Look, Doctor, she thought, pressing ‘complete order.’ I’m doing it.

She checked her messages. Andy had sent three texts begging her to sign Francis’ contract. She wasn’t trying to freak him out, but Willow still hadn’t replied to her message. She  knew it was selfish but she wanted his approval before she pulled the trigger. But it was getting too late for that.

She sat at her newly cleaned kitchen and opened her laptop, re-reading the contract even though it had already been checked by Andy’s lawyer, amendments made, the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted. All she needed to do was sign.

She hovered the mouse over the digital signature space, but she still couldn’t do it. She wanted Willow to wrap his big arms around her, to pull her into her clean bed and keep her there for a million years. Why weren’t they together? Why had she left the bachelor party with Cheryl?

But she knew the answer. Because her and Willow’s paths were taking them to different places and she couldn’t change that by waiting, cleaning, or anything else. She clicked down on the mouse and her phone beeped. A photo sent from Willow. Her mouth dried up. It was a screenshot of his Spotify account. His most played song of last year was hers. Milkmaid. He’d listened to it four hundred times. Another text came through.

Rock the tour, baby. No one deserves it more than you. Next time, you’ll be headlining. I love you, Willow.

Eden stared at her phone, loving him. And for the first time, she accepted the thought that had come to her on the yacht, when Beth asked what a sober life might give her.

She wanted a baby.

It wasn’t like the wedding dress fantasy. Not a shield, or some backdoor way she imagined her parents might love her. The idea had called to her for years usually, while she was on mushrooms, and no matter how batshit it sounded, it wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d always liked kids; her cousins, nieces, and nephews. She liked how honest they were. How they looked you in the eyes without flinching. She loved the idea of growing someone inside her, of being that powerful, that magical. She daydreamed about writing music for them to fall asleep to. Holding them in her arms. And some part of her always begged to make it a reality.

But what was she supposed to do? She partied for a living. Nightclubs were no place for babies. And what about the father? She didn’t think babies needed a nuclear family, but she didn’t want its dad to be some Twitch streamer, pro-wrestling fan she hooked up with between gigs.