10. Sloane
Sloane
Sometimes I wonder if the universe is running a prank show on me, but the punchlines are all slow burn.
Exhibit A: I’ve spent the last week googling “DIY sperm insemination” and “best lube for lesbian conception,” which, yes, you can do at home, but you’ll never look at a turkey baster the same way again.
Exhibit B: Today’s episode features me carrying a tray of homemade macarons (Eden’s only request for Jenna’s “urgent family lunch”) up a flight of steps to the world’s tiniest backyard, where the entirety of the Sawyer and Bishop clans, plus several honorary members, have assembled like it’s the running of the bulls.
I’m not saying I expected a quiet afternoon, but the way everyone’s looking at each other, at their shoes, at their drinks, and very pointedly not at Jenna, tells me this barbecue is a setup, and I’m the only one who’s read the script.
Except I haven’t—Jenna is playing this close to the chest, which, for her, is probably literal since she’s wearing a vintage soccer jersey two sizes too small.
Eden’s hand slips into mine as we squeeze past Rick, who is manning the grill in a “Kiss the Cook (Or Else)” apron, spatula in one hand and a bottle of Modelo in the other. The man’s priorities are food, music, and pretending he doesn’t care which of his daughters is about to drop a bombshell.
“Hey, Dad,” Eden calls, bumping his hip with hers as we pass.
“Careful, love, you almost cost us three brats,” Rick says, but he’s smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Make yourselves useful—grab plates?”
Eden, ever the compliant eldest, drags me toward the folding table where Liz is already rearranging a dozen pre-sliced burger buns so the sesame seeds line up in neat little rows.
“Mum, you realize it’s all going to get messy anyway,” Eden points out.
Liz glances up, caught mid-panic, and snorts. “That’s what I said about you girls. Look where it got me.” She gestures with the tongs for dramatic effect, and I narrowly avoid getting a chunk of iceberg lettuce to the face.
The yard is full to capacity: Pia is perched on a patio swing with Arin on her knee.
Meena is hiding under the table eating pickles straight out of the jar.
Bella and Becca have claimed the Adirondacks, legs tangled, heads bowed over a phone, probably deep in a meme exchange or some kind of high-stakes Wordle competition.
Jenna is nowhere to be seen, but Kiera looms by the back door, arms folded, scanning the crew like she’s in charge of crowd control at a minor riot.
There’s a weird energy. I set down the macarons and sidle up to Kiera. “Nice day for a family meltdown,” I say, too quiet for the rest to hear.
She huffs, but there’s a twitch of a smile. “You know, I once ran a youth soccer camp with two hundred hormone-riddled teenagers and less drama than this lunch.”
I glance at her, eyebrow raised. “Are you prepared for the drama?”
Kiera hesitates, then leans in. “Depends on who you ask. Jenna’s trying not to combust.”
“Should I…” I motion toward the hallway, where Jenna is no doubt pacing like a caged animal.
“She could use some backup,” Kiera admits.
I find Jenna in the laundry room, not folding laundry but leaning over the sink, running her hands under cold water. When she hears me, she wipes her palms down the front of her shorts and turns, trying for a grin that looks more like a wince.
“Need a hand?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle. Eden once told me I have a gift for breaking tension, but she didn’t mention that sometimes I just redirect it onto myself.
Jenna sighs. “This is going to suck!”
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “Only for a little while. You just need to rip the band-aid off.”
Jenna looks at me, really looks, and the bravado melts. “This is the right thing for us, Sloane. I know it. It’s Kiera’s dream job. I want to support her in this. So however this lunch goes, I just have to keep that in mind, right?”
There’s a heartbeat of silence. I think of Eden, who pretends she isn’t bothered by how things changing around her rattle her world.
I think of Liz, who’s been gripping tighter to her daughters every year since her own mother got diagnosed with cancer, even though Gran has been in remission for years.
I think of Rick, who’ll probably say all the right things but will be breaking inside that his baby is going out into the world on her own.
“Are you scared?” I ask.
“Terrified. Mum is going to lose it.”
I think about that for a second. “Yeah, she might. But she’ll get over it.”
Jenna breathes out, slow and shaky. “I wish I was as sure as you.”
I smile, but my stomach is doing flips. “C’mon, let’s go break the news. I’ll run interference.”
She grins at that, at the thought of me being a human shield. “Thanks, Sloane.”
We head back out, and Eden’s the first to notice us. She zeroes in on Jenna, eyes tracking every micro-expression, which is exactly what Jenna’s been dreading.
“Oi, where’ve you two been?” Eden calls, too loud and too cheerful.
Jenna raises her chin, squares her shoulders. “Hey everyone, can I…can I get your attention?” It’s almost comical, the way all conversation dies at once.
She waits just long enough for the silence to curdle. Kiera arrives by her side and takes her hand in silent support.
“Okay, I’m just going to say it. Kiera’s been offered a coaching position at Loughborough University. I’m going to open a bar there. So…the news is we’re moving to England in September.”
No one speaks. Even Meena, pickle juice dripping down her chin, freezes.
Bella is the first to break the ice. “Holy shit, that’s amazing!”
Kiera shrugs, suddenly shy. “I mean, it’s a great opportunity—”
“—and you’re going to fucking rock it, Kiera!” Becca supplies.
For a second, it’s all high-fives and congratulations and even Rick puts down his beer long enough to bear hug Jenna and Kiera at once. But I can see the moment it hits Eden, like a snowball to the face, and she drops my hand to rub her forehead.
Liz, to her credit, keeps it together until Jenna adds that they’ve also settled on a wedding date and they plan to leave directly for England the day after.
That’s when Liz starts to cry, and it’s not a pretty cry—she’s never been one for dainty tears. It’s the ugly, snotty, full-body sob of someone who spent too much of the last ten years pretending she’s not scared to lose the people she loves the most. “I’m happy, I promise.”
Eden moves to hug her. Rick hands her a napkin. “The girls will be fine, love.”
Liz takes the napkin with a shaky hand. “I know, I know. But she’s my baby.”
“I’m your baby,” Eden says, deadpan, and the laughter that bubbles up is so cathartic it nearly knocks Liz off her feet.
Bella, always the instigator, raises her glass and calls, “To Jenna and Kiera, may you spread chaos and athleticism across the pond!”
The toast is echoed, and everyone drinks, and just like that, the mood pivots from stupefaction to celebration. It’s not that everyone is okay, but at least we’re all pretending for now.
Later, as the sun dips and the kids crash on a pile of jackets, I find Eden in the side yard, sitting on a swing. She’s staring at nothing, knees tucked up to her chest.
I sit beside her, close but not touching. “You alright?”
She shrugs. “Just wasn’t expecting the next big change to be so…soon.”
I look at her. “You know,” I begin softly, “I used to think families were like puzzles. Pieces fit together, and if one goes missing, it’s ruined. But now I think it’s more like…constellations. The shapes change, but the stars are still there. Just different.”
Eden snorts. “Did you read that on a tea bag?”
“I made it up. I’m not as dumb as I look.”
She leans into me, rests her head on my shoulder. “I wish everyone would just stay still. I wish everything would stay still.”
“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Neither am I,” she says, and I know she means it. “You wanna tell them about the kid thing while we’re here?”
I take her hand and entwine our fingers. “We’ve only just decided. I think I’d like to keep it just for us a little longer.”
She grins, wiping at her eyes. “Okay, love.”
I squeeze her hand. “Jenna’s going to be fine.”
“I know.”
The next morning, Eden and I run side by side down the Greenway, not talking, saving our breath for the slap of sneakers and the damp river air.
She hates running with me because I set a pace and refuse to break it, but she’d never admit that out loud.
Instead, she keeps even with my stride and makes snarky comments.
The seventeen-year-old exercise-hating grump is still in there at times.
After, we collapse on the park bench that’s become our unofficial meeting spot for post-mortem. She’s dripping sweat and so am I, and we’re both too lazy to argue over who forgot to bring water. I fish a half-crushed protein bar from my pocket and break it in two.
“Here,” I say, tossing her the bigger half.
She stares at it like it might bite. “Do you ever think about what you’d do if you weren’t…” She gestures, vague, encompassing the running, the relentless regimen, the way we both keep moving even when we’re not sure why.
I shrug. “Probably still run, just slower.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s thinking about something. “Maybe I’ll become a teacher,” she says, half-joking.
“You’d be good at it.”
She snorts. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll teach art and force kids to make collages out of their parents’ wedding photos.”
I crack up, picturing her at the front of a classroom, sleeves rolled, glue stick in hand, terrorizing a herd of suburban middle schoolers. “You could weaponize glitter.”
She grins for real this time. “Damn right.”
There’s a long pause where we just exist, inhaling the late summer air and watching a family of ducks paddle around an algae-choked bend in the river. I want to bring up the baby thing, but instead I say, “Do you think Jenna will actually go through with it? The move?”
Eden’s expression softens. “Yeah. She’s stubborn as hell, but she loves Kiera. If it means a new start…” She trails off, then adds, “I just hope it doesn’t send Mum over the edge.”
“She’ll get through it.” As I say it, I’m not sure I believe it.
Eden must see the doubt in my face, because she bumps her knee against mine. “Families are weird. Ours especially. But we always get through shit.”
“You’re a sap,” I tell her, but I’m grinning.
She flips me off and stands, stretching her arms overhead. “Race you to the car?”
She’s three steps ahead before I can groan, “Eden, my calves are literal stone—” but I chase her anyway, because that’s what we do. I always catch up, and she always lets me win, but today she actually sprints all out, hair whipping behind her.
By the time we get home, granola bar crumbs in my sports bra and park dust on our shins, we’re both starving and arguing about who gets the first shower.
“How about we do a little more practicing?” Eden asks with a grin.
“Babe, you can just say you want sex, it doesn’t have to be about baby making.”
“Okay, I want sex,” she declares, pulling me close and whipping me over her shoulder. I squeal as she hightails it up the stairs and into our bathroom.
I’m so glad we have a big walk-in. It’s seen some things in the six years we’ve lived here, that’s for sure.
The water washes away the dirt and sweat. Eden reaches for the shampoo and squeezes a dollop into her hand. “Turn around, love.”
I close my eyes while Eden works the shampoo into my hair.
Her nails are short, but she’s got this way of massaging my scalp that makes my knees wobble, which is not ideal when standing in a wet, slippery box.
She hums as she works, some tune I half-recognize from when she binge-watches those late-night oldies shows.
“You know you missed a spot,” she says, sliding her hands from my head to the sides of my body, and I hear the grin in her voice.
“Impossible,” I reply, sighing into her touch. She’s methodical, almost reverent, like she’s sculpting me out of wet clay. I could get used to this, except then her mouth is on my shoulder and her hands are sliding lower, and I know exactly where this is going.
It’s quick and soapy and slightly frantic, because the shower’s never been about seduction for us so much as efficiency. She presses me against the tile and whispers a string of filthy encouragements in my ear, and by the time she’s done I’m limp as overcooked pasta.
We finish up, towels and all, and flop onto the bed. Eden’s hair is already coming loose from the towel turban, tiny black strands escaping to spiral down her neck.
She tugs me closer, tucks my chin into the crook of her shoulder. “You know, I’m not totally opposed to the turkey baster thing,” she says, voice muffled. “It’s got a DIY punk energy I can respect.”
I groan. “We’re not using a kitchen implement for our first conception attempt. You’d turn it into an installation piece.”
Eden’s face lights up. “Ooo, performance art! The birth of a movement. Or…a human.”
“Stop.” I’m laughing, because I can see it already: her at the gallery, an actual baby in tow, some poor donor immortalized in a triad of sperm-themed canvases.
We’ve got a little time before the workday calls, so we drop our towels and lie on the bed. We’ve had to start locking our bedroom door since Meena now lives with us. She has the personal boundary ethics of her mother, which says everything.
“I’m not sure being naked is a good idea if you want me to let you leave anytime soon,” Eden growls into my neck, making me laugh.
“Well, maybe I don’t want you to let me leave.”
Eden rolls on top of me, and I take a second to just let the moment settle in. Not the sex that is about to happen, but the fact that we’re doing this. We’re really going to take this huge step together.