APRIL

"Okay, Selah Joy. You stay in bed. It's way past bedtime."

Selah looks at me with glinting eyes, both hands holding the covers up by her chin. "Okay, mama," she says, very unconvincingly.

"Selah," I warn. "I mean it."

"I mean it," she says, then giggles.

"Okay," I say, sighing while knowing I'm already defeated. She's two-and-a-half now, and just this week got her first toddler bed. She moved from a crib when she started climbing out of it – which actually happened late. And now, the last thing she wants to do is stay in bed once we tuck her in. "Goodnight."

"Night-night," she says. I turn around, ready to close her door, before she pipes up again. "Mama!" she exclaims. "Kiss."

"Of course," I say, padding over to press one to her forehead. "Remember, no getting up."

"Stay in my bed," she says.

"Exactly," I say, then pat her over the covers. "See you in the morning."

I keep her bedroom door open halfway and cross the hall, glancing to Athena's room where the bedside lamp is still on. I can picture her propped against the headboard, reading a chapter book – the new one we picked up yesterday. She doesn't like to be disturbed while reading, so I pass her room without peeking in and end up in mine and Jackson's, where he's sitting up with a book, too. "What's Birdie doing?" he asks.

"Plotting," I say, getting comfortable next to him as I put lotion on my hands.

"Still?"

"She has iron will," I say, then lean back and close my eyes for a long moment. When I open them, Jackson hasn't yet turned the page and his eyes aren't moving. It doesn't take a trained observer to notice he's not reading as much as he is staring. "We should talk about tomorrow," I say.

"Mm-hmm," he says, closing the book without marking the page. That only proves my point to how little he was paying attention to the words.

"How do you feel?" I ask.

Jackson continues looking forward, seemingly studying the far wall. "I'm fine," he says.

"You're quiet."

"It's a lot to think about," he says. "A lot to dredge up."

"Yeah," I agree.

Tomorrow, we're headed to the funeral home to talk with the directors about getting Myla a new headstone. Athena has campaigned for a replacement for years, and I think it's a wonderful idea – one that's long overdue. I understand that Jackson was in an emotionally tumultuous place when she died, not thinking clearly, but it's time for her memory to be set in stone.

"I haven't thought of anything for the epitaph," he admits. "I tried Googling phrases, but none of them were right." He crosses his arms and looks my way – trouble in his eyes. Maybe this is why there was never an inscription in the first place; sometimes, nothing is better than not good enough. "What does your mom's say?"

"Mother, Wife, Sister, Friend," I say. "And a Bible verse."

"That's nice."

"But Myla wouldn't want a verse," I say.

"No," he says, shaking his head while wearing a small frown. "You're right."

"Do you think maybe Maggie would have an idea?"

Lines appear on his forehead as he squints. "Maggie?"

"Yeah," I say, ready to continue before tiny footsteps lead to our door for the third time tonight.

"Mama…" Selah sings.

"Selah bird," I say, eyeing the door. "What did I say about staying in bed?"

"I don't want to," she claims. Then, I see little hands on the doorframe as she peers around, her round face bright and curious. "Monster."

"There's no monster," I say, but just as I stand up to collect her, she sprints back down the hall shrieking with laughter.

"Mama!" Athena calls, joining the ruckus. "Please, make her go to sleep! I'm trying to read, and she won't stop being loud."

"I'm getting there, Thena," I say.

"I'll get her," Jackson says, getting up.

"Don't be mean, Dad," I say, ribbing him lightly. "I'm gonna go talk to Thena real quick."

We both leave the bedroom, Jackson walking in the direction of maniacal toddler giggles while I head towards our older daughter, sitting on the edge of her canopy bed with arms crossed. "She's being really annoying," Athena says. "Can you make her stop?"

"We're trying," I say. "Can I sit?"

"Yeah," she says. "But if you're gonna talk about tomorrow, can we shut the door?"

I smile to myself, marveling at how perceptive Athena has always been. It's impressive, really. Never bothersome or precocious. I reach to close the door and we're left in warm silence, her brown eyes roaming my face as she waits for me to speak. "What are you thinking?" I ask.

"What are you thinking?" she returns.

"Wondering how you're doing," I say. "I think your dad's having a hard time."

She sits with those words for a while, tracing a Band-Aid on her knee. "I think he feels bad that he didn't write anything the first time," she says.

"Did he tell you that?"

She shakes her head. "No," she says. "I just think that's how I'd feel. If I were him. Bad that I waited this long. And she's just been empty for forever. If you were just walking by, you'd think her family didn't care." She looks up at me. "Even though we do. It's just like… more complicated than that."

"Of course it is," I say. "You're so smart, Thena."

"I know."

I smile a little and hold her face, leaning to kiss her forehead. "What do you think about Aunt Maggie coming with us?" I ask. "I don't know if it'll happen or not. Just an idea."

"That's cool," she says. "Because my mom and her were friends."

"I thought it would be nice, too," I say. "I still have to talk to Dad about it."

"You want her to come?" Athena asks, sounding shocked.

"It was my idea," I say. "Why?"

She shrugs and says, "You guys barely even talk."

"Well, we'll just have to see," I say, then listen to the silence in the hall. "It sounds like Dad finally got your sister down."

Athena takes that as her cue to lay flat, too. She looks up with her hair fanned out on the pillow and rests her arms above her head, blinking slow. "If Aunt Maggie comes, will you still go?" she asks.

"Of course," I say.

"Good." Then, she yawns. "I'm tired now, mama."

"I'll let you sleep," I say, squeezing her hand once before standing. "See you in the morning, babe. Goodnight."

"Night."

When I go back into mine and Jackson's room, he's under the covers without the guise of a book. Now, he's lying on his back with his eyes cemented on the ceiling, glancing my way momentarily as I get in bed beside him. "She okay?" he murmurs, barely moving his lips.

"Yeah," I say. "Tired. A lot on her mind."

"I bet," he says.

"Selah good?"

He nods. "She fell asleep while I read her a story."

"You laid with her, didn't you?" I ask, tone lilting. He always gets on my case for staying in bed with her until she falls asleep, but it's the easiest and most comforting route to take some nights. Now, he sees how it feels.

"Maybe," he says, a smirk playing in his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," I say, then roll onto my side. I wrap one arm around his torso and sigh, patting his stomach as we trade silent thoughts in the dark. "I think Maggie should be there tomorrow," I say.

He responds right away with, "Why?" His tone isn't necessarily sharp, but it's clear he didn't expect me to say that.

"Because Myla mattered to her, too," I say. "I almost feel like she has more reason to be there than I do."

"No," he says, suddenly defensive. "You have a reason to be there."

"Well, I know," I say. "All I'm saying is that I think she does, too." He's quiet, simmering, so I lift my head to look into his eyes. "You don't?" I ask.

He shrugs one shoulder, jostling me in the process. "I don't want her to ruin it," he says. "You know how she gets. Especially around you."

"I don't think she'd act any certain way for this," I say.

"You don't know her very well."

"Well, maybe not," I say. "But I think not giving her a chance is a mistake. She loved Myla. If I were her, I'd want to be a part of this."

"It'd be just like her to take control of the situation and make it all about her," he says. "I don't want that to happen."

"If it does, we'll figure it out. We're adults."

He lets the idea sit for a while before agreeing, but he eventually does. He sends his sister a text inviting her to meet us at the cemetery office at 10am, and she accepts within minutes. I knew she would.

When we get there the next morning, the sky is stark white. The air is heavy like it might rain, though it's not predicted in the forecast, and Athena has been quiet since she woke up. Selah, though, not understanding the gravity of the situation, is a ball of energy – her typical state.

We pull up to the office to find Maggie waiting in her car, eyes forward as she wears a pensive expression. "Aunt Maggie is here," Athena notes.

"Is that alright?" Jackson asks, turning around after putting the car in park.

"Yeah," Athena says. "She writes for her job. Maybe she'll think of something to put on Mommy's stone."

"Good thinking," I say.

We get out of the car and I keep Selah on my hip even as she wriggles. "Hey," Jackson greets his sister, giving her a terse nod.

"Hi," she says, then gives Athena a big hug. "Hey, pretty girl. And you too, Birdie." She drops a peck on Selah's cheek, then gives me one, too. "Hey, April."

"Hey," I say. "I'm really glad you made it."

"Me, too," she says. "Should we go in?"

After exchanging pleasantries with the funeral director, Mr. Ross, we all sit around a round table and listen to him go over headstone options. Athena hasn't taken her eyes off the man since we got here; she's listening intently to every word he says. Once he's done giving the rundown of prices and styles, there's a heavy silence left for us to fill. "So, any questions?" he asks.

"It is possible to get a headstone completely replaced, right?" Maggie asks.

"Very possible," he says.

"Good," she says.

"That's what we're looking to do," Jackson says.

"Is there something wrong with the current one?" Mr. Ross asks. "If this has to do with damages caused by mowers, it's possible the funeral home will cover some of the cost, if not all of it."

Jackson opens his mouth to speak, but Maggie gets there first. "No, nothing like that," she says. "The stone right now just isn't good enough."

"I see," Mr. Ross says. "Well, should I let you all chat and check back in a few?"

"That would be great."

He exits the room, leaving the five of us to our own devices. A few stagnant moments pass where we all wait for someone to speak; Maggie has her hands clasped in her lap, Jackson has his eyes on Athena, who's staring at an empty notepad in front of her. I'm doing my best to keep Selah wrangled, though she fights me tooth and nail on that.

"Just let her down, babe," Jackson says.

"She's gonna get into something," I say.

"I'll keep an eye on her. Just let her go."

Maggie looks to Athena. "Why don't you entertain your sister, sweetie?" she says.

Athena lifts her head and glares at her aunt, something I haven't seen her do in quite a while. "No," she says. "I want to talk about Mommy's stone. I get to say something about it, too."

I nod to myself; she isn't wrong. That's why she came in the first place. It's important for everyone to have a voice in this decision for Myla – Athena, Maggie, and Jackson – whereas none of them had a say over what happened to her.

"I'm gonna take Birdie outside," I say, standing up and bringing my littlest daughter with me.

"You're going?" Athena asks, eyes wide.

"Not far," I say, pointing to the window. "You'll be able to see me right through there. I think it's important for you three to make this decision. You knew Myla. I never did."

"April, you're not intruding," Maggie says matter-of-factly.

"I know," I say. "But I don't feel like it's my place."

"Babe, you don't have to go," Jackson says.

"It's fine," I say, smiling genuinely. "Come and get me if you need me. The baby needs some fresh air, anyway."

"Get down," Selah insists, proving my point.

"Alright," I say, then drop a kiss to Athena's hair before stepping out of the office.

I make eye contact with Mr. Ross where he stands behind the desk. "All set?" he asks.

"Oh, no, not yet," I say, adjusting the baby. "They're still talking. I'm gonna take a break, let her walk around for a bit. My husband will come get you when they're ready."

He nods and I leave the building, setting Selah down only to have her go tottering away seconds later. She's not very fast, though, so it doesn't take much to keep up. "Swing!" she says.

"No swings here," I say, following where she leads.

"Swing at home," she says.

"When we go back, yes," I say, then squint against the watery sunlight that tries to break through the clouds. "Let's go this way, Bird," I say, nodding towards Myla's gravesite. "This way."

After stopping to investigate plenty of flowers, headstones, and ribbons, Selah and I make it to Myla's blank headstone. "It a big rock," Selah says, patting the top of it.

"Uh-huh," I say. "You're right."

I sit cross-legged on the grass and watch my daughter's unsteady legs as she claims the ground around the stone, her feet leaving imprints that last for only a few seconds. I try to imagine Jackson with Athena at this age, knowing very well he never took her here. Still, I wonder what it would look like if he did. Would he cry? Would she? Would she have any idea of the significance of their location? Selah is clueless only because I haven't tried to explain it to her. Myla isn't her mother and the concept is one too grand for her to grasp at this age.

But even without understanding it in words, I can picture Athena's stoic face at two years old, sitting in Jackson's lap. I wonder if the stone would look different had he chosen to take her here earlier – if they would've made the decision to better it without my presence.

"Hey, you!" I shout to Selah, who's wandered off. "Too far. Come back."

She squeals and comes wobbling back, collapsing on my chest once she does. I pat her back and kiss the side of her head repeatedly, my throat clogging as I realize why it wasn't hard to conjure up the image of Athena in Jackson's lap, staring at the stone. My dad used to take me to my mom's headstone every Sunday around 1pm, which is when we would get out of church – a trend we didn't keep up after she died. He said it was because he didn't like the way parishioners looked at him, but I don't think he could handle being immersed in a place she had once so fiercely loved. Without her, that building meant nothing.

I could picture Athena's stoic expression because I once wore the same one. Albeit at 7, not 2, but the feeling was the same. I remember staring at the headstone and engravements, wondering how far down my mother was. Wondering if she was cold or hungry, not absorbing the notion that she couldn't feel those things any longer. When I leaned forward, my back separating from my dad's chest, and pressed my small hands to the earth, I could see her mirroring the movement beneath me. I could feel her heartbeat through the soil. Or at least, that's what I told myself.

Sometimes, when the truth has grated edges and hurts to swallow, a child's version is better. Instead of imagining my mother fading to bones, I instead saw her in a field of sunflowers, harnessing the sun along the same path I had once flown my favorite kite. Only there was no way she would lose it. She'd hang it up every morning so it could shine on me all day.

Light warms the backs of my shoulders now and I let out a long breath, smiling softly toward Myla's stone. With one arm around Selah's stomach, I lean forward and press my free palm to the earth – I don't have to wait long for a heartbeat. Whether I've imagined it or not doesn't matter. She's here and we're here. This is what we have now.

"Hey." I hear. I jump a little, lost in my thoughts, and squint towards the voice to see Maggie standing above us with her jacket unzipped. "Sun came out."

"Oh," I say, smiling. "Yeah. It did."

Surprisingly, she sits down next to me. Jumping at the opportunity, Selah crawls out of my lap and stands on Maggie's thigh, wrapping her chubby arms around her aunt's neck. "Hey, Birdie," Maggie says.

"Did you guys figure something out, then?" I ask.

She nods. "Yeah, we did," she says. "Quick, too. I thought we were gonna be arguing for hours."

"It wasn't long at all."

"No, it wasn't," she says, shaking her head. "He actually listened to me. You might wanna get him checked out, he might be sick." I laugh a little, wondering if I should ask what they chose. I decide not to, though. I'm not sure why. "April," Maggie says, and her tone has changed. It's softer now, more serious. "Thank you for inviting me today."

The clarity of her voice and sincerity of her words make that same lump appear in my throat. My eyes get hot and I keep them on the stone so Maggie can't see my tears; I glance to her for only a second so she can see my smile. "Of course," I say.

"No, really," she says. "It means so much. I've been coming to see Myla here for years, and the stone has always bothered me. I would never have asked to come with you guys. So, the fact that you asked me…" She shrugs. "I just want to thank you."

I reach to take her hand, then Selah plants hers over mine to grab my ring – one of her favorite hobbies. We don't need to say anything more. When my eyes meet hers, all the words are there.

"Mama," Athena says as she and Jackson get closer. She picks up the pace, wrapping her arms around my neck from behind, pressing the side of her face to mine.

"Hey, baby," I say, patting her.

"No one fought," she tells me.

"That's great," I say.

"What were you guys talking about?" she asks.

"Yeah, what were you talking about?" Jackson echoes.

I smile to myself and Maggie says, "Some things are meant to be kept between sisters. Both of you are nosy."

Athena makes a content sound, then walks to the stone. "Did she see Selah?" Athena asks. I already know she's referencing Myla.

"Yeah," I say. "Birdie went right up and gave her a few pats. Like they were old friends."

Athena smiles. "Good," she says, looking to the stone. "I wish the new one could be ready now. I don't want to look at this boring, sad one anymore."

"It takes a while," Jackson said. "We'll have to wait a few months."

"Months?" Athena says, eyebrows shooting up.

"I know," I say. "But hey. Didn't you draw something for her the other night? Maybe you could put that here in the meantime."

"I don't know…" Athena says. "Then her stone will look like a baby wrote on it."

"All moms love artwork from their kids," I say. "And the stone would definitely be unique. But it's up to you."

She takes a while to think about it in a manner that's very typical for her. When she takes the paper out of her pocket and unfolds it, the action is entirely her decision. We all watch as Athena kneels and presses the paper flat, smoothing the creases as she props the drawing against her mother's headstone. The depiction is clear – there's a rainbow covering the entire sheet, colored deeply with firm pressure. And under the colorful arc in all capital letters is one word written in ten-year-old scrawl: MOMMY.

It won't last. The first rain will undoubtedly turn the paper to pulp, but it doesn't matter. For the moment, it's enough.