12. Sloane #2
She stayed over last night when I had a crying fit over a dishwasher advertisement. Bella wasn’t as gracious and made a swift exit, stating Pork needed her at home for emotional support.
I glance down, ashamed, and wipe cheese dust on my sweats. “Maybe it’s a little of both. Want some?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Only if you pour oat milk on it and call it breakfast.”
“Hard pass.” I offer her the bag anyway, which she declines with a fake-shocked gasp.
Becca perches on the edge of the bed, lowering her voice. “Did you get the call?”
Jenna is already making the rounds then. News travels fast in this house.
“I did,” I say. “We’re wanted in the UK.”
“Road trip!” Becca crows, and only stops when Eden stirs and opens one grey eye, bleary but already suspicious.
“Why is Becca in our room?” she mumbles.
“Your sister needs us to visit,” I say. “It’s Gran.”
Eden sits up immediately. “Is she—”
“She’s okay. Just, you know…Sawyer-stubborn.” I tuck her hair behind her ear, which she allows only because she’s too distracted to stop me. “Jenna says they want us there soon. Before I’m ‘too dramatic to travel,’ which is obviously now, but I guess we can fake it for a couple weeks.”
Eden’s eyes flicker to my belly, which is only slightly rounder than usual thanks to the world’s most expensive round of IVF. I know what she’s thinking: air travel, recirculated germs, mystery peanuts.
“We’d need a note from Dr. Chen,” she says. “And I have to call the airline about seating. And you can’t eat airplane food. And—”
“Or,” Becca interrupts, “we could make it a group thing.” She says it so breezily I almost don’t notice the genius. “You, me, Sloane, Bella, Pia, the kids, and, like, a carry-on’s worth of emotional baggage. Wouldn’t it be fun?”
Eden squints. “Define ‘fun.’”
Becca ignores her and addresses me. “Pia could do with a friendship vacay, and Meena loves Europe. Bella’s passport is expired but she knows a guy. We could even do the Big Ben tourist stuff instead of just family stuff.”
I let the idea roll around. It’s absolutely reckless. It’s also perfect.
Eden doesn’t argue, which is the closest thing she ever gives to consent on the first try. “I guess I could call Gran and see if she’s up for the circus.”
I squeeze her hand, still amazed that this works, that we can coordinate seven people across two continents without even a minor nervous breakdown. “We’ll book today. But you’re calling the airline.”
Becca claps, victorious, then tiptoes out—no doubt to start a group chat and crowdsource trip outfits. I pull Eden back down onto the pillow, brushing her forehead with my lips.
“It’s going to be okay.”
She looks at me, vulnerable in the way only people who have survived real fear can be. “Promise?”
I nod, even though no one can promise anything. “Promise. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”
In this house, that’s not a rhetorical question, but she lets me have the win.
By evening, the group chat has swelled to include five separate sub-chats: Main Trip Planning, UK Fashion, Baby Logistics, Memes & Panic, and—my favorite—Secret Spouse Strategies, which is just me and Becca sending each other links to travel pillows and hiding snacks from Eden.
Bella’s already found a sketchy “emergency passport renewal” service.
Meena wants to see the British Museum, and Arin has requested to see the King.
He also wants to stay in “the posh hotel.” They’ve never visited Eden’s Gran in the UK before, so Arin might be a little disappointed when he realizes we’ll be staying in a cottage by the sea and not a fancy hotel. I’ll leave his mom to explain that one.
The night before we’re set to leave, I stand in the kitchen, surrounded by suitcases and an impressive array of baby products that we do not, strictly speaking, need. Eden sidles in, looking sheepish.
“I overpacked,” she confesses.
I open her suitcase. It’s all black t-shirts, three different types of prenatal vitamins, and a Ziploc full of probiotic gummies.
“You’re ready for anything,” I say, closing it up.
She pulls me into a hug. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For doing this. For letting it get…messy.”
“It’s our mess,” I reply.
She buries her face in my neck and doesn’t pull away until we’re both a little steadier.
We sleep, or try to, but the nerves and the excitement are in the air like an electrical storm. I keep thinking about Dr. Chen’s words. “You don’t have to decide now.” Maybe that’s the point of this whole trip—to see what we look like, the whole chaotic lot of us, before everything shifts again.
When the car arrives, the group is already waiting.
Pia’s got coffee for everyone. Arin is wearing a paper crown.
Meena is already two episodes deep into her favorite Netflix show.
Bella’s carrying three laptops and wearing a t-shirt that says “DOCTOR, NOT A REAL DOCTOR,” which will either make customs faster or land us on a watchlist. Becca’s orchestrating everything like a benevolent dictator.
I can’t believe we got all this organized so fast.
Eden squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this, Sawyer.”
And now the madness begins.