I know I'm fidgeting. I can't believe I'm actually about to see her on purpose. It's been five years since we've been alone together. She called me to talk about Inauguration, and I complied, but I don't really know what she wants. Everyone has pretty much agreed, but she may be a little anxious. Things didn't exactly end well for us the last couple times we were in the same place. I have to give her credit for calling me, though.
She walks in, wearing a very loose top, looking really pale. I've been worried about her - all I've seen of her lately are sparse TV interviews and some photos, but I know her well enough to know when things aren't going well for her. She finally spots me and makes her way over, her head down to avoid drawing any attention. She insisted on meeting in neutral territory, which makes things infinitely more complicated. Someone stops her, and I quickly jump to her aid, grabbing her arm and ushering her into the secluded corner I grabbed.
"Thank you," she says, finally hugging me awkwardly. I can't help but notice that her stomach is swollen. I give her a confused look and she sits down, sighing. "Yes, Lindsey. I'm pregnant."
"I didn't know."
"Well, no one does. I'm 18 weeks in and I've barely left my bed."
"You're sick?"
"It hasn't gone well," she says vaguely. For someone who desperately wanted to have a baby, she's completely emotionless. Before I can ask her any more questions, she steers the conversation to something else. "Listen, I don't want to take up a lot of your time. I just want to make sure we can do this and not humiliate ourselves. We have a month."
"Stevie, we were only asked to play a few songs. We've played them a thousand times, and we're all still actively working. I think it'll be okay."
"You know that's not what I mean. I know we'll play fine. I have no interest in getting something thrown at me or in screaming at you in front of the President of the United States."
"We're adults. We've had some time to distance ourselves. I might have calmed down quite a bit since we spent any time together," I say, smiling at her. She looks tired and uneasy. "Really, Stevie. We're going to be fine. It's good to see you."
"You don't hate me?"
"Of course I don't hate you," I say, furrowing my brow. What on earth is running through her head right now? "I'm confident we can get through a couple rehearsals and a show."
She nods absently, her mind clearly racing. "I just... I don't know, Lindsey."
"Stevie, what's going on?"
"I don't feel well today," she says, and shakes her head, trying to focus. "I'll do this as long as you will. I just wanted..."
"I understand why you wanted to see me," I say, trying to assure her. And I honestly do. She and I need be at least functional personally or the professional doesn't work. We never figured out how to separate the two. She finally meets my eyes and slips her hands into mine. "Tell me how you are, Stevie."
She rolls her eyes. "You don't have to take the act that far, Lindsey. We both know that doesn't matter."
"It's not an act. We were connected for a long time. How you are is always going to matter to me."
She stands up and starts to pull her coat on. "I've got to go."
"Already?"
"Yeah, I'll see you at rehearsal in a few weeks. Make sure Kelly gets the info."
I nod, slightly taken back by the abruptness. I stand and try to hug her, but she doesn't even get that close before she pulls back and takes off, almost running into the waitress, who gives me a confused look. I shrug, because I honestly don't have a better explanation than she does.
I avoid the topic of Stevie with the rest of the band as we make arrangements to reunite for a night. No one is talking very much, so it's actually much easier than I anticipate. We're not talking about anything at all, really, and I realize that since they're not talking to each other, either. I wonder if they even know that Stevie's pregnant.
God, I have so many questions. I didn't know she was seeing anyone. Is she doing this on her own? Why isn't anyone acknowledging it? Three weeks race by, and all of a sudden I'm in Washington, D.C. in a freezing cold rehearsal hall. The night of our first rehearsal, I find myself anxiously waiting for her arrival. She's characteristically late, and I realize the rest of the band is watching me, wondering how this is going to go.
"She'll be here, mate. I talked to Kelly today," says Mick. Well, at least she won't speak with him directly either.
"I know, I'm not worried." I say it casually, and he rolls his eyes at me. I'm obviously anxious. She eventually arrives, flanked by security and staff and we all nod at each other courteously. I try to get right down to business and ask Mick to click off the first song, but I can't help but notice that Stevie won't remove her coat. I don't say anything, and try not to watch her. We make it almost to the end before she gets my attention again. We're playing out of Don't Stop when she twirls by me with her tambourine and I see her wobble a little. Before I realize what's happening, she hits the floor. I watch Chris leap out from behind he keyboard and practically dive across the stage. John ducks out to call someone, and I toss my guitar to a tech and run to her, kneeling across from Chris, who is shaking her gently and asking her wake up.
I finally grip her face and look at her, saying her name firmly. Her eyes flutter open and scan the small crowd gathered in front of her. I help her sit up, letting her lean on me. "Just rest, sweetheart. The ambulance is on its way," says Chris, stroking her hair. She doesn't say anything, but I feel her grip my hand.
"How are you feeling?" It's all I can think to ask.
"Like I just fainted and hit the floor," she says roughly, refusing to look at anyone.
"Have you had enough to eat?" Chris asks.
"She's pregnant," I say, and she immediately shoots me a death glare.
