Page 52 of Anything But Lonely

I smile softly, sadly. “But one day you'll laugh at something and won't immediately think about calling her afterward. You'll make it through an entire Tuesday without crying. Then you'll feel guilty about it.”

Emerson watches me, her eyes never leaving mine. She doesn’t say anything, just listens.

“Sounds and smells will never be the same, and places you go will feel like they’re missing something. And sometimes, memories will feel like a burden, catching you off-guard and taking your breath away. Other days, the memories will be exactly what you need,” I continue. I look down at my hands, circling my thumbs around each other as I say words that have taken years to fully understand. “And eventually you'll realize missing someone isn't something you get over. It's just something you get better at carrying."

“I already feel like I’m starting to forget her.” She puts her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands.

I have the intense urge to reach for her, hold her, feel her skin against mine. But I fist my hands, settling them in my lap before I give into it. “You need to surround yourself with people who will help you remember her.”

Our words sit between us heavier than anything else we’ve said tonight.

Because I know that feeling.

The fear that the person you lost is slowly becoming a collection of memories instead of someone who was here—someone who laughed, who touched your hand, who had a favorite song and a favorite coffee and a way of saying your name that no one else could replicate.

I want to tell her that forgetting isn’t the same as letting go. That the details you’re terrified of losing don’t disappear all at once. They settle into you. They become part of the way you love, the way you move through the world.

But instead, I offer her something simpler. Something she can do tonight. Something that doesn’t require her to face something she isn’t ready for yet. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” I tap the bottle of water in front of her.

She rolls her eyes, and the tension in her body releases. She takes the last couple of sips before handing me the empty bottle. “Happy?”

I nod my head, that feeling of pride back with vengeance as she saunters towards the back of the bus, letting her door shut behind her.

All because she listened to me. Because she let me help, even for a moment. And for someone who I think has spent a lot of time convincing the world she doesn’t need anyone, that feels like something I don’t deserve to take lightly.

Someone like Emerson, as bold and stubborn and fierce as she is, trusting me?

Even if she fights me the entire time, it’s like the world’s best prize.

CHAPTER 20

EMERSON

I should be thinking about my mom.

That’s the part that bothers me most.

I should be lying here replaying every word Mateo said, thinking about the fact that I finally admitted out loud the thing I’ve been too afraid to say—that I’m terrified I’m losing pieces of her. That somehow, every day that passes is another day farther away from the woman who raised me.

Instead, I’m thinking about him.

I should be reflecting on why finally saying the words I’ve been choking on for the last month feels like pulling a knife out of a wound while knowing I still have to figure out how to heal it.

But instead, I’m thinking about him.

I should be trying to figure out where I am with all of this now. Preparing for how I’m going to handle two weeks back home without this job, without this tour bus, without Crew and Mateo and Liam and the rest of the bands. How I’m going to get through the holidays. How I’m going to find the motivation to see my friends, to eat, to do something other than lay in bed.

But I’m still thinking about him.

About Mateo.

About the way he looked at me when I told him how I’m starting to forget my mom. Like he understood without needing me to explain anything more. Like he knew exactly how heavy it was because he’d carried something similar.

I should hate him for that.

His stupid face.

His stupid voice.