La Bikina: Through The Years

1920: kissed her again

"No, Ernesto," he said firmly.

"But, hermano," Ernesto pressed. "We could be rich! Famous! Everybody would love us!"

"I don't need everybody to love us," he returned, hand on the doorknob. "Only my family."

"For musicos like us, the world is our family."

"For musicos like you, maybe. But I could never leave Imelda and Coco." And with that, he opened the door and walked in his house, closing it behind him. He was greeted with little Coco running to his arms. "Pa!" she squealed in joy.

Hector laughed and picked her up effortlessly in his arms, and spun her around before pressing a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"How is my Coco?" He asked her with a grin.

"Helping," came Imelda's voice from the kitchen doorway. She was leaning on the wall, hands crossed over her flour-dusted apron, eyes smiling. "Come see what we made for you," she gestured to the kitchen. Still holding Coco in his arms, Hector reached his wife and gave her a kiss.

"Happy birthday, mi amor," she whispered, smiling against his lips.

They entered the small kitchen and Imelda presented him with a small cake, with colorful piping and swirls of frosting.

Hector's heart was full of joy. Imelda didn't like birthdays; she always got annoyed at him when he tried to celebrate hers. Yet, every year, she always did something for his, knowing how much it meant to him. Knowing that, as an orphan, he never really got to celebrate his birthday as a child, not like she did. Before Imelda (although he rarely liked to think about times before Imelda. She was his life, after all), November 30th was just another day. But with her, she made sure the last day of November was always a day of celebration, no matter how small, and he loved her for that.

Coco reached her little hands for the cake, managing to swipe some frosting and shove her fingers into her mouth.

"Ay no," Imelda groaned. "Coco!"

Hector laughed. "I bet it tastes really good, Coco just can't help herself!"

He took his finger and brushed it against the cake, placing it in his mouth. "Mmm," he hummed in satisfaction. "Really good."

Imelda narrowed her eyes. "Get a plate. You are not a pig."
Coco giggled. "Pig! Pig!"

Hector smiled mischievously and cut a slice of cake, which gained an approving look from Imelda. However, instead of setting it on a plate, he grabbed the slice in his hand and took a big bite of it.

Coco laughed in glee, and Hector cut his daughter her own slice. She was all too happy to dig in with her bare hands.

"Thanks for the cake, mi amor," Hector said, his mouth full of cake. "It's delicious."

"I don't know why I even bothered," she groaned.

"Ay, come on, it's fun! Plus, it's my birthday, and that means I can eat my cake however I want."

He cut a piece of cake for Imelda, and offered it to her. He could tell she was about to refuse it, but in the end she took the slice in her hands and ate a small bite with a roll of her eyes.

Hector let out a laugh. "I wish I could take a picture of you right now."

Imelda stuck her frosting-covered tongue out at him. They spent the evening like that, eating cake and dancing and singing around the kitchen, celebrating Hector's birthday. And then night fell and they bathed Coco and put her to sleep (although it had been considerably more difficult than usual, considering all the sugar she had had). Now Imelda and Hector were lying down in their own bed, legs tangled together, her head resting on his chest. Imelda's eyes were closed, but Hector's were wide open, not able to take his gaze of his wife.

"You have frosting on your lips," he whispered to her.

She brushed the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "Did I get it?"

He shook his head.

"Where?"

"Right here," he said, as he leaned down to kiss her. She tasted like cake. He could feel her smiling against the kiss.

"I love you, mi vida," she whispered.

"I love you, Imelda," he returned, and kissed her again.