“Sweetened fried dough. It’s a Nordic dessert, and it’s all this baby wants,” her friend answered as Will appeared on screen and passed his wife the treat.
Irene held the trapezoid-shaped pastry up to the camera, then jammed the whole thing into her mouth.
“Whoa!” Jordan said as Will nodded.
“You are no longer allowed to give me crap for eating while video chatting,” she teased.
Irene grinned and said a garbled goodbye as she reached for another piece of fried dough, then the screen went black.
Jordan leaned against the desk. “They look good.”
“They seem to have things under control,” she replied, going for breezy, but her husband saw through it.
“Hey, we’re getting there. Exhibit A,” he replied and lifted Faby from her lap. “Our fake baby is currently rocking the diaper that I expertly put on her.”
Defining the diaper job as expert level was pushing it. They’d gone through half a dozen disposable diapers, messing up the adhesive tabs before he’d hit the mark. And the cloth diapers? After she’d punctured the poor doll’s leg, they decided they were team disposable all the way.
Georgie stared at Faby, then paused.
“Do you think Faby’s a she?” Georgie asked, eyeing her husband.
Jordan observed the fake baby. “Or he. Faby transcends gender.”
“We’ll learn the gender of our mini pineapple surprise pretty soon,” she said as a crackle of excitement laced with apprehension rippled through her chest.
“Yeah, the big Battle of the Births reveal is only a few weeks away.”
She nodded, then glanced at the clock. “But first, we have to get through this story time.”
“We’ve got a few minutes before it starts. Did you pick out a book?” he asked. But before she could answer, the video chat pinged.
She waved off her husband. “I’ll tell you in a sec. It’s probably Irene calling back to make me watch her eat another klien-whatever. I think it’s payback for the giant slice of cheesecake I ate during our call. My bet is that she wants to exact a little pastry revenge,” she added with a chuckle.
“Georgie, wait—” Jordan exclaimed as she clicked to accept the call.
“Pumpkin?”
Georgie froze, then blinked. This was not Irene. Not even close.
“Is this working?” her mother asked, gaze darting from side to side as she jiggled the phone.
“Yes, it’s working. I’m here. Where are you?” she asked, praying that she and her mother still had an ocean between them.
Her mother frowned. “At the spiritual retreat in India. You know that.”
Georgie plastered on a grin to mask the relief. Thank goodness her mother was still on the other side of the planet.
“I didn’t think you were supposed to use technology. Couldn’t it dampen your psychic abilities?” she threw out, grasping for something.
“It was my psychic voice that compelled me to ask to use my phone, so I could reach out to you,” she replied.
Holy psychic abilities! Could her mother actually have powers that went beyond gleaning the divine energy of votive candles?
“Did that voice mention why it wanted you to call?” she asked, then glanced at her husband, who remained motionless.
“It must be my maternal instinct,” her mother answered.
Jordan gestured to his watch and mouthed F-B-I.
Oh no! She needed to get off this call and fast.
“Sure, that’s got to be it. Well, everything’s all good here, so we’ll let you get back to chanting or whatever psychic fun the retreat has in store for you,” she answered when her mother frowned.
“Pumpkin, what’s in that glass?”
Georgie’s gaze slid to the giant serving of pineapple juice. “Oh, this?” she asked, wishing she had the psychic ability to make it disappear.
The woman leaned in. “It’s too light for orange juice.”
“Nope, it’s not orange juice,” she said, making oh-shit eyes at her husband.
“Are you drinking pineapple juice?” her mom asked with a troubled expression.
Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!
If anyone knew about her non-pregnant aversion to pineapple, it was Lorraine Vanderdinkle. The woman had had a front-row seat—literally—when she’d spewed a pineapple-laden fruit cup all over a row of judges.
Was this it? Was it time to come clean?
She parted her lips when her husband swooped in and entered the camera frame.
“Hi, Lorraine! It’s pee in the cup,” Jordan said, grinning into the camera.
“Pee as in urine?” her mother asked, her voice sliding up a few octaves.
The man nodded.
What was Jordan thinking?
“Why on earth would you leave a glass of pee on a desk?” her mother pressed.
Jordan’s gaze bounced from the glass to the computer’s camera. “I’m trying out the keto diet. With keto, you pee on these strips to learn if your body’s in ketosis.”
Georgie nodded. There was no turning back now.
Her mother’s troubled expression morphed into pure shock. “Shouldn’t you be doing that in a bathroom?”
Jordan snapped his fingers. “Gosh, I’m glad you called, Lorraine. That’s a great idea!”
“And Jordan,” the woman continued.
“Yes,” her husband replied, his smile as plastic as hers.
“You may want to see a doctor, dear. That looks like a considerable amount of urine, even for someone as big as you.”
Sweet pineapple surprise! This call had gone off the rails fast.
Georgie slid the glass out of the camera’s view. “As you can see, we’re doing great. Did you need anything else?”
Her mother chewed her lip. “Have you been by the Ritz-Carlton or stopped in at the Country Club?”
Georgie shook her head. “No, those aren’t places we usually hang out.”
“I drove by your country club the other day,” Jordan chimed.
Her mother’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “How did it look? Did you see Gustavo? He always makes sure we have the best table for brunch. I hope he hasn’t allowed the Bradfords to sit there. Muffy Bradford has been eyeing our spot for months.”
“Sorry, Lorraine, I just drove by.”
“So, no Gustavo?” her mother asked with a slight pout.
“No.”
Her mother tapped her chin, seemingly lost in thought, which gave her the perfect opportunity to pull the plug on this video chat.
“All righty, then! If that’s all, say hi to Howard for us, Mom. Let him know we hope he’s doing well.”
She moved the cursor to the end call button but stilled when her mother gasped.
“What is it?” she asked.
Her mother leaned in. “I have to tell you about Howard! You’d never believe it. He’s completely enamored with the place. He’s like a different person. The man, who could barely play a set of tennis without checking his stock portfolio, meditated for four hours yesterday, and he says he wants to start teaching yoga. Yoga!” she exclaimed.
“Isn’t that what you guys are supposed to be doing—balancing your chi and centering your energy to bolster your spiritual prowess?” she asked, sharing a look with her husband, who gave her I’m-not-sure-what-the-hell-you-just-said-but-let’s go-with-it eyes.