“Great. Congratulations.” There’s only a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
“That sounded sincere,” she snaps.
“Are you going to terminate?”
“No!” She throws up her hands. “But it’s a lot. There’s so much to consider, so much to do, and neither of us has the time to do it.”
“Well, I think that’s your answer right there.”
“My answer?” She frowns. “What’s the question?”
“The question about whether or not to go on tour.”
She narrows her eyes and scowls. “Seriously? That’s where we’re going with this?”
“Where else would we be going?” I demand. “You think it makes me happy to watch you give up something you love? But our baby has to come first. It’s a year. Maybe a little more, depending on how delivery goes, but?—”
“A year.” She folds her arms across her chest. “You want me to take a year off starting the week our album goes platinum.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“Uh, you know—going on tour. If I was a teacher, would you be asking me to take a year off?”
I sigh. “Lexi, that’s not what I mean. Your job is different. You can’t just sit at a desk and read kids a book or limit how many patients you see a day. This includes travel and a physically challenging performance every night. Being away from your doctors and support system. Being away from me.”
She stares. “So… are you going to take the next year off too?”
I know where this is headed, so I tread carefully.
This is turning into the fight I’d hoped to avoid.
“One of us has to work.”
“Why? We have plenty of money to get us through a year off.”
“I can’t just take a year off. It’ll be impossible to stay in shape and keep my place on the team. Plus, I would be in breach of contract.”
“Not true. There are clauses for family and medical issues. If I’m not well enough to work, then I’ll need you home to take care of me.” She cocks her head. “Right?”
“You’re purposely being difficult.”
“And you’re purposely being obtuse. You want me to give up my dreams for a year—maybe more—while you give up nothing.”
I don’t even know how to respond to that.
“Babe, I can’t carry the baby for you.”
“No, but you want me—and my band—to give up everything. Because you’re more comfortable with me being at home. Like this is the 1950s or something.”
“You know that’s not true. But last night proved?—”
“What did last night prove? That I made a mistake? Yes. Absolutely. I admit to it. It was a bad fucking decision, but we talked about it after the show, and we are taking stage diving out of the show. We’re also going to change the set in a few months to add a few slower songs that will give me the opportunity to sit at the piano more. I’ll have a stool on stage at all times, just in case. We talked about a lot of adjustments to accommodate my pregnancy.”
“So, you’re going to do what you want no matter what I think?”
“I’m going to do what’s right for me. Just like you would do if this was a hockey thing.”
“Seriously?” I don’t lose my temper very often, almost never with Lexi, but I’m having a hard time with this. “It’s my kid too!”
