Twenty - Eight

 

Fits Like a Memory

 

There was loud, and then there was Madison Square Garden loud.

And last night? It was the kind of loud that rattled your chest and stuck with you the next morning — long after the lights went down, the gear was packed, and the adrenaline gave way to sore feet and half-slept hours. MSG had always been a beast of a venue, but this time… the beast was fully awake.

Two sold-out shows and a crowd that didn’t just watch — they roared.

Night one, Jon kicked things off on a platform in front of the lower bowl, trusty Takamine in hand, feeding off the chaos like a man baptized in the spotlight. “Last Man Standing” never hit harder. Five songs in before anyone on stage even breathed. It was electric. Alive. Every chord felt like it meant something.

After the show, they’d all gone out for a quick bite, a clink of glasses, a few bad jokes traded across a table somewhere in SoHo. But they were home early. They still had one more night to go.

This was MSG. This was home. You rested when you could and gave the stage your blood.

Night two? Even crazier. A packed house, laced once again with familiar faces — family, old friends, ghosts in the wings. Like the night before, she sat with Cara tucked into the sea of bodies like two fans, soaking it all in.

And boy, the place was on fire. The whole damn world remembering why they ever screamed for this band in the first place. Just before the jukebox song, Jon joked it was his mic, and he’d sing what he wanted — though that would get him in all sorts of trouble in this town, especially with both his wife and mother in the same building.

Right before the first encore, she slipped backstage to the quick-change room, making sure Jon wore something sleeveless. Not because she wanted… okay, maybe that was half true. But mostly, the fans deserved the arms they came for.

By the time the lights came up for the last time, Ari felt suspended between worlds — the roar of the Garden still pulsing in her veins, but already fading into memory. That kind of energy doesn’t shut off easily; it hums in your bones long after the cables are coiled and the crowd’s gone home. She’d felt it before, that strange ache that comes after everything peaks — when the music stops and you’re left with the silence you fought so hard to earn. It wasn’t sadness exactly, more like a quiet unraveling. A soft, necessary drop back into herself.

She lingered backstage longer than she needed to, helping where she could, pretending it wasn’t over. But eventually the gear was packed, the hallways emptied, and the crew’s laughter faded to echoes. Outside, the city air was cool and sharp, smelling faintly of rain and exhaust — the real world, waiting. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t have to be anywhere. No cues, no schedule. Just morning ahead, and a rare kind of quiet that felt both foreign and sacred. 

Tomorrow, she’d trade the noise for something smaller — coffee, laughter, a stroller, the people who made the silence feel full.

As Cliff drove through Greenwich Village, the city moved at half speed. Cara was heading back to Montreal tonight, so they had the day to themselves — a little shopping, some lunch, a slow goodbye.

No crowds.
No setlist.
Just two friends, a stroller, and the kind of morning that makes the noise worth it. 

Cliff followed a few steps behind, a quiet shadow as the three of them strolled toward the Greenwich Hotel.

The February air was crisp but not cruel, tinged with the scent of roasted nuts from a nearby vendor. Ariana tugged her beanie lower, tucking a stray wisp from her braid beneath the wool.

Lily was nestled in her stroller, one gloved hand batting at the red Chuck Taylor peeking out from beneath her blanket. Same faded jeans, same Rolling Stones hoodie, even the same crimson sneakers as her mother.

“Oh, the apple truly doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” Cara laughed, gesturing with a gloved hand at Lily, then at Ari.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ari bumped her shoulder playfully.

“I mean, come on. That’s all you wear.”

“Hey, it’s a classic. And comfortable. Besides, who needs fancy when you can have vintage?” She winked, adjusting Lily’s beanie.

“Vintage, huh?” Cara raised a brow.

Ari shrugged. “Worn in, not worn out.”

“You know, she’s basically your tiny twin,” Cara said, smiling at Lily. “All she needs now is a walkie and a clipboard.”

“Give her time,” Ari said. “She’ll be running soundchecks before she can spell her name.”

From the corner of her eye, Ari caught Cliff scanning the sidewalk, his gaze flicking behind them every few steps as they passed brownstones, boutique displays, and the inviting aroma of fresh coffee wafting from a corner café.

“What’s up?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Nothing. Just the usual. Paparazzi. We’re good, though.”

Ari nodded, but her gaze lingered a little longer. She was used to the occasional lens peeking out from behind a van or someone pretending to text while snapping photos. But something in Cliff’s demeanor — or maybe just old instinct — tugged at the back of her mind.

Still, she let it go. For now.

She turned her attention back to Cara. “What time’s your flight?”

“Seven. Just enough time for one last epic adventure.” Cara swept her arm dramatically over Ari’s shoulder. “To the vintage shops!”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

They turned onto a narrower street, and there it was: The Fade, nestled between a record store plastered with tour posters and a tattoo shop humming low behind fogged windows. The shop’s matte black sign barely caught the daylight, but the pale blue neon flickered softly behind a row of cracked leather boots and faded denim.

Ari slowed, already smiling. The sidewalk rack outside was stacked with Levi’s older than both of them, their seams worn soft, colors dulled to imperfection.

“Oh, this is promising,” Cara said, pushing open the door. The little brass bell jangled overhead, and the muffled thrum of guitar riffs spilled into the street.

Inside, the lighting was low, the air thick with cotton. Rows of denim stretched toward the ceiling, band tees hung like flags from high pipes, and jackets — both denim and leather, patched and scuffed — lined the back walls.

Cara gave a low whistle. “Still smells like 1977 in here.”

“Why I love this place,” Ari said, grinning.

“Of course. How’d you find it?”

“Stephanie. She came across it one day out with some friends.”

“Even she knows about your addiction.”

“You mean, she shares my addiction.” Ari laughed. “We come here once a month, at least.”

Cara shook her head and laughed. “Okay, two hours. Tops. I have a flight to catch, and I need to eat.”

Ari laughed. “Challenge accepted.”

The back corner was mostly mirrored, with one long rack labeled Fits Like a Memory in peeling vinyl letters. Cara wandered toward the wall of jackets, running her fingers along the soft edge of a fraying cuff. Ari, meanwhile, had already pulled three tees off a table.

“Keep an eye out for a good pair of 501s. The perfect wash, you know? Not too light, not too dark.”

“I know your sacred quest, my friend,” Cara called back. “The holy grail of denim.”

Ari laughed, already flipping through a pile of jeans. “Well, the grail might be hiding in here.” She held up a faded pair with a hopeful look. “And look, a Ramones tee. Lily might need an upgrade.”

“A Ramones tee for a seven-month-old?” Cara shook her head.

“Gotta start them young,” she said, tossing the tiny black tee over her shoulder.

After a few more piles, Ari grabbed a handful of jeans and disappeared behind the thin curtain of the changing stall with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly how to navigate tight quarters.

Lily watched her mother’s efforts with wide, curious eyes.

“How’s it going in there?” Cara called out, still poking through a rack of jackets.

“It’s a battle. A full-on denim war.” Ari grunted as she wrestled with a particularly stubborn pair of jeans.

Cara smirked. “Are they too tight or just emotionally unavailable?”

“Both!” There was a pause, then another muffled grunt and the sound of denim shimmying. “These might’ve worked a few weeks ago. Now? Not so much.”

“Oh, stop! You’re five months in and still shopping vintage. That’s a win.”

Ari peeked around the curtain. “All those months of nothing but Froot Loops… I’ve only just started eating real food. I swear I gain a pound every time I eat something.”

There was a rustle of fabric, then silence.

Cara leaned against a rack, scrolling through her phone. “Dare I ask?”

“These might be the ones.”

“Talk to me.”

“They buttoned without a prayer. The wash. The fit. Yep… these are the ones.”

Ari pushed the curtain aside and stepped out, turning for the mirror and her friend. The jeans hugged her just right — soft in all the right places, roomy where they needed to be, worn like they were made just for her.

Cara gave a low whistle. “I never doubted you. You’ve never met a pair of jeans that didn’t fall in love with you.”

“Smartass.”

“Truth teller.”

“Jerk.”

“Denim whisperer.”

Ari rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling as she ducked back into the stall. A minute later, she emerged with her picks folded over one arm — the perfect jeans, the Ramones tee, and a few soft, worn-in extras she hadn’t planned on but couldn’t resist.

“Look at that,” Ari teased. “Done in under an hour.”

“Who says there’s no such thing as miracles?” Cara said, pushing the stroller as they made their way up front.

They paid at the counter and stepped back into the soft gray light of early afternoon. Cliff was leaning casually against the lamppost, phone in hand, eyes sweeping the sidewalk like always.

“All clear?” Ari asked.

“For now,” he said, slipping the phone into his jacket. “Where to next?”

“Food!” they both said at the same time, grinning.

“Lead the way.” He motioned.

Lunch was loud — par for the course when they got together. A corner booth at a cozy Italian spot Cara loved: brick walls and checkered tablecloths, the kind of place that smelled like garlic and home.

They lingered over warm bread and homemade pasta. Lily babbled from her high chair while they traded memories and bad jokes. As the afternoon crept up on them, they shared tiramisu and zabaglione.

Cliff stayed close, his quiet presence tucked a table away. At one point, Ari caught him glancing out the front window, the edge of his jaw tight. Just for a second. Then he looked away, and she didn’t push it.

By three-thirty, they were cruising through traffic toward Newark, the city fading in the rearview as they crossed into Jersey. The goodbye at the terminal was quick, with hugs, promises to text, and one last selfie of all of them — including Cliff.

Twenty-Seven

 

Operation Baby Drop

 

Finishing up her three-mile walk on the treadmill, Ariana had a few minutes to spare before her three-way Zoom with Nicole and Jeanne. She made a quick stop in the kitchen for her morning smoothie, where Lydia already had it waiting for her.

“You’re the best, Lydia,” Ari said, grabbing the glass with a grateful nod before heading into the office.

The past few days had actually been productive—unusually so. Since hiring Gloria, Ari had checked off more in seventy-two hours than she had in the last two weeks. Who knew that an extra set of capable hands would make such a difference?

She pulled the oversized desk chair out from behind her desk, sank into it, and powered up her laptop. Normally she wouldn’t show up to a video call looking like a swamp rat, but this was Jeanne and Nicole. If anyone understood, it was them.

Taking a long sip of her smoothie, she clicked into the meeting and tapped the microphone icon.

“Nic, you on?” she asked.

“Hey, yep, just joined,” Nicole’s voice came first, then her face. “Sorry, had to run into the other room to grab my tablet for notes.”

“No worries.”

Another chime echoed in her headphones.

“Jeanne. There you are,” Ari said as the name flashed onscreen.

“I’m here,” Jeanne replied. “Can you see me? I can see you both.”

“Nope,” Nicole and Ari answered at the same time.

“Damn,” Jeanne muttered. “Hold on a second.”

Two seconds later Jeanne’s face appeared on the screen—casual clothes, no makeup, and the look of someone who’d already led three meetings before breakfast.

Nicole smiled and leaned into the camera. “So, how’s everyone enjoying the last couple of days off before we dive back into it?”

Jeanne snorted. “Days off? Who’s been off? I haven’t stopped running since the last show.”

Ari raised her smoothie like a toast. “Same. I’ve got two more calls after this one—one with Kennedy. She’s buried in MSG crap again. Apparently, Gaga’s load-out is turning into a full-blown standoff. They can’t load us in until she clears out.”

“Oh, I know all about that,” Jeanne said. “She’s been ripping someone a new one all morning.”

They all shared a quick laugh—the kind you have when you know it’s true. Then, just like that, the energy shifted. Time to get into it.

“So just to confirm,” Jeanne continued, “this call is about what we need paperwork-wise for the birth certificate if you deliver in Ireland. Possible cross-checking for the other locations, just in case?”

“Yes,” Ari said. “Let’s start with the birth certificate stuff for Ireland, since that’s mostly going to be my delivery location. Right, Nic?”

“That’s the plan. Unless baby has other plans,” Nicole teased.

Ari groaned. “Let’s hope he isn’t like his sister.”

“HE!” Jeanne squealed.

“Don’t get too excited,” Ari laughed. “It’s not official yet—just my gut feeling.”

“Got it. I’ve started a shared doc and just emailed it to both of you.”

“Thank you,” Nicole and Ariana said in unison.

“Alright,” Jeanne continued, “on the birth certificate logistics for Ireland—I spoke with the Civil Registration Office in Dublin. If the baby’s born there, you’ll need to register the birth in person within three months, but ideally during your stay.”

“Good thing we have a scheduled week off during that time.”

“I’ve already put in a priority request to pre-book your registration appointment. They’ll give us a flexible slot once we confirm the delivery hospital.”

“And I’ve already reached out to Beacon Hospital to ensure I have full privileges there,” Nicole added.

“Bless you both,” Ari said, adjusting her glasses. “And what exactly do we need to bring?”

“Passports for both you and Jon, and proof of address,” Jeanne replied. “Also, the hospital will issue a Notification of Birth form, which you’ll take to the registrar.”

Ari blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Okay, this is a lot more involved than I thought.”

As Jeanne went on, listing deadlines, cross-border requirements, and official forms, Ari’s brain started to whirl. She scribbled notes but knew they barely scratched the surface of what she’d need.  It wasn’t the paperwork that rattled her—it was the reminder of how different everything was this time. A baby born abroad. Mid-tour. Between soundchecks, city jumps, and backstages.

Her old self would’ve shrugged, said she could juggle it all—and she probably could—but there was something sobering about seeing it laid out in bullet points. Birth certificates, embassies, legal documents, visas. Logistics layered on top of emotion. It wasn’t just a birth; it was a project plan. And she was used to managing tours, not the start of a new life in a foreign hospital.

She blew out a slow breath, grateful beyond words that Jeanne and Nicole were the kind of women who made impossible things feel merely complicated.

Her gaze returned to Jeanne’s square on the screen. “I’m glad you told us to start now. I kept thinking of July as forever away, but clearly… no time like the present.”

Jeanne gave a modest shrug. “Better early than scrambling at the last minute.”

“Seriously, thank you,” Ari added. “We’d be toast if we waited until, like, May.”

Nicole chimed in. “Do they give a physical certificate that day?”

“Yes,” Jeanne replied. “Assuming no complications or missing documents, the certificate is issued on-site. I’m also working with legal to help with any follow-up documentation.”

“Okay. And worst case, if things shift and I don’t deliver in Ireland?”

“For London or Bristol,” Jeanne said, “it’s a similar process, but slightly slower. Forty-two days to register, but you’ll need to show proof of a UK address and immigration status.”

“Well, I won’t technically live there,” Ari added.

“Yeah, this is where it could be a little tricky, but not impossible. If you’re in a hotel, you might need a letter from the hotel confirming your stay—maybe even something from SAMCO backing up your location. Basically, anything that ties you to an address during that window.”

“Those are both easy to provide. I’ll be sure to keep my legs crossed until we land in Ireland.”

“Your doctor would appreciate that,” Nicole said, laughing.

“So would I,” Jeanne added enthusiastically. “Istanbul and Bucharest are trickier. I’ve got emails out to both embassies and two hospital administrators. Romania requires translated, notarized documents. Turkey might need our legal team to submit an application to the Ministry of Health if you’re not delivering at a state hospital.”

Ari groaned, rubbing her belly. “Hear that, Mick?” she murmured softly. “You’ll come out when the time’s right, but no harm in waiting for the Guinness.”

Jeanne laughed. “Mick! How’s Jon feel about that?”

“We don’t know the gender, remember?” Ari said with a shrug. “This is me doing my part in the name-game shenanigans he and the kids have going back and forth. I get a new name suggestion list every morning.”

Nicole grinned. “Mick might stick if you’re not careful.”

“You both know how I feel about Mick,” Ari said, smirking. “Convincing Jon—well, that’s a different story.”

“Anything else on the birth side?” Jeanne asked.

“No,” Nicole said.

“Next up,” Ari said. “Hiring a Pediatric NP. Nicole, want to walk Jeanne through what we discussed?”

“Sure. Ari and I were talking about postnatal care. We thought it might make sense to bring on a pediatric nurse practitioner who can travel.”

“A private hire, like you?” Jeanne asked.

“Yes,” Nicole replied. “Ideally someone with NICU experience who can support the baby’s health during the first month while they’re still in Europe.”

“And ideally someone who’s worked internationally,” Ari added. “This baby’s going to be on planes more than I was at that age.”

Jeanne was typing. “That’s doable, but we should loop in legal for licensing and visa issues. A U.S.-licensed NP might not be authorized to practice in Europe—even for basic care. Do you want me to look into temporary agencies?”

“Not yet,” Nicole said. “I have colleagues in pediatrics and family med. I’d rather select someone I trust personally, even if they’re from the States. We can loop legal to confirm scope and work eligibility abroad.”

“I’ll draft a job description for legal to review. Do we want the role classified as full-time or project-based?”

“Let’s say project-based, with a three-month commitment for now,” Nicole answered.

“Got it,” Jeanne replied.

“Oh, speaking of staff,” Nicole added, switching tones, “how’s Gloria doing?”

Ari’s expression softened before she even answered.

“Great, actually,” she said through a stretch, but her voice carried warmth. “She fell right into our schedule, and Lily loves her.”

What she didn’t say—at least not aloud—was how she loved her too. Gloria had quietly become the glue in the background of her chaos.

When Ari forgot to eat, Gloria would appear with a plate. When a travel document went missing, it was already reprinted and labeled on the counter. When Lily decided that bedtime rules were “optional,” Gloria somehow turned it into a game that worked better than anything Ari could have managed on three hours of sleep.

She’d started as an extra set of hands, but now, Ari realized, she was the reason mornings didn’t start in panic mode. Gloria had a way of making everything feel handled, even when it wasn’t.

“The real test will be when we hit the road,” Nicole added. “That took me a minute to get used to.”

Ari smiled faintly. “True, but she’s adaptable. She asks questions before things go sideways—that’s rare. I feel like she sees the curveballs before I do.”

Jeanne grinned. “Sounds like you finally found your unicorn.”

“Maybe I did.”

“We are a well-oiled crazy bunch, aren’t we?” Jeanne said.

“That we are.”

Jeanne glanced offscreen, then back. “Alright, I’ll draft that job description and send you both a copy for review before it goes to legal.”

“Perfect,” Nicole said. “Thank you.”

Ari nodded. “Yes, thank you. Seriously, Jeanne, this helps so much.”

“Of course. I’ll keep you updated once I hear back from Bucharest and Istanbul as well—hopefully no surprises.”

Ari smiled, already starting to shift in her seat. “And let Kennedy know I’ll call her in ten, yeah? I need a quick stretch and want to check on Lily.”

“Will do.”

Nicole waved. “See you ladies soon.”

“Bye!” they said in unison as the screen began to flicker.

Once the call ended, Ari rolled her shoulders back and stood, one hand on her lower back and the other on her half-finished smoothie.

She paused, looking at the faint reflection of herself in the darkened laptop screen—the woman who once coordinated entire world tours now coordinating her own family’s expansion across continents.

It wasn’t lost on her how ridiculous it sounded: meetings about embassies and midwives, legal clearances and bassinets. But then again, maybe this was what evolution looked like—learning to plan not just for the next show, but for the next generation.

“Alright, Mick,” she murmured to her belly, “pit stop in the loo, then we’ll check on Lilybug. One crazy call down… two more to go.”

 

Twenty-Six

 

Letting Someone In

 

Jon leaned against the doorway, watching Ariana smooth the throw blanket across the back of the couch for the third time. She didn’t need to—it wasn’t crooked, but it gave her hands something to do.

Then she checked the tray Lydia had set out: three mugs, coffee, hot water. All fine. She adjusted one of the carafes by half an inch anyway.

“Crash,” Jon said, arms folded. “You planning to fold that thing into submission?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, straightening the edge one last time.

He stepped closer, amused. “The place looks fine. It looks like people live here.”

“That’s the problem,” she said, sweeping a glance across the baby gear and scattered toys. “It’s a disaster zone.”

“It’s a family,” Jon corrected. “And you’re not auditioning for this woman, Ari. You’re interviewing her.”

The doorbell echoed through the house, a crisp chime that made Ariana’s shoulders pull tight. She didn’t jump, but Jon felt a shift under his hands.

“Easy,” he murmured, giving her shoulders a steady squeeze. “You’ve faced down worse than a yoga instructor.”

Ariana huffed a soft laugh and brushed at her shirt. “Big, tattooed roadies never cared if I smelled like mushed bananas. This one might.”

Together, they walked to the door. Ariana opened it to reveal a woman in her mid-fifties, slim but sturdy, with black hair tucked beneath a Yankees cap and sunglasses perched on top. She wore a navy hoodie that read Yoga GoGo, leggings, and the kind of no-nonsense sneakers that said she could walk ten miles without complaint.

“Gloria Tetrazzini?” Jon asked, voice warm.

“That’s me,” Gloria said with a grin. “You must be the rock star and the boss.”

“Depending on who you ask,” Ariana replied, arching a brow. Her smile was real this time, if cautious.

Jon chuckled and stepped aside. “Come on in.”

Gloria stepped into the foyer, taking in the framed photos along the wall. “Desiree said you two had your hands full, but this already feels like home. Lived in. Loud. My favorite kind.”

“You’ll fit right in,” Ariana said dryly, leading her toward the living room.

As they walked down the hallway, Gloria slowed her steps, eyes moving across the family photos that lined the walls. She paused in front of one in particular—Jon holding a little girl in one arm, mic in the other.

“You really are living the double life,” she said with a smile.

“We try,” Ariana replied. “Some days are more… successful than others.”

Gloria chuckled and moved to the next photo: four older kids crowded around the baby, faces streaked with frosting, a dog nosing in while one of the boys tried to hold the baby in his lap.

“This one’s my favorite so far,” Gloria said, tapping the glass gently. “Total mayhem. Zero apologies.”

“That was Jesse’s birthday,” Jon said. “Taken at the bar Ariana owns. It was exactly as loud as it looks.”

“Good. Families should be a little loud.”

They reached the end of the hall, and Ariana gestured toward the living room. A pack ’n play sat in one corner, a walker nearby, toys scattered in overlapping circles like a mini explosion of toddlerhood. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, highlighting it all.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Ariana said.

Gloria set her bag down on the armchair near the window and eased into it like she belonged there. Not presumptuous. Just comfortable.

Jon leaned against the back of the couch, waiting for Ariana to sit first. She gave the throw blanket a final adjustment, more habit than worry now, then sat across from Gloria. Only then did Jon sit beside her, stretching one arm along the back of the couch.

Gloria settled comfortably in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. She looked around the room again. Not judging, just taking it in.

“You have a beautiful home,” she said. “Full of love. And for the record, a messy toy corner usually means happy kids and very tired parents. That’s a win in my book.”

Jon let out a laugh. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

Ariana exhaled, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I appreciate you saying that. I’m still getting used to what normal looks like around here.”

Gloria shrugged easily. “Normal’s overrated. I’ll take honest over perfect any day.”

She leaned forward slightly, hands resting on her knee. “Would it be alright if I shared a little more about myself—beyond the version Desiree gave you?”

“Please,” Ariana said. “We’d like that.”

“I’m Jersey born and raised,” Gloria began, that Jerz-alian lilt curling through her words. “Spent the last fifteen years running my yoga studio—Yoga GoGo, over in Shrewsbury. Taught classes, mentored teachers, did school outreach, even worked with seniors. It’s been good work, and it gave me something while my own kids were growing up.”

She paused, not awkward, just honest.

“I’ve been divorced about a year. My kids are grown and scattered, doing their own thing. It’s quiet now. Too quiet, honestly. I’m not built for that.”

Ariana nodded slowly, her posture softening just a bit.

“When Des told me what you were looking for, it didn’t sound crazy to me. It sounded… familiar. Messy schedules. Travel. The need to be two places at once. I’ve lived that version in my own way. So when she asked if I’d meet you, I said yes.”

Jon glanced toward Ariana but didn’t speak—this was her moment to lead.

Ariana leaned forward, forearms on her thighs, fingers laced together. She wasn’t hostile, just measured.

“I’ll be honest, Gloria, we weren’t sure we were going to hire anyone at all.”

Gloria nodded like she’d expected that.

“It’s not that we haven’t had help when we needed it,” Ariana continued. “But letting someone into the thick of it, into the day-to-day rhythm of our life… that’s different. That’s not easy for me.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Gloria said simply. “That kind of trust shouldn’t come easy.”

That landed.

Ariana held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Not testing. Just… seeing.

“I’m not here to take over your home,” Gloria added, her voice steady. “I’m here to support it. And support you. There’s a difference.”

Ariana didn’t smile. But her shoulders loosened, the kind of shift Jon had learned to recognize. The armor didn’t drop, but maybe the latch came undone.

A flicker of something crossed her face—surprise, maybe. Hope. She glanced at Jon, then back to Gloria.

“So, let’s talk about what this actually looks like.”

Gloria nodded. “Hit me.”

Ariana gave a small grin. “You asked for it.”

Jon shifted slightly, his arm still stretched along the back of the couch. “We’re on tour right now—not the kind of tour where we’re gone for months straight, but enough that we’re in a different city every few days. There are three months left in North America, then we head to Europe in June. That run lasts through the end of July.”

“And all this is with a baby and a dog,” Ariana added, “and depending on the week, four other kids in rotation. Two teenagers, one preteen, and a six-year-old who has more energy than all of us combined.”

Gloria let out a low whistle but smiled. “That’s a full house.”

Jon chuckled. “We should probably mention, Ariana’s production company is the one running the tour. So she’s handling all the business side too.”

“So, a lot of movement,” Gloria said.

“Constant,” Ariana confirmed. “You’d fly with us and our full team. That includes Gunnar—he’s Lily’s security detail.”

“On non-show days, you’d usually have the day off,” Jon added. “Unless one of us is pulled into something last minute—meetings, venue walkthroughs, promo, that kind of thing.”

“Not to mention, I’m six months pregnant. Baby number two is due in July while we’re on tour in Europe.”

Gloria blinked. “Okay, wow. That’s… a timeline.”

“Yeah,” Jon said dryly. “We don’t do boring.”

That earned a laugh from both Gloria and Ariana.

“Back home in Jersey, the schedule’s lighter. Fewer moving parts. You’d still be needed; it will just vary depending on what we have going on.”

“Some days, it’ll be a full shift,” Jon added. “Others, maybe just a few hours. Or when Mommy and Daddy need a night out.”

Gloria gave a thoughtful nod, her expression calm and collected. “Sounds like a lot, but not overwhelming. And it helps that you’re being up front. I appreciate that.”

“That’s how we work,” Jon said. “We don’t sugarcoat.”

“Good,” Gloria replied. “Because I don’t either.”

Jon glanced at Ariana, then back at Gloria. “That’s about the gist of things.”

Ariana nodded. “How about we give you a call later today? That’ll give us some time to talk, and you a chance to think over what the role would really look like.”

“And if it’s something you’re still interested in,” Jon added, “we’re home the next couple of days. We can work in some time for you to meet Lily.”

Gloria stood, slinging her canvas bag over her shoulder with a calm ease. “Sounds perfect.”

They walked her to the door together, the air between them easier now.

Jon opened the door, and the afternoon light spilled into the entryway. “Thanks for coming, Gloria.”

“Talk to you soon.” Ariana smiled this time without hesitation.

Gloria gave a small nod as she stepped outside. “Looking forward to it.”

When the door closed behind her, Ariana let out a long breath and leaned her shoulder into Jon’s.

“Well?” he asked.

“She didn’t run screaming.”

He laughed. “You didn’t either.”

“Not yet.”

Jon brushed his hand along her back. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

Twenty-Five

 

The Breakfast Club

 

Ari floated contentedly in the cocoon that dangled midway between sleep and wakefulness in her New Jersey bed, swaying to the tune of a silent lullaby until the scent of buttery pancakes seeped into her chrysalis.  The rich, decadent fragrance tapped her consciousness, cut by sharp citrus and lifted by the aroma of coffee strong enough to peel paint.   Muffled by sleep and covers, a child’s laughter lilted and melded with rumbling adult voices and clattering dishes like a foggy memory.

 

She shifted under the covers without opening her eyes, letting the sounds swirl around her cozily wrapped body like a whispering – or maybe shouting- breeze. 

 

A thud.  Someone yelling about spoons.   

 

She smiled into the pillow. Her dreams didn’t usually come with a sound design this detailed.

 

Then came a jab in her side, piercing her little cocoon.  Knuckle, elbow, knee… whatever it was, it wasn’t accidental.

 

“Hey!” she groaned, half-laughing, not even bothering to lift her head. She wasn’t ready to be a butterfly just yet.  Caterpillar life was still too comfy.

 

Jon’s voice came from above her, rough with sleep but smug. “You gonna sleep through a full-scale breakfast riot?”

 

Okay.  Maybe she could be a slow butterfly.  She cracked one eye open to find him standing on her side of the bed, already dressed. 

 

“Thought I was dreaming,” she said, rolling onto her back with a dramatic sigh.

 

“Nightmare or fantasy?”

 

She stretched, bones cracking, hair a mess. “Too early to tell.”

 

Jon smirked. “Well, the dog’s licking syrup off the floor while chasing Bella.  Lily and Rocco are tossing your Fruit Loops, and my mother is threatening Matt and me for egging it all on. 

 

That pulled a laugh out of her – quiet, tired, genuine.

 

Downstairs, laughter erupted again, louder this time.

 

They were definitely home.

 

They’d landed late last night after the Raleigh show, dropped the bags in the hallway, and fallen into bed. The older kids had come the house the day before with Carol and John, while Matt and Desiree looked after Lily.  And now…

 

Her mother-in-law was downstairs in the kitchen like a short order cook, as the rest of the house had started without her.

 

Jon bent to kiss her. “Now get that ass moving, Sleeping Beauty. I’m going to need more coffee before Dot gets here.”

 

Ari groaned and threw an arm over her face. But a moment later she tossed back the covers and sat up pulling her hair into a messy bun. She grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find, shoved her arms through the sleeves, and padded toward the door after him, chasing the smell of pancakes and the sound of her life in motion.

 

A pale gray light seep through the windows, soft and heavy as if the sky were holding its breath. The air had that sharp metallic scent–snow was coming.

 

The kitchen pulsed with warmth and motion, a stark contrast to the cold pressing in beyond the glass. Ari stepped into the swirl of clinking dishes, overlapping voices, and the smell of bacon that wasn’t there before.

 

“Aunt Ari! Rocco threw a pancake at my head.” Bella yelled, already sticky and outraged.

 

From his highchair, Rocco giggled and smacked his tray with both hands. “Uh-oh!” he chirped.

 

Carol, flipping something at the stove, did even turn around. “He missed, didn’t he?”

 

Ari grinned, crossing to the island. Cereal boxes lay open like forgotten books, a small splash of milk pooling beside one. A half-eaten stack of pancakes sagged on the platter, leftovers from the kids too impatient to wait for round two.

 

“Is that juice freshly squeezed?” she asked, reaching for a glass.

 

“Of course,” Carol replied, handing one over.

 

“Thanks,” Ari said with a smile.

 

Meaty snuffling noises drew her eyes downward. Meatball, the ever hunger mutt, was already deep into crumb patrol, tail wagging harder than his nose could keep up. Ari smirked. He knew breakfast with this crowd was goldmine.

 

Her gaze landed on the dueling highchairs, where Lily and Rocco were in full chaos mode. Giggling between mouthfuls of banana mush, stolen Fruit loops, socked feet kicking wildly.

 

“You two are a mess,” she said, crouching down to wipe their sticky fingers, unsuccessfully.

 

Their wide eyes followed her every movement, utterly delighted. She ruffled their hair and gave up, laughing as Lily shrieked and flung another handful of cereal onto the floor.

 

In the breakfast nook, the older kids bantered like it was their job—teasing, snorting, barely breathing between insults and laughter. It had a rhythm Ari recognized. A scene she used to watch unfold in Max’s house.

 

Now, somehow, it was hers.

 

She soaked up every moment they had with the older kids. Soon, the house would be quiet again. Too quiet. Dorothea would be arriving any minute to whisk them off for the rest of spring break–sailing the Caribbean with their other cousins on a yacht. 

 

Courtesy of Jon. 

 

Or, more accurately, courtesy of Dorothea insisting Jon pay up for ‘derailing’ her vacation plans with his need of having them with us in Canada for a few shows.

 

Not that Jon would ever object. He’d do anything for his kids.

 

But still.

 

The sudden chime of the doorbell cut through the chatter, and Ari glanced toward the front of the house, already knowing who it was.  A breath of silence passed through the kitchen, just enough to shift the energy.

 

Romeo’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with excitement. Before anyone could stop him, he was out of his chair, socks sliding on the tile floor as he bolted for the door. 

 

Ari winced. “How does he do that without falling?”

 

Jon didn’t even look up. “Years of practice.”

 

“Mom!” Romeo’s voice echoed back towards them, followed by the unmistakable creak and whoosh of the front door flinging open.

 

Footsteps echoed in the foyer, heels sharp and precise against the tile. A moment later, Dot appeared in the doorway, backlit by the overcast morning. She was casually dressed in all black, pressed and pristine.  Oversized sunglasses rested on her nose, and not a single hair was out of place, despite the wind outside.

 

She paused just shy of stepping in. Her gaze wept over the chaos: pancakes sagging on platters, two shrieking toddlers in highchairs, and laughter coming from the breakfast nook.

 

That familiar tight smile formed slowly, like she was building it piece by piece. Then, in one smooth motion, she slid her sunglasses off.

 

“Well,” she said. “Isn’t this cozy.”

 

“You’re early,” Jon said, rising from his chair and setting his mug down with a soft clink.

 

Dorothea glanced at the kitchen clock, then her watch, as if double-checking which one was lying. “We’re on a tight schedule. I figured I’d beat the weather.”

 

Her eyes drifted back across the room again, taking it all in before landing on Ari.

 

“Ari,’ she said, clipped and cool.

 

Ari straightened, both hands resting lightly on the back of Lily’s highchair. Her smile quiet. Polite. Carefully unreadable.

 

“Morning, Dorothea.”

 

Behind them, Meatball let out a single bark.

 

“Dot’s mouth twitched. “Still letting the dog in the kitchen, I see.”

 

Ari didn’t blink. “Still finding things to complain about, I see.”

 

“Some things never change,” Dot muttered with a dry exhale.

Ari didn’t bother to smile just crossed her arms casually over her chest. “Lucky for us.”

 

Carol stepped in smoothly, a dish towel still slung over her shoulder.

 

“All right,” she said in that no-nonsense tone that made everyone sit up a little straighter, “kids, time to wash up and make sure your bags are packed.

 

Chairs scraped. Feet shuffled. The kitchen shifted into motion. Even the adults started scurrying to clean up.

 

Carol turned towards her once daughter in law, offering a small, practiced smile. 

“Dot, would you like coffee while you wait.”

 

Dot gave a clipped shake of her head. “I’ll be in the car.”

 

Without another word, she turned and disappeared down the hall, heels clinking sharp again the time.

 

As her heels faded down the hall, the kitchen’s warmth seemed to deepen, as if the house was reclaiming its own rhythm.  Ari took a slow breath, grounding her back to this moment, to the messy, chaotic joy of family. 

 

Jon leaned against the counter, watching the little kids with tired eyes that still sparkled in the morning light. He caught Ari’s glance and raised his mug in a small, silent toast. She returned the smile, her fingers brushing briefly against his arm. In that moment, no words were needed. 

                                                                   

The older kids reappeared from the hall, backpacks slung over their shoulders, faces bright with anticipation and a trace of bittersweet goodbyes. Stephanie spotted Ari lingering neat the highchairs and veered toward her, Jesse and Jake trailing behind like back up dancers. 

 

“We forgot something,” she announced.

 

Aril blinked. “Phones? Chargers? Nintendo DS?”

“Nope. Baby names.” Steph gave her a cheeky grin. “Critical business before we depart.”

 

“Oh no,” Ari said, already laughing.

 

Jesse flopped onto one of the counter stools. “It’s important, Ari. You can’t let a baby enter the world without a solid name strategy.”

 

Jake had already wedged himself beside Lily’s highchair again, who was picking up Fruit Loops.

“We made a list,” Jake said. “And don’t worry. I crossed off Diesel.”

 

Ari smirked. “Thank God!”

 

“But I left on Optimus. Just in case,” he added quickly.

 

Romeo reappeared, dramatically skidding to a stop beside them. “Tell her the good one.”

 

Steph opened the Notes app on her phone. “Okay. Official list, so far.”

 

Ari rested both hands on her bump and gave an exaggerated sigh. “This poor child. Alright. Hit me.”

 

“First up, Maverick,” Jesse said grinning.

 

“Thought I kiboshed that one already.” Ari said instantly.

 

Steph didn’t miss a bet. “Fine. We move to the nature-vibes section. River, Indigo, Sage…”

 

“Do I look like a hippie?” Ari teased.

 

Jon passed by with a fresh mug of coffee. “Indigo’s not bad. Could call them Iggy.”

 

“Iggy Pop or Iggy Azalea? Jesse asked.

 

Ari groaned. “Next.”

 

“Alright, next up: retro-cool names,” Steph said. “Lenny, Junie, Teddy, Cleo.”

 

Romeo bounced on his toes. “What about Cosmo?”

 

Steph game him a look. “We said no space name after the Thanos incident.”

“Cosmo’s cool!” Romeo argued. “He could be a superhero.”

Jake leaned in and whispered to the bump, “Don’t worry. You won’t be Cosmo.”

 

“Oorrrr,” Romeo said proudly, “Princess lasagna.”

 

Jesse sighed. “He watched Garfield last night.”

 

Ari crouched and pulled him into a quick hug, laughing. “Thanks buddy, but I’m gonna have to veto those as well.”

 

“Still think Diesel has potential.” Jon called from the doorway.

 

Ari turn and pointed. “Get out.”

 

The kids cracked up, laughter echoing through the kitchen. Ari stood still for a moment, soaking it in, their voices, their jokes, and their absolute refusal to take anything seriously for longer than ten seconds.

 

The moment stretched, warm and golden, before shifting as it always did.

 

Jake crouched beside Lily’s, his voice soft but steady.  “Bye, Stinkerbell. I’ll see ya soon.”

 

Lily enthusiastically clutched her big brother’s face with both hands, while Romeo bounded over to Meatball, kneeling to ruffle his dog’s ears. “I’ll miss you, buddy.”

 

Jesse and Stephanine followed suit their goodbyes sprinkled with laugher and quick hugs, gratitude spilling from every word.

 

Ari felt a pang in her chest, a mixture of pride and the ache of letting go, even just for a little while. 

 

Jon’s voice cut through the moment gently, “Let’s not keep your mother waiting.” 

 

With a final round of hugs, promises to call, and waves, the older kids headed out — the house quieter now, but still full of love.