24. Mateo
MATEO
“Daddy?”
I look up from where I’m sitting on the couch, finding Crew watching me with the serious expression he gets when he’s thinking through something important. “Yeah, buddy?”
“What are you going to do when you’re done singing?”
The question catches me off guard. I stare at him for a second, trying to figure out how to answer something I’ve spent months avoiding.
“I haven’t really figured it out yet, buddy.”
Crew considers my answer, his little brows pulling together like he’s trying to solve a problem I haven’t been able to solve myself. His eyes drift back down to Pepper curled up on his lap, and he runs his fingers softly through her fur as she nuzzles into his leg, purring beneath his touch.
My son’s cat now permanently lives with us since Talia’s neighbor, who was helping out with her, is moving, and I have to figure out arrangements for the damn cat. I can’t afford my son, my son’s nanny, and my son’s cat on tour if I want to avoid an aneurysm.
For a moment, I think I’m in the clear. Crew’s eyes are back on the movie playing in our living room.
Then—
“When can I see Ems?”
I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head despite the smile tugging at my mouth.
This is the third time Crew has mentioned Emerson since Talia dropped him off this morning, and I’ve had to explain three different times that we’ll see her soon, when the tour starts back up again.
Leave it to my son to be a constant reminder of the woman I’m trying my hardest not to think about.
“We’ll meet her at the bus in a few days,” I tell him, leaning forward to grab my phone from the coffee table to order some food. “Now, are you hungry?”
“But I want to see her today,” Crew whines, his attention immediately snapping back to the conversation I was trying to move past.
I can’t help but laugh under my breath.
Of course he does.
Ignoring every attempt I make to redirect him toward lunch, he hugs Pepper closer and looks at me like I’m the one being unreasonable.
Apparently, my son inherited my inability to let something go.
“Ems is busy with other stuff,” I tell Crew, pretending I don’t like how much my son’s nickname for Emerson feels on my lips. “Do you want pizza for lunch? Or maybe a cheeseburger? We can go to the place with the curly french fries”
I think I have him for a second with the mention of his favorite type of fries, but he shakes his head, jutting his bottom lip out as he furrows his brows. Pepper’s eyes loll towards me like she couldn’t be less impressed with me and my excuses.
“Come on, buddy, we need to figure out what we’re doing for lunch. Then maybe after that we can see what Ems is up to.” I can always text her to see if she can squeeze in a quick phone call or FaceTime with Crew, just to hold him off until Sunday.
“Pinky promise?” He holds out his little pinky, and I raise a brow.
“Where did you learn about pinky promises?” I’ve never done them with him, and I”m pretty sure Talia hasn’t either.
“Ems taught me.”
The answer lands heavy.
It’s a stupid little thing. A pinky promise. Barely even a gesture.
But somehow, she’s found her way into the small spaces of his life without me noticing.
The things he says. The things he remembers. The little pieces of her he carries around with him.
I should probably be more concerned about how quickly Crew has attached himself to her. I should probably remind myself that she’s his nanny, that this is temporary, that eventually this tour will end and routines will change.
But the smile on his face when I curl my pinky around his is enough to put off the inevitable for now.
Something I feel like I’ve been doing a lot lately.
“Full?” I ask Crew as he leans back in the booth.
The two of us are tucked in the back of a local burger joint.
It’s decked out like the 50’s with red vinyl booths, checkered floors, and old movie posters lining the walls.
There are neon signs glowing above the counter with framed pictures of classic cars and enough color to have your eyes sore if you look at it all too long.
“Full,” Crew echoes, leaning back into the booth and pressing both hands to his tummy.
I reach over to his plate, grabbing a few of the curly fries he left before washing them down with the last sips of my soda.
Our waitress comes over to clear our plates. “Any room for dessert?” she asks, looking between Crew and me.
“I think we’re good,” I say at the same time Crew lets out an excited, “Yes!”
I look at my son. “You just said you were full,” I say with a laugh.
“Ems says you have to finish every meal with something sweet.” Crew smiles wide at the first mention of Emerson since we left the house earlier this afternoon. “Can I get a chocolate milkshake, please? With whipped cream? And sprinkles?” He asks the waitress, his eyes wide and eager.
The waitress looks to me with a smile, and I let out an exhale. “Make that two, please,” I tell her.
“Pinky promises and dessert? What else has Ems taught you?” I ask Crew once the waitress heads back to put our milkshake order in.
Crew tilts his head, looking up at the ceiling as he taps his chin. “She told me that Cross My Heart is the greatest rock band ever,” he offers.
My brows shoot to my forehead. “She did?”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it.
I don't know why that surprises me so much. Maybe because Emerson has spent most of our time together acting like my music is just another thing she tolerates. Like the screaming crowds and sold-out arenas and songs that have become a part of people's lives don't mean anything to her.
But now that I think about it, maybe I should've known.
She always insisted on tagging along to soundcheck, and I convinced myself it was because Crew liked watching us play. Because he loved seeing the stage before the crowds filled it, loved standing beside the speakers while we ran through songs.
I noticed the way she’d sing along backstage during concerts, too. The way she'd smile when she thought no one was watching. But I wrote it off as her having fun. As her getting caught up in the moment.
And then I saw that goddamn Cross My Heart shirt she was sleeping in.
But I think part of me was still denying that she could be a fan.
I could never let myself even consider that maybe she actually liked it.
Liked us.
Liked me.
I would've never known, with absolute certainty, if Crew hadn't told me.
And for some reason, that small piece of information feels like a gift.
“Can we go see Ems now?” Crew asks after the last sip of his milkshake.
“Buddy,” I say carefully, and Crew’s eagerness fizzles out almost immediately.
“You pinky promised,” he mumbles, that bottom lip jutting out again.
“I never said we would go and see her. I promised we could see what she’s up to,” I explain, but four-year-olds are never big sticklers for semantics.
Crew is buzzing as we make our way out to the car, trying to jump and reach for the phone in my hand.
I open the door to the backseat, helping him into his car seat. “Can I talk to her?” Crew asks as I make sure he’s buckled in.
“I haven’t even called her yet,” I chuckle, closing the door and rounding the car to get into the front seat. “Let me text her first, okay?”
“Okay!” Crew is bouncing in his seat as I send off a text.
Crew misses you. Do you have a few minutes for a quick call to say hi?
It’s the first time either of us has made contact since that night in her apartment parking lot. Part of me is still so mad at her for thinking I was the one being dramatic. The other part of me realizes now that I wasn’t even mad to begin with—it was fear.
Just like the fear I experienced when she passed out, and I had to carry her to the tour bus and make her eat something.
Has she been eating?
Has she been taking care of herself?
Or is she still pretending she’s fine?
It’s not my business—she’s not my business. I know that.
But I can’t get myself to stop wondering.
She doesn’t respond at first, but I see the three bubbles on her end. I watch them appear and disappear a few times before she finally responds.
Emerson
I have some time
“Okay, Crew,” I say, sending the call through before putting it on speaker. I turn over my shoulder, handing my phone to him. “It’s ringing.”
Crew takes my phone eagerly, holding it up a few inches from his ear as he waits for Emerson to answer.
“Hello?” Emerson’s voice fills the silence in the car
“Hi,” Crew replies, suddenly shy.
“Hey, champ,” Emerson says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “What’s going on?”
Crew begins telling Emerson all about what he got for Christmas last week and how he got to help his mom bring Pepper to my house because she’s “living with Daddy” now. I watch as his smile lights up his entire face as she asks him questions and shares her excitement about his presents and his cat.
“What are you doing?” Crew asks Emerson.
“I’m at the fire station with my brother right now,” she tells him, and Crew’s eyes go wide.
“You’re at a real fire station?”
“That’s right,” Emerson says. “My brother is the Lead Firefighter here,” she tells him, and I can’t help but steal the details to keep for myself.
“Your brother is a real-life firefighter?” Crew looks at me like he’s talking to a celebrity, as if his own dad isn’t a world-famous rockstar.
It’s sobering, really. Apparently Crew also picked up Emerson’s habit of keeping me humble.
I’ve been so worried that Crew would look at me differently when this tour and Cross My Heart come to an end, but there’s something about his excitement for Emerson’s brother that reminds me that I don’t have to be larger than life for Crew.
I just have to be part of his life.
“Maybe you can come see the station one of these days we’re all home from tour,” Emerson offers.
“Can we, Daddy?” he asks me. “Can we go now?”
I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t think she meant today, buddy.”
Crew deflates before I can explain to him again that we’ll see her the day after tomorrow.
“Maybe Saturday?” Emerson’s voice chimes in. She’s not talking directly to me, but with the way my heart rate picks up, my body can’t tell the difference. “If you guys want,” she quickly adds.
“We can?” Crew says, his smile wide. “Daddy, can we go Saturday?”
I shake my head, feeling a pinch in my cheeks as my lips curve at the same time my stomach knots.
Because I know better than this.
I know better than to let a simple invitation feel like something more. Better than noticing the way she says you guys instead of Crew. Better than to let myself wonder if she actually wants me there.
This isn't supposed to happen.
I'm supposed to be keeping my distance. I'm supposed to be focusing on Crew, the last stretch of tour, and everything waiting for me when the music ends.
Not sitting in my car outside this burger joint, watching my son light up because Emerson invited us somewhere.
Not feeling like this small, ordinary moment is something I want to hold onto.
I should say no.
I should remember all the reasons I told myself this was a bad idea.
Instead, I look at Crew's excited face.
And I already know I'm going.