The Happy Ever After Playlist - Abby Jimenez Page 0,97
Zane, pointing at it for another one.
“Yup. I can make them for you now whenever you want.”
I actually smiled a little, despite the throbbing in my head. “She must really like you. She doesn’t give that to anyone.”
She laughed. “Well, I had to barter for it. I let her post her favorite grouse recipe on The Huntsman’s Wife in exchange.”
“So she can be bought.” I chuckled dryly.
Mom loved her. Everyone did. Dad raved about my girlfriend every time I called home. But I’d actually been regretting sending her there instead of an Airbnb on the beach or something because my parents, though well intentioned, were a distraction.
Sloan wasn’t getting her work done.
I missed her. Every time I talked to her, all I wanted to ask was, “How long?” How much longer until she came back?
Her paintings took months. I knew that. And I didn’t want to rush her. She needed to focus, and me constantly asking when she’d be done with it wasn’t going to help things. So I never poked her. It was my number one rule. I inquired about how it was going, if it was coming out the way she wanted. But I never asked how long.
And then last night she’d sent me a picture.
It wasn’t even half-finished.
My heart had crashed and burned in my chest.
I don’t think she even started until Kristen left, so that was two weeks of zero progress. Mom was taking her antique shopping and to meat raffles. Dad was bringing her on hikes and having her over to the outfitter. I’d been right about the cooking thing—Sloan had started updating her blog again. But she and Mom together were a dangerous combination. They could be in the kitchen all day long if left to their own devices—which they were.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be thrilled that my family had embraced her. But these weren’t normal circumstances. I wanted her back.
I’d rather Sloan get two hours of painting done and come home to me two hours sooner than I get a delivery of Grandma’s cookies to my hotel room—even if they were my favorite.
“You want to hear something funny?” Sloan said. “Your mom says the next time we’re here together, we can share a room.” She sounded triumphant.
“Wow, that is big,” I mumbled. The bass from the stage vibrated from the floor to my brain and I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I think she’s hoping you’ll get me pregnant so she can keep me.”
I snorted. “Sounds like a good enough reason to me,” I said tiredly. “Let’s do it. Stop taking your pill.”
She laughed. “Wow, your tour has officially made you insane.”
“What?” I pinched my temples. “You want to raise kids with Kristen, don’t you? Let’s knock you up.”
She giggled. “How romantic. But pregnant? And then with a baby? On tour? That’s crazy.”
I squinted out at the curtains. “How is that crazy?”
She snorted. “Are you kidding?”
“Why would I be kidding?” I frowned.
“Pregnancy is hard, Jason. Look how run-down you’ve been, and you’re not carrying a baby. We can’t do that on tour.”
I shook my head. “Sloan, there’s always going to be a tour. We know that already. We can’t let that stop us from living our lives.”
“Jason, we don’t need to have kids right now. We can wait until it’s better.”
I shook my head again. “It’s not going to be better. We have to work with what we have.”
“Uh, by doing something nuts like dragging myself around the globe pregnant? And then what? Breastfeeding behind stage? A crib in the dressing room?” She sounded amused.
“Yeah, why not?”
“Are you serious?” She laughed. “Have you ever actually met a baby? You do realize that they require a routine, right?”
My jaw flexed. “Sloan, I’m not joking about this. If we want to have kids, we should have kids.”
There was a beat of silence. “You don’t even get days off, Jason.” The humor had suddenly left her tone.
“So?”
“So I get pregnant and then what? Deal with morning sickness and jet lag? When would I go to the doctor? And would you even be there with the way they’re running you? What if I needed to be on bed rest? What if I went into labor on the road in a foreign country? What if the baby got sick or—”
“I would make sure you’re taken care of,” I said slowly. “You know that.”
“You can’t even take care of yourself out there. You’ve been having headaches for weeks, you’re not sleeping. And we both know how I do on the road.”