Page 60 of Anything But Lonely

I love my niece, but watching a toddler open presents for the last twenty minutes has me wanting to jump out the window—my patience thinning with every piece she painstakingly tears off, bit by bit.

Crew is right.

Halloween is so much better than Christmas.

My lips tug into a small smile as I think about the kid.

I wonder if his mom managed to talk him into wearing pajamas with snowflakes and reindeer instead of potion bottles and cauldrons this morning.

Or if Mateo ended up going to see him in Chicago today, or if he's celebrating Christmas alone.

If he's already awake and starting his day or if he's still lying in bed, his brown waves messy against the pillow, his bare back peeking out from beneath the sheets, his arm slung lazily over my waist.

The image is as clear as it was the morning I woke up next to him in the tour bus, memorizing every softened edge of his face until he began to stir—the equivalent of popping the bubble we'd been existing in all night.

I had a car called and my bags packed within minutes, sneaking off the bus and finishing the drive from Chicago to Milwaukee in the back of an Uber rather than surrounded by reminders of what happened between me and Mateo.

And how much I liked it.

Not just the sex—though it was easily the best orgasm of my entire life. It's everything else that's had me wishing that night wasn't the one-time thing we'd agreed to.

Opening up to him about my mom. Listening as he told me about his parents and his divorce and his fucking vasectomy. Watching him light up whenever he talked about Crew. Having him there with me when I fell asleep instead of the sound of his music.

The entire night was a rollercoaster of emotions in a way I'd forgotten was possible.

I've spent so long living in this state of numbness, letting it fade only long enough to trade it for pain, that I forgot how to feel.

I forgot how emotions all come tangled together—the hurt and the comfort, the happiness and the sadness, the grief and the joy—asking to be felt all at once.

They’re messy and frustrating and beautiful.

And it had to be fucking Mateo Lane who reminded me.

The man who was supposed to be a job. A distraction. The rockstar who was supposed to stay in his lane so I could stay in mine.

Not the flustered, self-conscious man with the coolest kid who makes sure I drink water and calls me “baby” without even really realizing it.

The man who told me how important it was to surround myself with people who will help me not forget my mom.

So really, it’s his fault I’m here watching Evee be more interested in the goddamn wrapping paper than the actual present inside of it.

“Emerson, does that work?” Jack’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I push the thoughts of Mateo to the back of my mind—where they should be.

“Does what work?” I ask, not having heard whatever he and Rumi must have been talking about.

“Stop by Mom’s grave on the way to Ava and Anderson’s?” he answers, and it’s like a punch to the gut.

Mateo’s words echo in my head.

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,

Yeah, well today is not that fucking day.

“I’m good,” I answer curtly as I stand from the couch, ignoring the way both Jack and Rumi look at me like they’re trying to find the words to change my mind. “I’ll meet you guys at Ava and Anderson’s,” I add, even though the thought of going suddenly feels like a form of torture, but knowing if I don’t show up, Ava will come find me and drag me to her dining table by the hair.

I haven’t been back to the cemetery where we buried my mom since the day of her funeral, and I don’t plan on it.

But I can go through the motions of Christmas Day. Smile for the pictures. Speak when spoken to. Tighten the mask so it won’t fall off.