Page 81 of From Maybe to Baby

So why am I calculating the number of days I have left in the US?

"Lukas has his first hockey practice next week," I blurt before I can stop myself.

"What? Huh? Who’s that?" Ryan asks, thrown off that anything exists that might be more important than Paris.

He has a point.

"Nothing." I shake my head, attempting to refocus. "Just... juggling some things."

"Forget the juggling. Forget the family fluff pieces," Ryan insists, his voice sharpening with impatience. "This is what you've been gunning for. Remember that night in Bali? When you drunkenly charted your perfect career path?"

I remember. I also remember promising Lukas I’d help make signs for his practice and make pancakes for Jace. I remember Jonas’s look when the kids worked me into their lives without a second thought.

I remember how all that felt. Kind of like I’d won the lottery of life.

But isn’t Paris the pinnacle? The top prize?

"The timing is a little… tricky," I start.

"It’s perfect," Ryan cuts in, his enthusiasm undeterred. "No more dismal San Francisco winter. Swap the fog for French wine. Trade those tedious kid-friendly articles for Fashion Week glamour."

Fashion Week. Adult conversations that don't involve negotiating over chicken nuggets or detangling princess hairdos.

"One year minimum commitment," he adds, as though reading from the ultimate travel writer’s dream contract. "They're hoping you’ll make it your new home base."

Home base. My mother made it her home base. I could do that too. Right?

"This is what you’ve always wanted," Ryan prods, sensing my hesitation. "Paris. Recognition. Freedom."

He’s right. It’s all I ever wanted.

"The offer includes a hefty salary bump, a generous housing allowance, a travel budget to die for," Ryan continues. "Back to luxury hotels, gourmet meals, adult experiences. No more scraping Play-Doh out of your MacBook’s keyboard."

My eyes fall on my laptop, the one Jonas got me after his kids ruined my first one, which somehow got covered in dinosaur stickers when I wasn’t looking. I clock on my latest blog draft:Finding Magic in Family Craziness: A Reformed Solo Traveler’s Guide. Surprisingly, I’ve really been enjoying writing it.

"When do they need my decision?" I manage to ask.

"By the end of this week," Ryan replies. "You're their top choice. Your Hawaii series—how you spun family travel into something chic—it caught their eye. But in Paris, you'll be free from the family travel niche. I knew that would make you happy. And, honestly, I’m thrilled for you Alexa."

The family travel niche. I was so resistant to it. And look at me now...

"I need to think," I say, more to myself than to him.

"Think? What's there to think about?" Ryan's confusion is obvious. "This is your dream job, Alexa."

It is? I mean, itis. Certainly. For sure. No doubt about it. All I ever wanted…

"Just... let me process this," I fumble like an idiot.

"Process?" He’s incredulous. "This is everything you've worked towards. Since—” He pauses, recalibrating. "Oh."

"What?"

"I get it. This is about that hockey player. And his kids? The ones you met on assignment in Hawaii." He sighs like I’m a lost cause.

But not so fast.

"I’m considering all professional angles," I assert, scrubbing a sticky spot from the kitchen counter. “That’s what you always say right?”

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