She stood up, thanked the crowd and, smiling and waving, walked off stage. In the wings, she squeezed Rob’s hand before landing in her husband’s arms.
“You are incredible,” Ezra whispered to her, under the sound of the applause.
And they kissed until the applause faded into nothing.
69
They stayed to watch Rob perform, and then they all celebrated together with pizza and mixed drinks. Emily had been worried about what would happen between Ezra and Rob when the two of them actually met, but after they shook each other’s hands, they mostly talked to other people. Though she could see both of their eyes darting around the room every few minutes to look for her, to make sure she was okay.
Rob’s manager had flown in for the show—Ira, a tall guy with a shaved head, dressed in black jeans and a button-down. While everyone else was getting food, Rob and Ira chatted in a corner of the room. Emily looked over, wondering what it was that they were talking so intensely about. Then Rob caught her eye and waved her over.
“I was really impressed tonight,” Ira told her.
“Thank you.” Emily wiped her mouth to make sure she didn’t have any tomato sauce on her lips. “It was nice of you to come see Rob’s show. I know managers don’t do that so often.”
“Well,” Ira said, “when my hot new artist tells me he’s found another hot new artist, and his tour manager agrees, that’s something I’ve got to check out for myself.”
Emily was speechless for a moment. “You came for me?” she said.
Ira handed her his card. “Let’s talk tomorrow,” he said. “Rob just assured me it’d be cool if I worked with both of you.”
Then he walked away to refill his drink.
“Sonny and Cher,” Rob said to her. “Johnny and June Carter Cash.” He clinked his empty glass with her club soda, then followed Ira to the makeshift bar.
Emily was stunned.
“What was that about?” Ezra asked as he came up next to her, sliding his hand around her waist.
“Something we need to talk about later,” she said as she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
A manager was interested in her!
Emily looked down. What if she was pregnant? She took a deep breath.
She’d figured out so much in the last few months. She knew, with every inch of her soul, that she would figure this out, too. They would figure this out—she and Ezra. Because every decision she made wasn’t just about her now. It wasn’t even just about them. It was about their future, their family. She would remember that. They would choose well. Together.
xxxiii
You’re going to have a little sister. She’s already a troublemaker, poking her feet into my spine, pushing down against my bladder. But I try not to complain, because she’s here. She’s growing. She’s big enough that if she was born tomorrow, she’d be okay. I can’t tell you how relieved I felt when we hit that milestone. She can survive outside my body in a way that you never could, that the baby after you never could.
We’re not sure what to name her. I never named you, and I’m sorry for it. I’m sorry that whenever I think about what you would be like, I don’t have a name to attach to the image. You would be nearly thirteen. Almost in high school. Probably taller than me, or just about. With friends and ideas and passions of your own. Maybe you’d play piano, or guitar, or drums. Or maybe you’d love math like your aunt Ari. Or maybe you wouldn’t have made it this far, like Malcolm. I try to keep all the what ifs in play, not just the good ones.
Your father and I have been in touch, between our shows. We’ve talked a lot about you, about what would’ve happened if you’d been born, and we both agreed it would’ve been hard. That neither one of us might have made it to the place we’re at now, that we might have given you to a family who would have been able to take better care of you than we could. It’s hard to live in the land of what if. And the longer you live, the more what ifs you collect.
I won’t lie—touring while pregnant has been rough, but I didn’t want to sacrifice one dream for another, so I did it. And sharing my music, feeling that connection with the audience, made every difficulty worth it. I played my last show in Philly yesterday. And now I’m home for a while, at least until your sister is born. And who knows how long after that. Your aunt Ari wants to know the plan, but right now there isn’t one. Right now the plan is to wait and see.
* * *
—
Do souls grow older when they’re not on this plane? Do souls even have an age? I imagine my mother always at the age she was when she died, but I always imagine you getting older. Perhaps it’s neither one of those things. Perhaps a soul is a soul. Perhaps it exists in the body in a fully formed state, relearning the world around it until it’s once again set free. If that’s true, I hope you’ve met your grandmother. I hope you’ve met your little brother or sister, the one I lost last year. Eden. Or Edward.