Epilogue
Ethan
Three years later
We stroll past a long row of headstones, a cold breeze blowing through the cemetery.
It’s taken me far too long to visit my brother and father in Boston, where my mother had them laid to rest. I wanted my son to meet the person he’s named after.
Mia found out she was pregnant with Erik a few days before our wedding.
She swears she conceived him in Las Vegas on the night of my bachelor party.
Erik jumps up and down, his chubby little cheeks puffed out. He latches onto me and yells, “Swing, swing, swing.”
He loves it when Mia and I swing him in the air. It’s funny, considering I met his mother on the old swing set in her parents’ backyard. I fell in love with her in the most unusual of places.
“Hold Mommy’s hand,” Mia says to our almost three-year-old son, whom we named after my twin brother.
He slips his tiny fingers between hers and then latches on to me. “I want to fly, Daddy,” he says in his baby voice, which melts my heart. “Make me fly.”
“You got it, buddy.”
We lift him off the ground at the same time. Mia laughs, her smile so wide it reaches up to her clear blue eyes. I love this woman and my children more than anything in this world. And I have them because of the darkest parts of my life.
My brother’s death led me to this point.
Years ago, I thought I would be dead by now.
Part of me needed to be with my brother again.
My depression and guilt over Erik’s death, mixed with my drug habit, should’ve killed me.
But it didn’t because my little lamb was there to save me.
She was always the light to my darkness, the good to my bad.
To this day, she still saves me from myself.
She keeps me grounded and makes me whole.
Maintaining a solid grip on Erik, we rock him toward my brother and father’s graves. My mom hovers over their headstones with her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. She has her back to us, but she spins around once she hears our footsteps.
“Grams,” Erik screams. “Look, Grams, I’m flying.”
Her cheeks redden from the smile stretching across her withered face.
She looks so much older than the last time I saw her.
I’m hoping she will finally consider my offer for her to live with us.
I’ve asked her at least a hundred times and still get the same answer every time.
She’s never ready to leave my brother and father, and I fear she never will be.
I hate seeing her alone and with no one to talk to other than the staff who live inside my childhood home with her.
The second we set Erik on the ground, he runs into my mom’s arms.
“Hey, baby.” She hugs Erik and kisses him on the cheek, holding on to him for dear life. “I missed you.”
“You made it,” my mom says to Mia and me, lifting Erik up and into her arms, adjusting him on her hip. “How was the trip?”
“Not bad. We hit some traffic but nothing major.”
“There’s always traffic.” She sighs. “Well, I’m glad you made it in one piece.”
Since Erik’s death and my accident, my mom worries whenever I travel long distances in my car.
What happened as a teenager was an unfortunate series of events.
Since then, I haven’t had a single crash or a blemish on my driving record.
It was nothing more than a response to my brother needing help and me feeling helpless.
These days, I think of Erik more. I don’t want to forget the past or the memories we shared.
If anything, now that I have a son and another child on the way, I want them to know their family.
Even though he’s too young to remember, I tell Erik stories about his uncle.
He knows I named him after my twin brother and mentions him from time to time.
When Mia found out she was having a boy, I knew Erik was the perfect name for him.
My mom cried for days after I told her we were calling him Erik.
She still does on occasion. Today is one of those days.
Even though she tries to blink them away, her eyes are watery and filled with tears.
She says Erik reminds her so much of my brother and me when we were his age.
“How long have you been here?” I ask my mom.
“Not long, maybe twenty minutes or so. You know, my usual visiting hours.”
Every day since she moved back to Boston, my mom has sat at my brother and father’s graves. Some days, she spends hours here talking to the dead, and knowing that breaks my heart. She never moved on and never got the second chance I had with Mia.
“Have you reconsidered my offer?”
I ask her every time we speak.
My mom’s gaze shifts between Erik and me until she settles on Mia’s stomach.
She’s pregnant again, this time with a girl.
Her belly is huge, two seconds from popping.
I told Erik he could rub Mia’s belly for good luck, and he does it every morning when he wakes up.
Sometimes, I find him with his mouth pressed to Mia’s stomach, whispering to his sister.
Erik tells her about us and loves her already.
He can’t wait to meet her. Neither can I.
I thought having a boy was the highlight of my life because I could pass my name to him. But I’m terrified of having a girl and the added responsibility that comes with it. My little princess will probably take after her mom, who’s constantly challenged me, but I’m ready this time.
My mom runs her hand over Mia’s baby bump and smiles. “I think it’s time.”
I sigh with relief. “Really? You’ll come live with us?”
She nods and kisses Erik on the forehead, holding him tight against her chest. “Do you want Grams to come live with you and the new baby?”
Erik giggles. “Baby kicks me.”
All of us burst into laughter.
“When he touched Mia’s stomach last week…” I add for clarification, “… Willow kicked his hand.”
“Willow? I love the name.”
“My brother wanted Ethan to name his firstborn after him,” Mia says, rubbing her hand over her stomach. “He didn’t get his wish, so we compromised with Willow.”
“It’s a beautiful name for my granddaughter.” My mom scans the headstones in front of us. Her eyes are filled with sadness. “I wish your brother and father were here to meet your children. If Erik were alive, I bet he would’ve fought you for Mia.”
We both smile at the thought of my brother, who probably would’ve kicked my ass for a chance with my wife.
Erik was the life of the party, the twin everyone liked.
I was always the one brooding in the corner, ignoring everyone.
He was like Will, so I gravitated toward him when I first moved to Pennsylvania.
Erik thrashes in my mother’s arms until she sets him on the ground. My little guy moves between my brother’s and father’s graves and presses his tiny palms to the marble. He looks up at me with curiosity in his green eyes. “Grandpa and Uncle Erik live together. Grams is coming to live with us.”
My son reminds me so much of my brother when we were kids. We were identical, though different in many ways, and my son looks just like our baby pictures. But his personality is my brother to a T.
I crouch down in front of him, fighting tears. “Yeah, buddy. Grams will make you the Mickey Mouse pancakes you like.”
His face lights up. “With peanut butter?”
“Sure,” I choke out. “Whatever you want.”
Erik throws himself into my arms, and I breathe in the scent of his baby shampoo. He smacks a kiss on my cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, too, buddy.”
Mia settles in behind me and places her hand on my shoulder.
My mother touches my other shoulder. “It’s time to go home, baby. I’m ready.”
“Me, too, Mom.” I lift Erik in my arms and stand. “You’ll like the apartment I renovated for you on the off chance you would change your mind.”
Excited, she rubs her hands together. “That means I get to decorate, cook my boys dinner, and plan our Sunday brunches. I’m looking forward to being with my family.”
“This will be good for all of us.”
With every family member present, my unborn daughter included, my life has never felt more complete.
My mom had always told me that the right people come into our lives when we need them most and that much was accurate regarding Mia.
She was the breath of fresh air I needed, the one person I could bare myself to without fear.
I turn to Mia and press my lips to hers. No matter how many days or years go by, I still feel that spark with her, a flame that glows brighter with each new experience we share.
“Eww,” Erik says in my ear. “Daddy kissed Mommy.”
“My silly boy.” Mia pats his shaggy brown hair. “Wait until you get old enough to have a girlfriend.”
He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Girls are gross.”
I laugh. “You won’t say that when you get older, buddy. Mommy’s not gross, and she’s a girl.”
“I love Mommy,” he coos. “Mommy pretty. Mommy makes me cookies. Can I have cookies?”
Mia cracks a smile. “When we get home, I’ll make you all the cookies you can eat.”
“Yay,” he yells in my ear. “I want to fly again, Daddy. Swing, swing, swing.”
“Okay, but one more time, and then we have to leave.”
Erik clutches both of our hands.
“Take us home, Daddy,” Mia says.
She gives me a wicked smile that I return.
“There’s no place I’d rather be.”