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Vince places his hands firmly on my shoulders, the same way he does when I’m freaking out about an upcoming gig. I look up to meet his eyes, and that’s when I notice that he’s beaming. He’ssmiling so big it looks like his face is going to break in two, and I’m immediately flooded with relief.
“Lyndsey, this is wonderful! This is the best day of my life! You’ve made me the happiest man on earth, fuck probably the galaxy itself!” He gives me a bear hug, squeezing my ribs so hard it hurts and I find comfort in his wiry frame as he laughs into my hair. Soon, I’m laughing too. We’re both guffawing and holding each other.
“Shit! I’m gonna be a dad to a literal human being!” Vince hoots.
“Well, let’s hope so.”
“Does anyone know?”
“Al bought the test with me.”
“Of course, she did. Fuck, that reminds me, I need to tell Michael he’s not the only cool Dad in the family now.”
To his credit, Michael has managed to cram twenty-seven years’ worth of parenting into one year. He built an entire Ikea catalog worth of furniture for Allison when he was in town last, including the bookshelf that’s been sitting in her hallway, partially constructed for the last three years.
“So, you’re excited? You’re not worried about tour or anything?”
“Well, the kid’s not going to show up next week, are they?” Vince reasons.
He pulls me into a hug and kisses my temple, “We’ve got plenty of time to prepare. I’ll read some books and ask Apollo a thousand questions. It’ll be great!” I’ve never seen Vince so hopelessly optimistic about anything.
He looks like he’s plotting how to build a treehouse and open a college fund simultaneously. There’s a manic, joyful glint in his eyes, and it allows me to be excited as well.
Vince pauses, “But really, how are you feeling about everything?”
“Nauseous and excited,” I say with a sigh. I rummage through the drawer beneath the bathroom counter and fish out a spare toothbrush and tube of travel toothpaste we keep in case of guests.
“That makes sense,” Vince says as I brush my teeth with more vigor than I have in my entire life.
“We should probably get you a doctor’s appointment, right?”
“Fuck! Probably!” I say after I spit in the sink.
Vince pulls me into his arms, and I relax against him. “If the show’s Wednesday night, and we leave for tour Friday morning, I can probably get an appointment on Thursday, yeah?”
“I don’t see why not!” Vince says.
My shoulders drop below my ears for the first time all day, “Okay, cool. We have a plan.”
“You feel better now that you have a plan, don’t you?” Vince teases.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“This kid is going to grow up thinking Microsoft Excel is a video game.”
“Or that a corn dog is an acceptable breakfast.”
“Or both.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, we’ve got our work cut out for us, don’t we?” I say.
“Yeah, but it’ll be great,” Vince reassures me.
Wednesday night, I keep a plastic bottle of ginger ale glued to my side as I run around the venue preparing for the show.
I check the greenroom for the tell-tale signs of an Imposters gig: Red Hots, hair pomade, loose go-go boots, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see Priya lounging on the couch, scrollingthrough her phone. She’s here an hour before the rest of the band.
“Priya! What’s with the timeliness?” I exclaim.
