Mia

I dial new numbers into my phone, along with the Sunset Cove area code, and I click call.

Even waiting for my father to pick up, hearing him speak of a life before and after and with her and before and after and without me, I didn’t feel this on edge. This is the last chance, the last-ditch effort to find the ending of her story, and in turn, a new start for my own.

There’s silence for a second, and I plummet. About to hang up, I do what I always do, and I fight the feelings because that is the only way I will get through them.

Then it starts. “Hi, Mia.” The automated message takes my breath away. “Hi, love. It’s your mom.” My sob catches in my throat, just like when I uncovered her diary.

She continues, and I hold on for every second that she speaks. Her voice is a little rougher than I would have expected. Still, the edge is cotton-soft, sunshine-warm, like in her interviews—like I always imagined it would be when she spoke to me.

“I debated this step of the hunt for a while,” she says. “I’m so glad you figured it out. Thanks for taking this journey with me. We have three important things to cover before my time runs out. Unfortunately, my love, I’m going to have to be brief.

“First, I want you to know I love you, since you won’t remember hearing it from me. I loved you the moment I saw you. You came out so quietly. I was a screamer myself. But you were this sweet, precious baby in my arms. So content to just be and exist. But make sure you live. Chase your dreams, sweetheart.

“I know the diary ended a little sad, but I wanted to tell you in person, in case words didn’t translate. I will never regret chasing my dream. I regret the people I hurt. I regret the bridges I burned. I regret losing who I was in an attempt to find someone else in everyone else and within me. I created someone new entirely. Just to avoid mediocrity. But there is magic in all of it, and if you can hold on to the magic of the moment while chasing whatever your dreams are, you’ll wind up so much better off than me. The smallest moments make the best music. Don’t lose your people. I let down my moms, my friends, the love of my life, but it was not because of my music, it was because I was so set on losing sight of myself, on getting out.

“Second, I need you to deliver a letter. I know you’re probably tired of my letters by now. Just this one. Please. There’s someone I’d like you to talk to. You’ll find it in my old desk in my old bedroom. If I know my moms, and I think I do, they’ve kept that thing. There’s a compartment under the surface with a small latch. It blends in, but you should be able to find it if you look, if you’ve made it this far. Forgive the mess.

“Third, I swear I never made lists before I made this hunt. But I thought a lot when I found out I would have to say goodbye about this concept that was dear to me. As someone who spent my life singing, it hit me that I would have a last song in a way it never did before. I would have a last love song. I’d spent my life writing love songs. For everyone who caught my eye. Two boys in particular, as you know. Then one especially. But I never loved them the way I love you. I never loved anything or anyone the way I love you. Not even the music. That love is something I could not drive away. I cannot replace. I cannot pretend to forget. I love you wholeheartedly, and you are the one thing I never had to learn to regret any piece of.

The tears are steady as they carve paths down my features, and she begins to sing a song that never hit the radio. She sings a song, in this room, meant only for me.

I spent my life chasing fireflies, little lit-up dreams,

Floating lanterns and lost time, set on who I’m gonna be,

I collected promises and hearts and melodies on my sleeve,

I sang everything and anything, lost in the star I had to be.

I floated bottles out to sea with wishes to the sky,

Hoping the music inside me would forever be my guide,

The lighthouse roved the sea, but I was the one it couldn’t bring home,

My wild heart was something no one could tame all on their own.

But then a song came from the silence, a glowing beacon in my pain,

A sunlit morning on the sidewalk, no one else catches rainbows in the rain,

And the regrets in my back pocket fell through the hole in my blue jeans,

I wouldn’t give the world for what you mean to me.

I wouldn’t trade secrets or erase mistakes for the love I have for you,

I’ll never know another song, never hear a tune this true,

You plucked the thorns from roses and you put the sun back in the sky,

You were better than all the chasing, I loved you deeper in my disguise,

And, pursued by the waning limelight, I knew one thing that’s for sure,

My last love song was not a thing for them, it was for you my baby girl.

There is no break in the tears, in the love I have for this woman who I will never meet, never hug, never be able to tell how much she means to me, but who I will always love even when I am old and gray and the spotlight has forever lost its allure.

I have never believed anything as much as I believe her in this moment—as much as I believe in her in this moment. All the fear dissipates at her voice, at this message, at these answers until it is just me and her, and I believe her.

Everyone gets a last love song, a last chance to give their heart to the world. They don't always know when or how or where or with who it will go down. But my mother—my bold, brave, inspiring, hurricane of a mother who I'm finally learning real things about and meeting for the first time—she knew all of these things exactly. And here, on this machine, she chose to give her last love song to me.

There is no escape from these feelings. For the very first time, I welcome them, I accept them, I accept this piece of me as something good, and her songs meet my own.

MIA

PRESENT DAY