year will be different." Coco said, an excited grin threatening to burst out. "Because I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

Before Coco could elaborate, Elena bounced up and down happily and squealed. "I think I know! Tia Rosita is pregnant again, right?!"

Miguel blinked, completely unsurprised. "Oh, is she?"

Julio snorted derisively and crossed his arms. "That's not a surprise. That's becoming an annual holiday itself."

"Julio!" Coco hissed, glaring at her husband. "That's not true!"

"She's right, Papá." Victoria smirked. "Osvaldo and Facunito are only nine and a half months apart."

"Victoria! Both of you!" Coco sighed in exasperation. "No, Rosita is not pregnant!... I think… Well, she might b- I don't know! That's not what the surprise is anyway! This is the surprise!"

A pink sheet of paper was thrust into Miguel's face, and it took a second for him to focus on what was on it. Decorated with black painted skulls and dancing skeletons, the words 'Dia De Muertos Talent Show' stood out in big bold letters. Taking it from his sister's hands, Miguel looked at it in confusion for just a moment before a creeping sense of understanding and hope started to well within. "The talent show? You mean… I get to go see it?"

"No."

Miguel sputtered. "Wh-?! What gives Coco?!"

"You're not going to see it hermanito, you're going to be in it! I signed you up as the first act and you're going to play in front of the whole town! Now everyone can finally see how talented you truly are!" Coco cried out, smiling widely and grabbing her astonished little brother into a huge bear hug. "Feliz cumpleaños, Miguel!"

Miguel gaped in awe as his sister let him go, looking at the poster, then his guitar on the bed, then to Coco. Slowly a grin formed on his face and he laughed out loud. "Really?! I'm going to play in the talent show?! I can't believe it!"

"I want to see that!" Victoria added happily. "That's so exciting!"

"Gracias, Coco! Gracias gracias gracias-"

"No!" Elena shouted, causing everyone to look at her. The poor girl looked both angry and a little afraid as she clutched her mother's skirt tightly and tugged it frantically. "No he can't! It's one thing to play in the house, but in front of people?! Abuelito will be mad for sure!"

Victoria groaned. "Ay Mamá, why did you have to show Miguel's secret present in front of la lengua suelta? She'll blab for sure."

"I won't blab if he doesn't go!" Elena cried, and hurried over to Miguel's guitar. Clumsily she lifted it and placed the large instrument behind her back, as if thinking that if it was out of sight then it was out of mind. "Please don't perform tío! If you go on stage you'll be hurt or even killed. Just like Ernesto de la Cruz!"

"That was an accident Elenita. It had nothing to do with music." Miguel said dismissively. "And what's so bad about wanting to be like Ernesto de la Cruz? We all used to know him, you didn't. He was the greatest of all time."

"You want to end up like him too?! Smooshed flat, and the only thing left of you would be a picture on the ofrenda?!"

Miguel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "I don't care if I'm on some stupid ofrenda."

While everyone else in the room winced at Miguel casual disregard for tradition, Elena gasped so long and hard, her eyes and mouth wide with pure horror, it was almost comical. Turning to look at the guitar in her hands, her brow furrowed, and her face scrunched up in absolute hatred and disgust. Lifting the guitar as high as she could go, and with a warlike cry, the brought it to the ground!

*thunk*

….

*thunk*

Coco sighed. "Elena, what are you doing?"

Straining as hard as she could, Elena brought the guitar down again and again. "Mmph!... Trying to- uuff!... break the- nnyah!... guitar!" She tried and tried again, but the instrument was both too sturdy and too cumbersome to maneuver properly, and she lacked both the strength and the force to damage it even a little. The guitar simply made some light twangy sounds as the strings were slightly squeezed and brushed against, almost as if the instrument was just as annoyed as everyone else by what was happening.

"Stop it Elena. You're going to scratch it!"

"It's already scratched Miguel. One more won't hurt it."

"Callate…"

Huffing with exertion now and sweating, Elena started to struggle with the large object. "I can do it… Haa… haa… I can do it! Gah! Tío, help."

"No, I'm not gonna help you smash my guitar!" Miguel yelled angrily, swiping the guitar away from her. "I'm playing in the plaza tomorrow for my birthday. Your Mamá gave it to me as a present, and I'm gonna enjoy it! Period!"

"But-!"

"Elena…" Julio said sternly, getting his daughter's attention. "You won't say anything to your Abuelito about this, alright? I know you're afraid of what he might say, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him. And he won't know if you don't say anything. Claro?"

"But-!"

"You must always listen to your parents. Please don't ruin this for Miguel, okay?"

Elena looked at her parents, then her sister, Miguel, and back to her parents. As her face reddened more and more and her cheeks puffed up to the point of bursting, she fled the room in tears and ran down the hallway wailing. Coco sighed as he watched her daughter run off then patted Miguel on the back. "Don't worry. Everything will be alright."

"What if she's right though?" Miguel asked softly, holding the flyer tightly to his chest as if he was afraid that even that could be taken away from him at any second. "What if Papá finds out? Or Mamá? They would never let me go."

"We won't let them find out, we promise." Coco said gently. "Matty, Victoria and I will be there to cheer you on, while Julio will distract them long enough for you to perform."

"Th-that's right!" Julio nodded and laughed nervously. "I mean-… I-I can do that! I can… Lie… to my father-in-law and my mo-… It shouldn't be too hard, right? I can- Sí, I can do that!"

"Sounds like you'll need all the help you can get, Julio." A voice suddenly popped up. "And should I be concerned about Elena flailing about on the couch downstairs? She looked like she was starting to turn blue."

The four turned and smiled to see Wanda standing in the doorway, dressed in a fancy travel suit and holding a suitcase in one hand. Holding onto her other hand was a small boy, smiling shyly and wearing an adorable cowboy outfit complete with tiny Rivera boots. The small ten gallon hat couldn't hide the dark wavy curls of his hair poking out from underneath and his face was a little dirt smudged. He carried a brightly wrapped birthday present in his other arm and held it out to Miguel. "Happy birthday, Uncle Miguel."

"Charlie!" Victoria cried out and enveloped the small boy into a big hug, his round face smooshed against her shoulder. "Charlie, mi primo favorito! Oh Charlie, you look so cute! What are you dressed as?"

Charlie smiled sweetly up at Victoria. "The Lone Ranger. I got a plastic gun and bows and arrows in my bag, too. Can we play?"

"We can later." Miguel said, taking the present from his nephew and knocking on the top of his hardened cowboy hat. "Thank you for the present, Carlos."

The little boy's smile faded and he gave an adorable pout. "My name is Charlie."

"Not here. In Mexico you're Carlos."

"Basta, Miguel!" Victoria snapped, and gave Charlie another hug. "Oh, I missed you so much Charlie. You are my most favorite primo ever. So sweet and cute."

"What about Dahlia?" Miguel asked. "And Margarita? And Anselmo? And Osvaldo, Facunito, and Amapola?"

"I don't see him every single day of my life, and he doesn't drive me crazy as soon as he enters the room." Victoria said. "That's what makes him my favorite." Behind her Julio nodded silently in agreement with a shudder, and Coco swatted him with a glare.

"Matthew has already told me the game plan for tomorrow, Miguel." Wanda said as she placed Charlie's suitcase full of toys down and began to unpack it for him. "But if this is going to work then Julio, Coco and I should talk about how we're going to keep your father from guessing what's happening. Don't you worry."

"Gracias, Wanda." Miguel said, walking over to hug her in gratitude. "Your Spanish has gotten really good by the way."

Wanda returned the hug and smiled proudly. "Of course it has. That's what happens after long term exposure, being outrageously intelligent and having the internal drive to learn new things. I mean seriously, did you have any doubts in my ability to learn it?"

"Sí." "Yes." "Sorry." "I, uh-... Sí…"

Wanda huffed irritably at the slight, but brushed it off and bent down to her son to speak in English. "Now you be careful when you play, alright? Your arm is still a little weak, so be extra gentle. No cops and robbers or anything like that, alright?"

"Okay, Mommy."

"Oh that's right!" Victoria said, bending down to look the little boy in the eye. "You broke your arm a few months ago! I was so sorry to hear that. Elena even cried when she heard."

"Yeah, I'm sorry too." Miguel said. "Did it hurt? What happened?"

Gripping his left arm slightly, Charlie grinned as if he was telling a funny joke. "Daddy is the one who broke my arm."

"WHAT?!"

"Matty broke your arm?!"

As the two children gasped and shouted at what they heard, both Coco and Julio winced as they looked at Wanda with pity. Wanda placed her hands over her mouth and sighed sadly, shaking her head wearily. "Charlie, you weren't supposed to tell anyone that."

"Oh, sorry."

Miguel shook his head. "Man, you must have gotten into big trouble if Matty broke your arm-OW!" He rubbed his shoulder where Victoria had socked him hard, but before he could say anything Charlie continued.

"He didn't mean to." Charlie said softly. "Mommy says something scared him and he was trying to protect me, but did it too hard. Daddy was very sorry, he cried for a long time. I didn't know grown-up men cried! My arm was in this itchy cast for a long time and Daddy let me eat ice cream for breakfast every day after that!" Charlie's smile faded at that, and a slightly nauseous grimace passed over him. "I don't like ice cream any more…"

"Guys listen." Wanda said to the two older children in a serious tone. "I don't want you to let Matthew know that you know about this, all right? It is a very sensitive subject that he feels terrible about, I don't want him to feel any worse. It's in the past and we're moving forward."

"Is Matty all right?" Miguel asked softly.

"He's fine." Wanda said assuredly, holding her son closely. "We're all going to be fine. Just like tomorrow is going to be fine. Don't worry. Everything is under control."

Héctor smiled as he held the whining baby high above his head, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes until she dissolved into giggles. Lowering her down he blew loud raspberries onto each cheek until she squealed before giving her a kiss on the forehead. It was such a treat to see his granddaughter Clara again, not having seen her since shortly after her birth. Living in the United States prevented him from seeing her and Charlie regularly, so he relished the opportunity to see and hold her while she was still so small. He was also happy to see that after five months her eyes still had the same lovely shade of blue as her mother's, his only grandchild to have different colored eyes. As the baby quieted down again, he nodded to his son. "Keep going mijo."

Matty nodded somberly, downing his cup of coffee and handing it over for Imelda to refill. He nervously fidgeted with the polished knob of his cane, a necessity for his damaged leg, and shook his head with intense remorse.

"It was an old truck backfiring." Matty said quietly. "It was so loud and sudden, especially on a quiet street. We were just walking to the park, talking amongst ourselves, and then 'bang!'… Dios, it took just a millisecond. At that moment I wasn't in Houston anymore, I swear all I could see was smoke and all I could smell was mud and decay and-…I just reacted."

"The next thing I knew Charlie was underneath me, and he was screaming… I was frozen, just watching my son scream in pain, until Wanda was shouting 'Get off of him Matt! Get off of him!'… Wanda rode with him in the ambulance, and she took the baby too, because I couldn't touch her. I couldn't touch him for days, I just felt so sick with what I had done to my little boy. Not even five years old and I had broken his arm. I tackled my son, trying to protect him by reflex, and I broke his pinche arm. Dios, Wanda was holding our newborn daughter at the time, if it had been them that I-!"

"Shh…" Imelda hushed him, rubbing his white knuckled grip on his cane until his fingers loosened. "But you didn't. They're both fine, and so is Charlie. They all know that you didn't mean to hurt him."

Matty nodded shakily, smiling at his mother in thanks. "Yeah… Yeah, I know. Sometimes it's hard to believe that, but my therapist says that line of thinking is normal for someone with my condition. I'm trying to get better-"

"You're seeing a shrink?" Héctor asked, his brow furrowing to show his confusion and slight aversion to the very idea. "But why? Everything turned out alright, Charlie's arm is better. It's fine."

"No, Papá, it's not fine. In fact, it hasn't been fine for a very long time for me." Matty said. "Over the years a lot of things have bothered me. Certain smells trigger images in my mind, I can't stand the sound of fireworks, even low flying planes make me freeze up and panic. I've been dealing with it for years by simply avoiding it, like not accompanying my family for Fourth of July picnics or other situations where these triggers might occur. But this last incident made me realize that I can't avoid the unpredictable."

Héctor still looked uncertain as Matty spoke, but Imelda nodded encouragingly for him to continue.

"Wanda recommended a therapist from the hospital she works at. He's good, Papá. He diagnosed me with shell-shock, something that a lot of former soldiers get so it's not just me. But that's not all. He says my triggers go all the way back to Leti's death, how it still affects my emotions and my interactions with my family to this day. I'm sure you all already know about that, but I didn't really see it until he spelled it out for me. That I sometimes hurt them, and you guys, unintentionally. That I'm somewhat, well… emotionally stunted. But he's been helping me a great deal. I feel like I'm making progress so far."

"That's wonderful, mijo." Imelda said, leaning over to kiss his cheek and grimacing at the scratchiness of it. "Maybe your therapist can convince you to shave as well."

"I can't." Matty laughed, running his fingers down his goatee and grateful for the well-intentioned nagging to lighten the mood. "Last time I did Charlie cried for a whole day; thought I was a stranger instead of his Daddy. I'd hate to do that to Clara as well."

Héctor cleared his throat uncomfortably, then turned his attention back to the baby in his arms. "Sí, well good for you mijo. If you think that's what you need then I'm happy for you. And this little girl is happy too. Aren't you, cileita? Look at Abuelito. Ay, que lindaaa…"

As Héctor babbled and cooed at the baby, he didn't notice that Matty and Imelda exchanged worried glances at each other. He continued until Matty cleared his own throat to get his attention, and his smile faded when he saw the two of them staring intently at him. "What?"

Standing up and walking with the aid of the cane, Matty reached out an arm and gently took his daughter out of Héctor's hold. "Um, Papá… What I just told you about my struggles… Didn't that seem at all, I don't know… Familiar to you in any way?"

Héctor blinked dumbly at that, starting to not like how Imelda was starting to look sad as she stared at him. "No?"

Matty huffed out a sigh. "Come on, Papá. You must see where I'm coming from: Triggers that upset you, make you angry and in turn upset everyone around you? Avoidance of certain stimuli, to the point of outright banning it? Do you understand?"

"Oh… Oh!" Héctor laughed out, relieved. "Oh, I understand what you're saying now. The music thing. Listen, it's just not my kind of thing anymore. I know I owe a great deal to it, that the whole family does, but it's time to move on. There's more to our business than music, you know. There's the hospitals, the schools, the canning factories, and of course the shoe business that you have turned into an empire all by yourself, my clever boy. Did I hear that they're going to be on almost every athlete's feet in the Olympics next year?"

"Please don't change the subject, Papá." Matty said in exasperation. "It's not like you don't care for music anymore Papá. You can't stand it. You're afraid of it."

Héctor smiled, again a little too widely, and patted his son's shoulder. "You think that- Ay yi yi, such a sweet boy, thinking about your Papá like that. Well you don't have to worry about me, Matty."

"Papá, you don't listen to music. You don't want anyone to listen to music. You're avoiding it because it's a trigger! And the thing about triggers is sometimes you can't avoid them. If you don't prepare yourself you could end up hurting yourself or worse: someone you love!"

"I don't have what you have, Mateo. That, uh-… shell-shock, right? No, I don't have it. I'm not a soldier, this is completely different."

"It doesn't always have to be about fighting in a war Papá." Matty explained. "It can be caused by a very traumatic event that you witness. And I can't think of anything more traumatic than watching your best friend-"

"I do not… have… shell shock!" Héctor snapped, pointing a finger to both his son and his wife. "We don't need music, we've gone nine years without it, and we're fine. I don't avoid it, I just don't like it anymore. I'm not like you, alright?! I don't need help! I don't need a shrink! I'm not crazy!"

"Héctor!"

At his wife's hissing voice Héctor stopped his tirade in shock. Clara was crying in her father's arms, deeply disturbed that the sweet old man who had held her before was now loud and scary. And Matty looked at his father, jaw clenched and eyes downcast. His throat bobbed a few times and Héctor saw his lips tremble a little before he looked up to glare at his father.

"You think… I'm crazy, Papá?"

"No!" Héctor gasped, placing his hands gently on his son. "Oh no, not you mijo, no… You're uh… a special case. You have a condition, sí? Happens to soldiers all the time, like you said right? If it makes you feel better than I'm all for it! You go to your shrink, and-"

"It's therapist, Héctor." Imelda said harshly, glaring at him as she moved to stand next to her son. "Not shrink. You say it like it's a disease."

Héctor sagged, not looking either of them in the eye anymore. "Therapist, right…"

Not liking how the fun visit with his son and granddaughter had turned so toxic and claustrophobic so fast, Héctor inched his way out the door to make a hasty retreat. "Listen, I think we need to just forget about this, so I'll just leave for a while. I'm gonna go to the house- I mean… the museum. Get it all ready for the party tomorrow. That's why you're here, right Matty? Gotta make it a special day for your brother! Okay, I'll see you later!"

As they both watched Héctor race towards the garage in an effort to get as far away and as fast as possible, Matty soothed his daughter back into an easy slumber and mumbled softly. "I'm here for my sister too… Guess he's avoiding that as well…"

"I'm so sorry, Mateo." Imelda hugged her son close and rubbed his back. "He didn't mean to upset you. I know you tried to help, but he needs to want to be helped, claro?"

"He's only getting worse Mamá."

Imelda shook her head. "He's not usually this bad. He has his good days more than his bad. It's just that this time of year is so hard on him, you understand right? It was a terrible day for all of us, but even more so for your father. It nearly destroyed him."

"I just wanted to help him. Help all of us… At least I tried."

"Yes you did. It will be alright, mijo." She smoothed back his hair and took the sleeping baby from his arms to give her a kiss. "Let's change the subject, sí? I want to know all about your plans for Helsinki next year! How many pairs of shoes are we talking about?"

Matty smiled softly at his mother, letting her drag him into a boring, yet calming, conversation about shoes once again to soothe the pain of his father's words. As he and Imelda talked about the Olympics next year, the upcoming winter catalogue, the demand to not smoke in the kitchen, and the vague plans of expanding to include a clothing line in the upcoming future, things seemed to fall back into a relative peace. There was still hurt there in Héctor's heart, but nothing they couldn't overcome as a family.

Things couldn't possibly get any worse, right?

As Victoria put away her pointe shoes into it's shoe box she looked up to see Miguel staring at the contest poster.

Again.

For probably the billionth time within the last hour.

Her Mamá's surprise had really put a damper on their little practice session, and soon even Charlie had grown bored with the lack of guitar playing from his tio and had gone off to play with Elena instead. Miguel just sat and stared at the poster with that dumb grin on his face, tracing the letters and illustrations with reverence like he did with all his other de la Cruz memorabilia.

But even if she felt like she didn't get enough practice in, Victoria found that she didn't really mind it in the slightest. She could see Miguel already going through the performance in his head, his eyes closing momentarily as if basking in applause that only he could hear. Then he'd continue to look at the poster and the process would repeat.

It was dumb, but Victoria was glad. It was about time Miguel was excited about something for his birthday. She couldn't wait to see the performance herself. And maybe, hopefully, this would be a stepping stone for her. Maybe she would one day get to perform on stage, maybe even get a real teacher. Share a stage with her ballet idols. It was exciting to think about, but for now she would just be happy for Miguel.

"So, musico…" Victoria hummed, smiling when Miguel dumbly broke free from his trance to look at her. "What are you going to play tomorrow?"

With an excited grin, Miguel looked at the poster again and nodded to himself. Confidently. Assuredly. "Definitely Remember Me!"

Victoria sighed. "Why did I even ask?"