Emily thought about the logistics and closed her eyes for a brief moment. She didn’t have a plan, just two dreams she was trying to meld into one. There was no guarantee she would get pregnant right now. And there was no guarantee she could book venues, either. That she’d even be able to tour. “I think we’re just going to take it all day by day,” Emily said. “And if I’m lucky enough to have a baby and a tour, well, we’ll figure it out then.”

Ari nodded. “I’m planning too far ahead,” she acknowledged.

“Maybe a little,” Emily said, trying to let go of the anxiety her sister’s questions raised.

Ari stopped walking and looked into a store window at a green sleeveless top. It was a cowl neck and seemed like it was made of silk. “How about that shirt?” she asked, pointing.

Emily turned around. “It’s my color!” she said. “Nice find. Let’s go check it out.”

A little while later, Emily was alone in a dressing room, putting on a pair of tight leather pants and the hunter green cowl neck. There was no way to know if she was pregnant yet; still, she was glad the leather pants had a little stretch to the waistband. Just in case. She slipped on a pair of black heels that were in the dressing room, but they didn’t look right. She’d figure out shoes later.

“What do you think?” she asked Ari when she stepped out of the dressing room.

“Simple, cool, not trying too hard—and stunning,” her sister said. “You look like you’re ready to bring down the house.”

“I am,” Emily said with a smile. “I am.”

—

Emily was supposed to get her period two days later. But she didn’t. She told Ezra, but she refused to talk any more about it. She was too afraid of what might come next.

67

A couple of weeks after her date in SoHo with Ari, Emily was going over her schedule from Diana. It was D-Day. Or maybe C-Day. The feeling of anticipation had been coursing through her veins since she woke up that morning.

“What should I wear?” Ezra asked, looking at Emily in a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else. He’d told her the night before that he was worried about looking the part, about being cool enough to be a musician’s husband. She’d reassured him with a kiss and told him that she’d help him pick his outfit.

She walked over and kissed him again, the scent of his aftershave assaulting her as she did it.