“Bad word, Mama,” Emmy says. “You gotsta put money in the jar.”
I snort. “Whose idea was the swear jar?”
“Ugh. Me. And the little snitch never fails to call me out on my bullsh—poop.”
I laugh. “Nice save. Emmy’s gonna have a fat college fund with my brothers around.”
“Silver linings,” she says.
Gracie yawns, and I lay her against my shoulder, sliding a hand up and down her back. “It’s crazy how much she looks like Wilder.”
“Tell me about it. Seems unfair that I did all that work just to pop out his doppelganger after nine months of sharing my body with another person.”
“At least she has your eyes.”
Her lips tip into a tired smile. “Yeah, at least there’s that.”
There’s a lull in conversation as I soak up every bit of cuddle time I can get. The last leg of my tour really took it out of me, and it’s nice to slow down and enjoy time with my family. Emmy climbs onto the couch between us with a blanket and a stuffed cow, laying her head in Liv’s lap and her feet in mine.
Witnessing the bond between Liv and Emmy makes my heart give a little squeeze. Liv isn’t Emmy’s biological mom—her mom passed away when Emmy was only six months old. I never thought I’d see the day when Wilder would open his heart again, but he couldn’t have found a more perfect match.
Liv unties Emmy’s braids and runs her fingers through her hair, coaxing her eyes closed. It’s not long before both of my nieces are fast asleep.
“So… wanna talk about it?” Liv asks, keeping her voice low.
The ‘it’ in question is, of course, the drama with my label. I’ve kept off social media since the news broke. The last thing I need is a barrage of bullshit coming at me from all sides.
It’s my turn to sigh. “Not much to say, honestly. I’m happy to be out. Ready to spend some time at home and reset. Write music that feeds my soul.” The words seem hollow, almost rehearsed. Maybe I’m lying to myself. Maybe there’s more to it than that, but I’m too tired to dwell.
Liv reaches over and squeezes my hand. “As long as you’rehappy, that’s what matters. Everything else is just background noise. And for what it’s worth, we’re glad you’re back.”
“Me too. It’s nice to be with people who actually give a shit about me.” I press my nose to Gracie’s head, inhaling her lavender lotion. “I hate how much I miss when I’m away. Emmy and Gracie have changed so much since my last visit.”
She looks down at Emmy with a sad smile. “I feel like it’s flying by already. Gracie’s almost nine months old, and Emmy just turned four. It’s all happening so fast. I wish I could stop time for a little while.”
“Something tells me you could use a drink. Come on, I’ll help you get them to bed, then we can have a glass of wine and fill up the swear jar.”
“Oh, heck yes!’
“There’s a song here, I can feel it. We could call it Wine Drunk on a Wednesday Night.” I tip up my glass and finish the rest of my white zin—the pink kind that comes from a box, obviously. “Except, does itreallycome from a box? Because there’s a bag in the box. So why do we call it boxed wine? Shouldn’t it be bagged wine?”
Olivia snorts, the last of her wine sloshing in her glass. “Do you know you just said all of that out loud?”
I shrug. “Dunno. I need another drink.”
“I think you’ve had enough.” The deep timbre of my brother’s voice comes from somewhere behind me. They lock eyes over my head, and Olivia’s face turns from amusement to desire.
That’s all she wrote for girls’ night.
“Yep. I think that’s my cue to leave. Try not to get herpregnant again. I like girls’ night.” I raise my empty glass in a toast. “Toast. Hehe. I’mtoast-ed.”
“It appears her internal monologue is external right now,” Olivia says. “She should probably stay the night.”
“Wait, why aren’t you drunk?” I ask, eyeing her suspiciously.
“I’m still on my first glass. You”—she pokes my nose— “had the rest of the box.”
“Bag. I had the rest of the bag,” I singsong the last words, drawing out the final note into an off-key run.
