“I’ll make sure to play the surrogate big sister and find out what’s going on today. Now, tell me everything about your research. Are you leading the way to a world that runs on clean energy alone?”
Irene shook her head. “No, no! You know my project is going well. I’m not letting you off the hook until you tell me what’s going on with you and your mom.”
“Fine,” Georgie said, then took a bite of pineapple cheesecake that her genius of a husband had delivered bi-weekly to the shop.
“Number two,” Irene began. “You’re seventeen weeks pregnant. What’s holding you back from telling your mom and Howard? Everything is still going well with the pregnancy, right?”
Georgie glanced down at the sway in her abdomen, where the alien blueberry peanut had grown into a mini pineapple surprise. And it wasn’t just her belly. Her breasts, once respectable B-cups, had blossomed into va-va-voom C-cups. Something that was not lost on her husband, who had become quite a boob man these days.
“These pregnancy breasts are no joke! I had to buy all new bras last week,” she said, gesturing to her ample chest while simultaneously trying to change the subject.
But Irene wasn’t having it.
“Seriously, lady! What’s holding you back?” Irene pressed.
Georgie shoveled a giant bite of cheesecake into her mouth. “I’m waiting to see what happens today. We’ve got our FBI meeting in less than an hour.”
Irene cocked her head to the side. “Okay, I need you to dial back the cake eating contest and repeat that sentence. All the way in Iceland, it sounded like you said you’re meeting with the FBI? You and Jordan haven’t decided you’ve had enough with blogging and decided to dip your toes into the world of prenatal espionage, have you?”
Georgie swallowed her gargantuan bite. “Do you think prenatal espionage is a thing?”
“Georgie,” her friend pressed.
She wiped a few crumbs of the cheesecake’s delicious graham cracker crust from her lips. “It’s not the Federal Bureau of Investigation, FBI. It’s the facilitated baby intervention activity that the child development experts set up to give us hands-on baby experience.”
Irene pursed her lips. “What are you supposed to do?”
“Some parents are coming to the bookshop with their babies, and Jordan and I are supposed to lead a baby story time movement activity with them.”
She’d spent the better part of the day sifting through board books, looking for something that could work with this age group.
“That sounds right up your alley,” Irene replied, giving her a thumbs-up.
Georgie twisted the cuff of her sweater. “Maybe.”
“Hey, you’ve got this,” Irene said, her expression softening.
Georgie abandoned her sleeve and swiped her finger across the plate, collecting the last morsels of cheesecake, then stuck her finger into her mouth. “I never thought this parenting business would be so complicated.”
“Girl! Chill with the pineapple cheesecake!”
Georgie removed her finger from her mouth and sighed. “I want to feel like I’ve got a handle on my life and on this pregnancy before I bring in my mother’s drama and gobbledygook into the mix.”
“Gobbledygook?” Irene repeated, biting back a grin.
“I’m a bookshop owner. I use fancy words. And you know what I mean,” she replied as her trifecta nodded approvingly.
Irene chuckled. “I think you’re making this harder than it actually is. Babies eat, sleep, and poop.”
“Oh, I know they poop. Even virtual reality babies poop,” she answered with a shudder.
Irene leaned in toward the camera. “Haven’t you been practicing with Fabian?”
“Who?”
“That,” Irene said, coming in another inch, then pointing toward the bottom of the screen.
Georgie looked down. “You can see that?”
“I see a creepy doll head in your lap like I do on all of our calls.”
“Its name is Faby. And yes, the parenting experts sent us some info on diapering, feeding, and bathing.”
True to their word, Lenny and Stu had sent them literature that covered the baby basics. She and Jordan could now diaper, bathe, and pretend-feed a doll. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
“Aren’t you worried there’s something you’ve missed or some baby fact you still need to learn? Your due date is right around the corner,” she said.
Irene released a slow breath. “Sure, I’m nervous. But I’m six years older than Becca. I still remember helping my mom and dad take care of her. It’s tiring, but it’s not brain surgery.”
Georgie gazed down at Faby’s little foot. “What about your research? How will you manage caring for a baby and earning your degree?”
There, she’d said it. It was the unknown balancing act lying before her that kept her up at night. How would she run a successful business and a wildly popular blog while caring for her child?
And when it came to her mother, if anyone knew how to knock the earth off its axis, it was Lorraine Vanderdinkle. She loved her mom and understood the woman more today than she ever had. Still, that uncertainty combined with the ambiguity of what motherhood would hold for her made her want to crawl into a hole stocked with pineapple cheesecake and hide out until there was a clear plan and everything made sense. The librarian in her craved a systematic baby blueprint to give her some semblance of control.
“For one thing, I’m not in this alone, and neither are you,” Irene said before a warm grin bloomed on her lips. “We’ve got great husbands, Georgie. Husbands who would move heaven and earth for us. And think of all the support you have in Denver. Jordan’s dad, Maureen, the Gilberts, Hector and Bobby—and yes, your mom and Howard, too.”
Georgie nodded, knowing her friend was right but still on the fence when it came to her mother.
“Oh, and I almost forgot all those old ladies who pine away for Michael Bolton sitting in your shop, knitting banana hammocks and wool G-strings. You’ve got an entire grandma brigade at the ready,” Irene added with a teasing glint in her eyes.
Georgie broke out into a belly laugh. “I think it’s mostly scarves and baby booties, but I hear what you’re saying.”
“On second thought, you may want to keep a close eye on them. Who knows what naughty things those grannies could be doing,” Irene joked as they broke into another round of giggles.
The door to the bookshop office opened, and Jordan entered the snug space.
“It looks like all the fun is in here,” he said, setting a giant glass of pineapple juice on her desk, then pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
She took a gulp as Jordan knelt and waved to Irene.
“It’s good to see you, Irene. How are you doing?”
“I’m ready to unload this watermelon,” she answered with a pat to her belly.
“You look great to me. And Will? How’s he?”
Irene’s gaze traveled off camera. “You can ask him now. He just got home.”
Jordan glanced at his watch. “Isn’t it late in Iceland?”
“It’s never too late for kleina!”
“Kleina?” Georgie repeated.