Page 147 of Anything But Lonely

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?”