He shouldn’t have brought the fucking bear.

It’s blue. Fuzzy. Has a stupid sewn-on teething ring like it’s meant for a drooling toddler—not an eight-year-old who probably plays Minecraft and knows how to Google “what’s wrong with Chicago?”

Richie clears his throat. Runs a hand through his hair. He’s wearing a leather jacket like it’s armor, and something about this house makes him feel exposed—like it knows how little he knows. How he didn’t even know Mikey had a kid. Didn’t know this woman. Didn’t know shit.

He rings the bell.

Door opens. She’s there—older than he expected, not by age but by life. Hair up, sleeves rolled, eyes tired in that solo-parent way. She takes one look at him, then the bear, and laughs—dryly.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know Mikey had a kid. Didn’t know this woman existed, didn’t know she knew about him. Thought, or maybe hoped, this was all a well-kept secret. Or maybe the kid was one of those miracle motivators, the kind that pulled a guy off the ledge, gave him purpose, gave him…

“I was wondering how long it’d take.”

Richie freezes.

“You, uh… you know who I am?”

She glances at the bear in his hands. The teething ring. Her mouth twitches—almost a laugh.

“Yeah. I knew when I saw the Chicago plates and the dollar store guilt trip in your hand.”

He looks down at the bear like it betrayed him.

“…He didn’t tell me.”

“That he had a kid?”

Richie nods, unsure if she’s confirming or asking.

She leans against the doorframe. Arms crossed. Defensive, but not cruel.

“He knew.”

She answers his unspoken question.

“…And?”

“He got high watching him once. I went to take a shower and came out to find Mikey passed out on the couch and Leo eating gummy vitamins like they were candy.”

“I left. Moved states. Didn’t take his calls after that.”

Richie shifts. Pulls out a cigarette, sticks it between his lips.

“If you light that on my porch, I will throw it and your dollar store bear into the bushes.”

He pauses, sighs. Doesn’t light it.

“I didn’t really plan what I was gonna say. Just felt like… I dunno. Somebody should know he mattered. That he wasn’t just—”

“He did. He mattered. Just not in the way you needed him to.”

She cuts him off

“We’re moving back to Chicago. Work, family, whatever. I’m not bringing him to The Beef to grieve a man he never met. So don’t ask.”

Richie pauses

“It’s actually The Bear now, Carmy-“

She shakes her head

“Whatever mausoleum to Mikey is there, I’m not bringing Leo to,”

Ouch

“Yet.”

She amends feeling a need to lessen the blow of her words.

She closes the door but it doesn’t feel like a definitive goodbye.

“Mikey didn’t live long enough to be a father to his kid or to see the first pope from Chicago. What a fucking mess.”