Chapter 40 – Mateo
Chapter Forty
MATEO
The morning light spills across the living room in soft, golden streaks, warming the hardwood floors and catching on the specks of glitter Maya somehow still has on her cheek from last night’s fundraiser. Andres is right, glitter lasts for fucking ever.
She’s curled up on the couch in her unicorn pajamas, a blanket wrapped around her like a little burrito, cartoon playing low in the background. One of her legs bounces absentmindedly, the way it always does when her brain is going a mile a minute.
She doesn’t know it yet, but today’s going to be big. Not like yesterday’s, everyone’s covered in whipped cream kind of way. But in a big way that matters.
She’s going to learn that her whole world is about to shift—in the best possible way…at least, I hope she feels that way.
I take a deep breath and run my hand over my jaw, nerves buzzing low and steady in my chest. I’ve fought fires, dragged grown men out of burning buildings, performed CPR under pressure. But telling a six-year-old I want to be her dad? That might be the scariest thing I’ve ever done.
“Are you okay?”
I turn to find Analyse standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall with her crutches tucked under her arms. She’s already dressed—leggings, a loose sweatshirt, her curls still damp from the shower.
“Just…thinking,” I say.
She makes her way over slowly, and I meet her halfway. Gently, I reach out and take the crutches from her, steadying her as she shifts her weight to lean against the arm of the couch. My hand rests on her hip without thinking.
“You ready for this?” she asks.
I hesitate. “Am I ready to be her dad? Absolutely. There’s nothing I want more. Am I ready to ask her? I don’t know. What if she doesn’t want—”
“Mateo.” Her voice is firm. “She loves you. So much. She already sees you as hers. This just makes it official.”
I nod slowly, still staring at the little girl on the couch who changed everything in my world without even trying.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Let’s do this.”
She smiles, leans in, and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’ve got you. We’ve got her.”
We settle on the couch with Maya between us, the blanket still wrapped around her little legs. She’s halfway through an episode of Bluey, but the second I grab the remote, her eyes narrow.
“You better not be turning that off.”
Analyse chuckles. “Just for a minute, bebé. We need to talk to you about something important.”
Maya crosses her arms. “Is it bad?”
“Nope,” I say. “Promise.”
She huffs but nods. “Okay. But only if I get chocolate milk after.”
“Deal,” I say, my throat already tight.
Analyse reaches over and smooths down her wild bedhead. “You remember last night at the fundraiser? How proud we were of you?”
“I was the best volunteer,” she says, sitting taller. “Even Principal Ortiz said so.”
“You were,” I agree. “And that’s one of the reasons we wanted to talk to you today. Because you’ve been so brave, and kind, and strong. And because…well, we have something really special to tell you.”
Her eyes bounce between us, curious now.
I glance at Analyse. She gives me a nod.
I turn back to Maya. “You know I love you, right?”
She tilts her head. “Yeah. You always say that.”
“I do. But I want to say it again. I love you so much, Maya. And not just because you’re funny, or smart, or because you give the best hugs…though all those things are true.”
She giggles.
“I love you because you’re you. Because you’ve made this house feel like home. Because every time I see you, I know that I want to be here, with you and your mom, for the rest of my life.”
Maya glances at Analyse, who squeezes her hand.
“Is this about you getting married?” she asks, nose scrunching. “Because I already knew that. You kissed her like a bajillion times at the fundraiser.”
Analyse snorts and coughs into her coffee.
I laugh, pressing a hand to my chest. “Okay, yes. We are getting married.”
“In ten weeks,” Analyse adds, pulling out her phone. She types quickly and then holds it up to show us both the message she sent to the group chat:
Anna, get your planning fingers ready. The wedding is in 10 weeks. Save the date!
Maya’s eyes go wide. “Are we going to wear matching dresses?!”
“We’ll both be wearing white dresses, mi amor,” Analyse says.
“I want to sparkle!”
“You always do,” I say, brushing a crumb from her cheek.
She shifts her weight and looks back at me. “So, what’s the special part? I already knew you were going to marry Mami. Duh.”
I take a deep breath and grab the envelope I tucked into the coffee table drawer last night. I hold it out to her.
“What is it?” she asks, taking it with small fingers.
“Open it.”
She tears it open with reckless abandon. Inside is a simple drawing I made—stick figures, because I can’t draw for shit. The three of us, holding hands. Above us, in big, blocky letters, it says: The Rodriguez Family.
Maya blinks. “That’s us.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s us. But I want to make it official.”
She looks up, confused. “You already moved in while Mami was in the hospital. You make me snacks, watch movies with me, and check for monsters under my bed.”
“I know,” I say gently. “But I want to do something bigger. I want to adopt you. Legally. I want to be your dad forever. On paper. In name. In every way there is.”
Her mouth opens then closes again. She looks at Analyse. “Like, for real?”
Analyse’s eyes are glossy, her voice soft. “For real, mi amor. He wants to be your daddy.”
“Maya, I want you to know, I don’t want to adopt you so that you can feel like you’re my daughter. You already are my daughter. I want to adopt you because I love you very much, and it would make me happy for us to have the same last name. So, what do you say, kid? Can I adopt you?”
Tears spill before she even answers. She jumps into my lap, blanket and all, and buries her face in my chest. She nods so hard it shakes both of us. “Yes. I want that. I want you to be my daddy forever.”
My own tears break free. I kiss the top of her head, then her forehead, then her glitter-streaked cheek. “Thank you for letting me love you, Maya. I’ll never stop.”
“Can I still call you Mateo sometimes?” she mumbles.
I laugh, my heart cracking open wider than I knew it could. “You can call me anything you want, bebesita. I’m yours either way.”
She pulls back, eyes shining. Then she squints, serious. “Even if I call you Mr. Poopy Pants?”
Analyse loses it. Laughter spills from her like a wave, and I can’t help but follow.
“Maybe not that one,” I say through a grin.
Maya wraps her arms around my neck. “You’re gonna be the best daddy ever.”
And just like that, my nerves are gone. All that’s left is this girl—my baby girl—wrapped around me, warm and loved and safe. Analyse leans in and kisses my cheek, her eyes never leaving the two of us.
“I told you,” she whispers. “You’ve got this.”
She was right. I did. We do.
Maya hasn’t let go of me in ten full minutes, and honestly, I’m not mad at it. I hope she never does.
She’s curled up against my chest, her cheek pressed right over my heart, arms tucked tightly around my neck. I hold her just as close, my hand running slowly through her curls, the steady rise and fall of her little body grounding me.
Across from me, Analyse wipes her cheeks for the third time. We’re all a mess, but it’s a mess I’d live in forever if it meant I get to keep this feeling. This family.
“Are you okay, Mateo?” she asks softly.
I glance at her, eyes burning, but my chest feels light. Full. “Yeah. I think I’ve never been more okay in my life.”
Maya shifts a little and looks up at her mom. “Can I tell people?”
Analyse nods immediately, reaching over to tuck a loose curl behind Maya’s ear. “Of course, mamita. Tell the whole town if you want.”
Maya squeals, throws off the blanket, and darts toward her bedroom like she’s on a mission—still wearing her unicorn pajamas and trailing the blanket like a cape.
I blink after her, stunned. “Where’s she going?”
Analyse leans her head back, grinning. “Probably to get her glittery tiara. The one she calls her important announcement crown.”
Sure enough, two seconds later, Maya storms back into the room like royalty. Crown askew, cheeks glowing, eyes wild with joy.
She climbs up on the couch and plants her feet. I’m calling it now, this kid is the next US President. “I have an announcement!” she shouts, arms spread wide. “I’m getting a new daddy and we’re gonna be the Rodriguez Family!”
I let out a strangled sound and clutch my chest like she’s just straight up slayed me. “You’re gonna kill me, princesa.”
“No dying,” she says with a stern finger pointed at me. “You have to be my daddy forever now.”
I give her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Forever.”
Analyse chokes back a laugh, dabbing at the corners of her eyes again. “How about we make that chocolate milk now? We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”
Maya’s already halfway to the kitchen. I stand and grab her mom’s crutches from where they’re leaning near the counter, bringing them over.
I steady her as she walks, my hand at her back, and when our eyes meet, she gives me this soft, knowing look that sends something warm rippling through my chest.
We’re really doing this. A family. A real one.
Maya scrambles onto a stool at the kitchen island, her tiara slipping slightly as she props her elbows on the counter. I grab the chocolate milk while Analyse reaches for glasses.
“Whipped cream?” I ask.
Analyse arches a brow. “Seriously?”
“Special occasion,” I say, already pulling it from the fridge.
“Sprinkles?” Maya asks, eyes wide.
I open the cabinet with flair. “Pink and rainbow. Dealer’s choice.”
As I decorate her drink, I glance at Analyse leaning against the counter.
Her smile is soft, eyes still misty. This isn’t just about me and Maya.
It’s all of us. Every quiet night and early morning.
Every inside joke and burnt pancake. Every time Maya curls up in my lap like she’s always belonged there.
This is what I’ve wanted. I didn’t realize before, but this is everything I needed.
I hand Maya her drink with a bow.
She gasps like it’s the most magical thing she’s ever seen. “It’s perfect,” she whispers.
A beat of silence stretches between us.
Then Analyse asks, “What do you think about a movie marathon day?”
“With pancakes for lunch?” Maya says through a mouthful of whipped cream.
“Pancakes, popcorn, and pajamas all long,” I say. “The perfect day of rotting.”
Maya cheers, already sliding off her stool. In no time, we’re dragging every blanket and pillow we own into the living room. Maya builds a fort, Analyse supervising from the couch. Meanwhile, I’m flipping pancakes in the kitchen while Maya heckles me like a pint-sized Gordon Ramsay.
“That one’s burnt!”
“It’s called caramelized!”
“Chef’s banned,” she declares, arms crossed.
“Chef’s underpaid,” I mutter, grinning as I plate the stack.
We eat on the floor inside the fort, maple syrup dripping onto paper towels. When the sugar crash hits, we all end up in a pile—Maya between us, head on my shoulder, blanket tucked up to her chin.
Maya reaches for my hand without looking, just this tiny, instinctive move like she knows that I’ll always be there to hold it. And she’s right. I will. Forever.