Page 141 of Anything But Lonely

I’m overwhelmed with memories—memories of my mom that don't come back in big, perfect moments but in pieces.

The sound of her humming while she cooked dinner, the way she'd sing along to songs she didn't know all the words to, the smell of her perfume lingering on the sweaters she let me steal.

How fiercely she loved. Me, Jack, Rumi and Evee.

I remember the warmth of her hand wrapped around mine when I was little, her laugh filling up a room before I even knew what was funny, the way she always knew when something was wrong before I said a word.

I remember late nights on the couch, her bringing in a plate of cookies after dinner because there’s always room for dessert, the way she made ordinary days feel important just because she was there.

For a long time, I thought I'd forget the little things—the tiny moments that didn't seem like they mattered when they were happening. The moments she wasn’t sick.

But those are the ones that stayed. The pieces of her that still exist somewhere inside me, even after everything else has changed.

Mateo kneels beside me, and I feel Crew’s presence on my other side, their hands still in mine. Holding me together when it feels like I’m completely falling apart.

I don’t know how long the three of us stay like this, but it’s long enough to leave imprints of the strands of grass in my knees.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed to come here,” I whisper, and I let my hands fall from theirs, brushing my fingertips over the headstone, tracing the words “mother” and “grandmother” as my tears drop one-by-one into the grass. “I shouldn’t have waited this long.”

“You’re here now, baby,” Mateo offers. “That’s what matters.”

“You haven’t been here before?” Crew asks softly.

I turn to look at him, his wavy hair tied back with small strands escaping, blowing in the breeze. I reach for one, tucking it behind his ear. Shaking my head, I answer, “No. Not since her funeral.”

“When was her funeral?” Crew asks.

“Last November.”

He lets the answer sit between us all for a moment before asking, “What is a funeral?”

It catches me so off-guard, I instantly let out a chuckle, a small smile spreading over my lips, and I hear Mateo muffle a laugh behind me.

Crew looks at us like we’re the crazy ones, a slight raise of one brow.

When the laughter finally fades, I answer, “It’s the day you say goodbye.”

Crew looks from me to the headstone and then back at me. “Why are you saying goodbye if you live so close?”

I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. My smile fades slightly as I let out a sigh. “You’re right, champ. I do live really close.”

“So we should come visit more.” His voice is so matter-of-fact, like there’s nothing more obvious. “Then it’s not really like we’re saying goodbye.”

We.

The word catches me off-guard.

Because for so long, this place had only ever existed as a reminder of what I lost. A place I refused to revisit. A place I avoided because it felt easier to stay away than to admit how much I still missed her.

How much a part of me was still stuck on the day I had to say goodbye.

But Crew doesn't see it that way.

To him, it's simple.

My mom is here. I am here. And now he and Mateo are here too.

There’s no fear attached to it. No months of grief weighing the word down. Just a little boy offering the kind of love I never knew I needed.