Epilogue
EMERSON
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Mateo and Crew basically dragged me out of bed this morning—not in a bad way.
Sundays are for pajamas all day. For coffee and breakfast in bed. For being cuddled up between Mateo and Crew.
But instead, I was forced to get up and get dressed.
Mateo’s off today, and the two of us were out late last night. He wanted to meet with one of the bands that’s been playing at Lenny’s the last few Fridays, so they met up for coffee at Hey Honey’s. They ended up staying until close before heading next door for a quick round of drinks.
Since Crew was with a babysitter, I tagged along, and then once Rumi and Jack, and Ava and Anderson showed up, one hour turned into three, and suddenly it was midnight.
Luckily, all the kids were tucked in and taken care of at Mateo’s house—our house—the babysitter we all share, Sadie, texting us that there was no rush coming home.
When we finally made our way back, we were greeted by the living room swallowed by blankets, pillows piled everywhere, and stuffed animals filling in every crack.
Crew was sprawled in the middle of the pile, his limbs tangled everywhere, with Evee curled up beside him and Georgie stretched out nearby on the couch, her book still open in her hand, like she fell asleep mid-sentence.
Next to her, Sadie sat perfectly still, Eliana asleep in her lap, her tiny body tucked against her.
It took very careful maneuvering by Rumi and Jack to get Evee into the car without waking her up. Ava gently took Eliana from Sadie’s arms, and Anderson hiked Georgie onto his back when she complained about being too tired to walk when he took the book from her hand.
When Mateo went to move Crew to his bed, a tired voice asked if he could sleep with us.
And it was too fucking cute to say no.
“Sundays are for sleeping in,” I add, when neither of them give me an answer to my question of where we’re going.
Mateo smiles, resting his hand on my thigh as he drives, and I can practically hear the energy coming off Crew.
Looking out the window, I recognize the drive—it’s the same one I do whenever I go to work.
“Are we getting breakfast?” I ask, but Mateo doesn’t slow down to make the turn into the Hey Honey’s parking lot, so I guess that answers my question.
We keep heading down the main road, and the fire station comes into view.
As we pull into the parking lot, it’s not the familiar brick building that catches my eye—it’s the crowd gathered around it, the pink and teal balloons tied along the walkways, the stage taking shape just in front of the station.
The usually quiet space has been transformed into something warm and lively, with families moving between tables, lines forming in front of dozens of food trucks, kids laughing as they take part in games, face painting, and taking turns honking the horn of the fire truck.
A large banner hangs prominently near the stage, carrying the photo I keep on my desk of my mom—a teal ribbon in the corner.
My hand comes to my mouth. “What is this?”
The words come out muffled, but Crew hears the question loud and clear. “It’s for your mom!”
I’m still staring out the window, in complete and utter disbelief.
Mateo squeezes my leg. “It’s to raise money for ovarian cancer. I know the one-year anniversary of her passing is coming up,” he says.
“Tomorrow,” I offer, even though it doesn’t feel right for one day to mark the day we lost her. My mom was living in pain for so long, and it’s almost like the day she died was the day she could finally be free of the disease that took everything away from her.
The upcoming anniversary of when she died has been the main conversation piece with Dr. Hannah—who gave me a very stern warning when I started my sessions up again that I have to be committed and consistent if I want therapy to be beneficial to me—especially now that we are exploring medication options ever since the psychiatrist she recommended diagnosed me with depression.
I spot Rumi, Ava, and Georgie waving at me, Jack and Anderson standing behind them with their respective daughters in their arms. Next to them are Talia and Daniel as well as Mateo’s sister, her husband, and their daughters.
“We wanted to do something special.”
I turn to him. “You did this? All of you?”
“We all did.”
“It was Daddy’s idea!” Crew says, unbuckling his car seat and pulling at his door handle, even though Mateo hasn’t unlocked the car yet.
Mateo looks shy all of a sudden, and even though I can’t see the tips of his ears under his beanie, I know they’re turning red.
I lean in, pressing a kiss to his lips. His hand goes to the side of my face, a thumb wiping the tear escaping the corner of my eye.
I can’t believe he kept this all a secret from me.
For months, the three of us have been visiting my mom’s grave, at least once a week. Sometimes I go there by myself, set out a blanket, and just tell her all about everything that comes to mind. Other times, I bring my laptop and work on freelance jobs, just wanting to feel close to her.
My therapist says there’s no right way to do this whole grieving thing, and it’s up to me when it comes to finding ways to miss my mom while also choosing to remember her.
There are nights I lie awake, angry at the world that I’m living this beautiful life I didn’t know could be mine, and she’s not here to witness it.
But I tell myself that she’s here, in everything I do. In the love I have for Mateo and the love I show Crew. She taught me that a life filled with love is a life worth living, because it makes the hardships and bad days and pain more bearable.
For a moment, I just sit there and take it all in. The surprise of it, the love behind it, the sheer number of people who have shown up—not just for a cause, but for her. For my mom. I look down at the pink sweater I’m wearing, laughing to myself that I chose to wear it today of all days.
The November afternoon feels impossibly bright, the kind of day she would have loved: music drifting through the air, kids running around with painted faces and sticky fingers, families gathered together over plates of food, and laughter rising above the hum of conversation.
Rumi tells me they’ve been planning the benefit for weeks, working with the fire station to turn the parking lot into a place where people could come together, celebrate my mom’s life, and raise money for ovarian cancer research.
Ava points out the food trucks lined along the side of the lot, explaining that local businesses donated their time and a portion of their proceeds, while Georgie excitedly tells me about the kids’ area she helped Ava plan.
Crew tells me all about the importance of the color teal and how the balloons and decorations were meant to honor my mom and bring awareness to ovarian cancer.
Anderson tells me about how they built the stage this morning, and how it was Jack’s idea to have Mateo reach out to local bands to perform. For the rest of the afternoon, we watch some of the bands Mateo has been working with when he’s not too busy volunteering at the fire station perform.
Theo and Silas show up with their families, and Crew is so excited to see them that he almost knocks them to the ground when he runs at them full-speed.
At some point, Mateo’s hand slips from mine, but I’m busy talking to his sister that I don’t turn to see where he and Eddie go.
Since it’s November, it gets darker the longer the afternoon goes on, but the temperature stays comfortable—as if the universe doesn’t want this day to end either.
“The girls have been asking all week when they could help,” Mia tells me as we watch her twins, Nadia and Naomi play tag with Crew, glow sticks in their hands and around their necks like necklaces.
Every detail—the music, the food, the activities, the people—is another reminder that this wasn’t just an event someone organized. It was a community coming together to make sure my mom’s story didn’t end where her illness did.
And knowing that every dollar raised today will go toward ovarian cancer research and awareness makes it feel even more meaningful—that something good can come from the disease that takes so much.
A series of cheers draws our attention to the stage, but I look around for Mateo, expecting to find him coming back with another drink or plate of food.
“You guys thought you could get rid of us that easily?”
No fucking way.
A crowd instantly gathers around the stage, glowsticks lighting the darkness. Mateo takes his microphone from the stand, holding it in one hand as his eyes find mine.
Eddie sits down at his kit, holding his drumsticks over his head.
Theo makes sure his guitar is plugged into the amp as Silas waves at the crowd, and it feels like witnessing a Blue Moon.
Cross My Heart is over. They’re finished.
And while there’s no need to fall asleep listening to their songs on repeat when I have the real thing right there in my bed, I’m screaming so loud that my voice will be gone when I wake up tomorrow.
I didn’t think this day could get any better. I’m surrounded by the people I love, honoring my mom in a way she’d love, raising money for awareness and research…
And Cross My Heart getting back together is just the cherry on top.
“We just couldn’t stay away,” Silas says into his microphone, and everyone cheers.
“And we’re honored to be a part of such an important day,” Theo adds.
Mateo’s face is bright as he takes in the crowd. He looks at Theo and Silas like he can’t believe they’re real, and for a moment, I think I see the version of Mateo from all those years ago. On stage, with his best friends, doing what they love.
He turns over his shoulder, nodding in Eddie’s direction.
Eddie taps his drumsticks together three times, and Cross My Heart dives into their set, playing song after song, taking requests from the crowd, bringing out covers from the archives, laughing as they sing the songs they haven’t sang in years.
And my cheeks hurt from how much I’m smiling.
At some point, Crew tugs at my skirt, and I lift him into my arms, swaying with him to the music. His head falls against my shoulder, his little arms wrapped around my neck, and together we watch his dad.
I know this is a moment I’ll come back to on the hard days—the ones when grief feels heavier than I can carry, when I need a reminder of why I keep going.
Because I know what it’s like to not want to be here anymore.
I know what it’s like to become so numb that your own mind starts convincing you there’s no way forward, that maybe the pain is all there is. I know what it’s like to forget that life can still surprise you.
But I know something else now, too.
I know these are the moments we hold on for. The quiet ones and the impossible ones. The ones filled with music and laughter and the people who love us. The moments that remind us that even after the worst days, there are still good ones waiting.
And this—Crew in my arms, Mateo in front of me, my mom’s name carrying through a crowd of people who refuse to let her be forgotten—is one of them.