39. Mateo
MATEO
“You can’t have a movie night without popcorn,” I hear Emerson say as she lifts Crew to sit on the kitchen counter. She tells him to be careful with the stove as she pours the kernels in over the sizzling oil.
I was tasked with moving the sections of the couch in my living room to create a big bed in front of the TV with “all the blankets and stuffed animals I could find.”
Their words, not mine.
I was told this is what Crew and Emerson would do in our hotel rooms on nights Crew was too tired to come to the Cross My Heart shows, and I’m just happy to be able to be at this one.
In the two weeks since the last show of our farewell tour, Emerson and I have each been busy with our transition back home. Between her shifts at Hey Honey’s and her freelance clients and my training at the fire station, it can be hard to find time together.
And when we finally do, we usually put off talking until we’re naked and sated in my bed, catching up on our days while she traces the bite mark she left on my neck.
On days I have Crew, we try to do something the three of us. With June fading into July, he only has two more months until he starts Kindergarten, and since he was on tour for a majority of last year, Emerson has been working with him on everything he needs to know before his first day of school.
His self-help skills have always been above average, along with his social skills. Maybe it’s because he spends so much time with adults, or maybe he just gets all of his intelligence from his mom.
Either way, Emerson has been focusing on his early academic skills like recognizing letters and numbers, writing his name, and identifying colors and shapes.
Even though she’s not technically his nanny anymore, the way she cares for him never really stopped—if anything, it’s gotten deeper. The two of them have a connection I don’t think I’ll ever really understand.
“Are you and Daddy going to get married like Mommy and Daniel?” Crew asks, and I freeze. I’m not even in the kitchen, not even in their conversation, and the question has me going on high alert.
I would never consider Emerson one to shy away from uncomfortable conversation, especially after months of being the sole recipient of Crew’s never-ending questions—she’s not one to scare easily.
But she is a runner.
It took me months to get to know Emerson on a level that went deeper than her snarky comments and ruthless teasing. And when I finally saw past what she wanted me to see, the night she passed out after not eating enough and opened up about her mom, a lot of realizations clicked into place.
She wanted to come on tour with me because she didn’t want to deal with the grief. Losing her mom. Not being okay.
And if she ran once, there’s no telling if—or when—she’ll do it again.
I realize I’m holding my breath as Emerson’s laugh fills the room, traveling from the kitchen to the living room.
“What makes you ask that?” she challenges, her voice light and nonchalant enough to have Crew eager to answer.
“You come over. You eat dinner with us. You go shopping with Daddy. You drive me places.”
“And those are all things Daniel does with your mom?” she asks, and I hear her shake the pot on the stove, the kernels shaking against the metal.
I don’t hear Crew say anything, but when I look over my shoulder, I see him nodding his head before using a hand to push his hair out of his face.
Emerson grabs a ponytail from around her wrist, signaling for Crew to turn around.
As he does, she piles all of his hair into her hand. “Daddy and I aren’t married, but we do like to spend time together like your mom and Daniel do,” she explains, somehow knowing exactly the right answer for my son.
Crew is only four, almost five, but he notices everything. He always has.
He knows Emerson is here even after he’s gone to bed. He knows when she comes over, when her shoes are by the door, when her voice carries through the house.
To him, she’s just part of the rhythm of our days now—someone who eats dinner at our table, helps him find his missing socks, lets him pick the movie if he says “please” enough times.
And somehow, in the simple way only a kid can, he knows I like her. Not the way he understands liking the curly kind of French fries and superheroes.
But that’s where Crew’s understanding ends. He knows that Mommy married Daniel and that means Daniel is part of our family. He knows Emerson comes over and that she makes Daddy happy.
It makes sense that he would ask if we’re getting married.
But here I am, trying to get a full breath at the revelation that I’m getting my second chance at a happy ending, with Emerson of all people—and I don’t want to fuck it up.
Their conversation transitions to how kernels turn into popcorn, and I finally feel my lungs fill with air. I finish setting up the living room exactly how the two asked me to, and I try to get my thoughts settled.
I should’ve known falling in love with Emerson was inevitable.
But her falling in love with me? That’s a whole other story.
It doesn’t take long for Crew to fall asleep. After downing half the bowl of popcorn, he got comfortable between Emerson and me and passed out before the movie was even halfway over. Pepper even made her way out of whatever hiding space she was in and found her usual spot at Emerson’s feet.
“I can’t believe you said Twilight wasn’t age-appropriate, but this weird animation where a panda does kung fu is perfectly acceptable,” Emerson whispers as she leans forward to grab the popcorn bowl still in Crew’s arms.
“You are not going to convince my son that Twilight is a good movie like you convinced him dessert is a non-negotiable,” I whisper back.
“Pepper,” Emerson says, poking the cat with her toe, “please tell your dad that not only is Twilight the best movie franchise ever made,” she says, talking to the cat, but it comes out muffled over the popcorn she piles into her mouth, “but dessert is a non-negotiable.”
I roll my eyes but decide to play her game. “Pepper,” I say to the cat that barely tolerates me yet refuses to leave my house, “please tell your nanny that she’s wrong not once but twice.”
Emerson narrows her eyes at me. “Pepper can’t talk.”
My jaw drops. “But you—” I raise my hands in surrender.
She shrugs her shoulders, shoving another handful of popcorn in her mouth. “You know the saying: play stupid games, I win.”
“That’s not the saying.”
“Oh, sorry,” she mocks, handing the popcorn bowl to me, apparently now done with it. “I forgot I’m with the idiom police.”
Crew stirs between us, and we both go silent. He lets out a sigh before settling back on his side, his hands tucked against his chest.
I look at her, the glow from the television flickering across her face. She’s still smiling a little, still relaxed, and for a second I let myself believe I could say it.
I’ve been carrying the words around for weeks.
They sit on the tip of my tongue every time she laughs at something stupid I say. Every time she walks into this house like she belongs here. Every time she reaches for Crew’s hand. Every time her lips meet mine.
I love you.
Three words.
Three words that should be easy.
Except they’re not.
Because once I say them, they’re not mine anymore. They’re hers to hold, or hers to give back. And I don’t know if she’s ready for them. I don’t know if I’m ready to hear anything other than exactly what I want.
Emerson shifts beside me, and I see it before she says anything. The way her shoulders straighten. The way her attention drifts away from the movie. Like she’s already halfway somewhere else.
My stomach tightens.
She knows.
Maybe she doesn’t know the words exactly, but she knows I’m sitting here with something I’ve been trying to say. She knows me well enough now to recognize when I’m holding something back.
And maybe that’s why she looks toward the clock.
“I should probably go,” she says quietly.
The words hit harder than they should.
I want to tell her no.
I want to say, stay.
Please stay.
I want to tell you something.
I want to tell her that I love her and that I’ve been trying not to because I didn’t want to scare her away.
I want to tell her that somehow, in the middle of all the chaos and all the things I never expected, she became the person I look for first.
But I don’t.
Because I know Emerson.
And I know the difference between someone needing a little encouragement and someone needing space.
I won’t be the person who makes her feel trapped into staying. I won’t turn my feelings into something she has to manage. I don’t even know if she knows how seriously I’m taking every moment I have with her.
I told her on stage two weeks ago that she was it for me, whether she wanted me or not.
And then she told me to kiss her.
There are only two ways I see this going—me and Emerson, together.
Or me, alone, wondering what I could’ve done differently to keep her.
And that second one terrifies me.
So I just nod, even though every part of me is screaming the opposite. “Yeah,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Of course.”
Her eyes flick back to mine, and there’s something there. Something uncertain. Something that makes me wonder if maybe she wanted me to ask her to stay.
But I don’t know.
And I can’t risk making her choose between leaving because she wants to and staying because she feels like she has to.
She stands, brushing popcorn from her sweater, and I hate how normal it feels. Like my whole world isn’t shifting while she’s just grabbing her things.
“I had fun tonight,” she says.
I smile because it’s the safest thing I can give her. “Me too.”
What I don’t say is that I have fun every night she’s here.
What I don’t say is that I can’t remember the last time my house felt this much like home.
What I don’t say is that I love her.
Not yet.
Maybe not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
But the words will always be there, waiting.