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Los Angeles, January 2002
The winter sun peeked through the gauzy curtains of the Laurel Canyon home that Valerie and John had made their sanctuary. It was quiet for a Sunday, the soft hum of television coming from the living room where twelve-year-old Vivienne sat cross-legged on the floor, colouring beside the coffee table. Her sketchpad was full of dreamy characters with glittery eyeliner and fantastical costumes—just like her mother used to wear on stage.
Valerie stood in the bathroom, barefoot, a soft robe wrapped around her, staring down at the pregnancy test in her hand. Two pink lines. Positive.
She didn't move at first. Her breath caught somewhere between surprise and joy—though in the past few days, the subtle signs had already whispered the truth to her. Morning nausea, overwhelming fatigue, a sudden craving for sour cherries. But now it was real. Undeniable. At thirty-nine, she was pregnant again.
She walked quietly through the hallway toward the office, where she found John hunched over his desk, typing a new entry for his site Trust the Process. He always found clarity in writing, and Sunday mornings were sacred—his moment to pour himself into thoughts about creativity, ageing, music, sobriety and life.
"Hey," Valerie said gently, leaning against the doorframe.
John looked up and smiled. "Morning, love. You feeling any better?"
Valerie walked in, holding the test behind her back. "Actually... yeah. I'm feeling... different." She reached for his hand and placed the test in his palm.
He blinked, reading it carefully. His mouth parted slightly, then widened into a grin of disbelief.
"No way."
"Yes way," Valerie said, laughing through the sudden tears that stung her eyes. "Christmas came late."
John stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, then pulled back to look at her, speechless for once. "We're having a baby? We're actually—"
"We are."
He pressed his lips to her forehead, then to her lips, then to her cheek, like he was grounding himself in the truth of her. "We have to call everyone. No—wait, we'll throw a party! I'll cancel the sessions next week. Maybe it's time I step back from the reunion with the guys—"
