Chapter 6 - Mateo’s Mother’s Birthday
Elena’s birthday arrived in March.
Vincent planned to ignore it.
Mateo did not.
At breakfast he asked, “Are we going to the cemetery?”
Vincent stopped drinking coffee.
Clara looked between them.
Vincent answered, “No.”
Mateo’s face changed.
“Why?”
“It’s cold.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Mateo.”
“Mom doesn’t care about weather.”
Vincent stood.
“We’re not going.”
He left.
Clara did not follow him.
That irritated him.
An hour later, he found her in the greenhouse with Mateo.
They were repotting a small white rose.
“What is that?”
Mateo answered.
“For Mom.”
Vincent’s chest tightened.
Clara wiped soil from her fingers.
“He wanted to take something.”
“I said we’re not going.”
“I know.”
“And you ignored me.”
“No. We’re still here.”
Mateo looked at him.
“Why can’t we go?”
Vincent did not know how to answer without revealing that he had not visited Elena’s grave in eleven months.
The first three months he went every Sunday.
Then one Sunday he sat in the car for an hour and could not open the door.
He had not returned.
“I’m busy.”
Mateo stared at him.
“You’re lying.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
Clara looked at the rose.
Not at either of them.
Mateo continued.
“You say lying is weak.”
That was absolutely something Vincent had said.
He hated children’s memory.
Vincent took a breath.
“I don’t like going there.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s dead.”
The words were too blunt.
Mateo’s eyes filled.
Vincent immediately regretted them.
But Mateo said, “I know.”
Then quieter, “I want to go anyway.”
Vincent looked at his son.
He could say no.
He could protect himself.
Or he could be a father.
“Get your coat.”
The cemetery was almost empty.
Clara remained by the car.
Dominic stood fifty yards away.
Vincent pushed Mateo’s chair along the paved path until they reached Elena Rossy’s grave.
Mateo held the rose.
For a long time neither spoke.
Then Mateo said, “I forgot her voice.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
“What?”
“I know what she sounded like. But I can’t hear it.”
Vincent crouched beside him.
“That happens.”
“I hate it.”
“I know.”
Mateo put the rose near the stone.
“Do you remember?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say most?”
Vincent almost smiled.
“To me?”
“Yeah.”
“Vincent, stop.”
Mateo laughed.
Vincent continued.
“Vincent, put that down. Vincent, don’t answer that phone. Vincent, we’re leaving.”
“She bossed you around.”
“Constantly.”
Mateo smiled at the grave.
Then his face crumpled.
“I was mad at her.”
Vincent’s heart broke.
“The day she died.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t let me use my tablet.”
Vincent put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I told her I hated her.”
“Mateo.”
“She died and I said that.”
Vincent moved in front of the chair.
“Look at me.”
Mateo tried to turn away.
Vincent gently held his shoulders.
“Look at me.”
Mateo did.
“Your mother knew you loved her.”
“But—”
“She knew.”
“I said—”
“She knew.”
Tears rolled down Mateo’s face.
Vincent’s did too.
He did not hide them.
Mateo stared.
“You’re crying.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen you cry.”
“I try not to make it a hobby.”
Mateo laughed through tears.
Then Vincent did something he had avoided since the accident.
He pulled his son against his chest.
Not carefully.
Not like porcelain.
Just held him.
Mateo buried his face against his father’s coat.
They cried together beside Elena’s grave.
From the car, Clara looked away.
She gave them privacy.
That evening Mateo asked for one of Elena’s old videos.
Vincent hesitated.
Then found a clip on his phone.
Elena stood in the kitchen, flour on her nose.
Mateo, six years old, was stealing cookie dough.
Behind the camera Vincent said, “He gets that from you.”
Elena looked toward the lens.
“Everything good in him comes from me.”
Her voice filled the room.
Mateo froze.
Then smiled.
“I remember.”
Vincent nodded.
May you like
“Me too.”
They watched the video six times.
