42. Emerson
EMERSON
“Mrs. Rizzo seems cool. Don’t you think, champ?”
Crew grabs my hand just before he bends his knees, preparing to jump off the curb at the front of the elementary school.
“So cool!” he says as he jumps down onto the concrete. “Did you see the lizard she had?” he asks, still in awe over the class pet.
“Of course, I did,” I say as we walk through the parking lot towards Mateo’s car.
Mateo and Talia stayed back to talk to Crew’s teacher for the upcoming school year, just to explain a little more of their family dynamic since Crew goes back and forth between their two houses.
Talia also thought it would be good to let Mrs. Rizzo know that Crew didn’t attend Pre-K due to traveling with Mateo last year, and she wanted to know if there was anything else we should add to his Kindergarten prep for this last month before school.
“I bet she’ll let us take it home,” Crew says as he walks on the lines painted on the concrete like it’s a balance beam.
“You think Pepper would like that?” I can’t help but chuckle at the thought of the black cat seeing Crew bring home another animal. She already hides his stuffed animals under Mateo’s bed—the possessive bitch.
Crew’s laughter joins mine as he shakes his head. “She’d hate it.”
“What are you two laughing about over there?” We turn to find Mateo smiling in our direction, Talia at his side as they walk across the parking lot.
“Nothing,” Crew and I say at the same time, and I turn to him and wink.
It’s our usual shared response whenever Mateo asks what we’re doing, and it always makes my heart squeeze a little. I like the way Mateo’s grin is always a little brighter when he watches Crew and me.
“All good?” I ask Talia and Mateo once they’re at the car.
Mateo bends to pick up Crew as he nods. I open the car door for him, so he can set Crew into his car seat, buckling him in before he shuts the door. “And no, we didn’t tell her we were a throuple.”
I shrug my shoulders as Talia laughs into her hand. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”
“Your bruised knuckles were more than enough for that.”
My eyes widen. “You said it wasn’t noticeable.” I look down at my hand, and it looks totally fine—not even a little bit sore. I roll my eyes, finding Mateo smirking at me, and I smack him playfully on the arm. “Don’t mess with me,” I tell him. “I know how to throw a punch.”
“Trust me, baby,” he laughs, “I am intimately aware of that fact.” He turns to Talia’s car next to us, opening the driver’s side door for her at the same time he opens the passenger-side door to his car for me.
“And besides, what about when Daniel showed up to one of these school events?” Mateo asks.
“A quad?” I offer, just to further push his buttons, hopping into the seat.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mateo says, but I see the smile he’s trying to hide.
“Like today, or in general?” I deadpan, hopping into the seat.
“This is so fun to watch,” Talia laughs before getting into her car. “Okay, Crew is with you two this weekend, and you’re still good with keeping him through Monday?”
“Yes, we’re all set.” Mateo shuts her car door for her, waving as she backs out of the parking lot.
For a moment, I just sit there watching her taillights disappear, the weight of her words settling somewhere deep in my chest.
Crew is with us.
Not just Mateo.
Us.
The realization should make me happy. It should feel like a victory, like proof that somewhere along the way, I became someone important in this little boy’s life.
And it does.
But there’s a small, aching part of me that doesn’t know what to do with it.
Because I never planned for this.
I never dreamed about being a mom. I never had a list of baby names I liked or imagined what my future children would look like. Motherhood was never something I saw for myself.
It still isn’t.
I don’t want kids.
I don’t want to be a parent.
And yet somehow, I feel like I’ve become something dangerously close to one.
Not his mom.
I could never replace Talia—and I would never want to.
But his person.
The one he looks for when something exciting happens. The one he tells his weird little facts to. The one he trusts with all the thoughts that bounce around his brilliant little mind.
That’s what I want.
Not the title.
But the responsibility of being that one he knows will always show up no matter what.
And maybe that’s why this hurts so much.
Because I know exactly what it feels like to lose that person.
The three of us stop at a local restaurant for dinner, and while it’s easy to fall into the normalcy of Crew’s hundreds of questions and arguing with Mateo between two desserts until Mateo just orders both anyway, I can’t ignore the voice in my head telling me something is wrong.
This is wrong.
Not the moment.
Not this life.
The fact that she isn’t here.
I have the life I never envisioned for myself—the life my mom wanted for me.
A man who adores me.
A child who looks at me like I hung the moon.
Love. So much love.
And she’s not here to see it.
She’ll never meet Mateo. She’ll never meet the first man I think I’ve ever loved.
And she’ll never meet Crew.
Sweet, smart, wonderful Crew.
She’ll never hear the questions that come out of nowhere or the random tangents that somehow make perfect sense to him.
She won’t get to bake him his favorite dessert or watch him proudly show off his collection of stuffed animals.
She won’t sit beside him during his “monster” movies while he somehow ends up closer and closer until he’s practically in her lap, wearing his Halloween pajamas.
She won’t know him.
And somehow, that feels like another loss.
Because I’ve spent so long trying to run away from missing the mother I lost that I never stopped to think about all the moments she would miss.
All the people she would never meet.
All the love she would never get to see.
And when I get into bed, trying to ignore the guilt in my stomach about telling Mateo I had freelance work to catch up on before the weekend, it all becomes too much.
Because I’ve been doing so well.
I’ve spent the last month choosing the hard things. Feeling the feelings. Letting people in. Letting myself be happy.
And now the darkness—the numbness, the apathy, the nothingness—is creeping back in.
And the worst part?
A part of me is relieved to see it.