She plastered on a closed-mouth smile as the couple headed toward a group of other pregnant cave people, and Jordan came to her side.
“I think you’re smelling the cows, babe,” he said, then pointed over to a pasture beyond a row of cars where a trio of hay munching moo machines grazed.
“I didn’t know they had cows! Were there cows here last time?” she asked, taking his arm.
“I wouldn’t know. I was more focused on the goats.”
“Where do you think we should go?” she asked just as she spied Barry near the barn, blessedly, not anywhere close to Nadine’s group.
The CityBeat producer waved them over.
“We missed you this morning!” he called, filming them as they walked up.
“We had a little mishap with the law,” she answered, then looked up at her now rose-cheeked husband.
Barry nodded. “I know. I saw the—”
“Georgie! Jordan!” Lenny interrupted, standing next to the barn door. “You’re the last couple to arrive. You better hurry. We’re about to begin.”
“We’ll talk later,” she said to Barry, patting the man’s arm as they hurried inside.
“We’ll let you get to work,” Jordan said to the man over his shoulder as they entered the giant structure.
Last time they were here, they hadn’t ventured inside the weathered enclosure. She blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Thin slivers of light carved their way through large wooden beams crisscrossing the top of the barn. Stalls with a few horses lined the sides, but still allowed for a great open space in the center where a circle had been made using hay bales.
Jordan leaned down and lowered his voice. “It’s too bad you left your cowgirl boots at home.”
She inhaled a sharp breath. Vroom, vroom! Who knew pregnant women walked around like roly-poly sexpots?
“I have an idea,” she whispered back.
“What?”
“The naughty milkmaid and the ripped farmer.”
“They do say milk does a body good,” he replied when Lenny stopped and turned to face them.
“What was that, Jordan?” he asked with a crinkle to his brow.
Jordan’s blush returned. “I was wondering if they produced their own milk at the farm—from the cows because if Georgie was dressed as a milkmaid, she could milk a cow.”
She nodded as if her husband made perfect sense and hadn’t replied with a comment best described as vitamin D enriched nonsense.
“I’m not sure. We’re not here to do any farm work or milking,” the man answered, then pointed to a spot on the ground between two couples. “You can settle in right here.”
Straw had been scattered over the barn floor, and Georgie glanced at the other couples to get the lay of the land. The non-pregnant partner took a seat on the ground and leaned against the bale of hay while the pregnant partner scooted in between the non-prego person’s legs and relaxed into their embrace.
It was very maternity ward meets Little House on the Prairie.
“You’re going to get me into trouble, messy bun girl,” he teased, getting into the non-pregnant position.
“Save it for the lake, farmer boy,” she parried back, handing him Faby while she maneuvered to the ground.
She nestled into her ripped farmer’s embrace as a guitar strum cut through the couples’ murmuring.
“Let’s start with a singalong everyone knows,” Stu said, tambourine in hand.
“How about, ‘You Are My Sunshine,’” Lenny called, strumming the refrain.
This might be weird had their first encounter with these two not started with singing. This whole sitting-on-the-floor thing had an odd summer camp vibe to it. At least they weren’t doing goat yoga with the angry hairy pregnant people. The song ended, and Lenny and Stu took a bow as everyone clapped.
“We are so excited for the Battle of the Births gender reveal challenge,” Lenny said, addressing the group as a trio of CityBeat cameramen spread out along the periphery of the circle, filming the event from all angles.
Stu took a step forward. “Let’s recap. Everyone did a great job on the Virtual Reality simulator challenge,” he announced, when Lenny whispered something into his ear.
“Almost everyone did a great job on the simulator,” the man said, amending his statement.
“We would have been fine if that VR baby hadn’t been a diarrhea volcano,” Jordan said under his breath.
“And all but one couple made it to the hospital on time for the practice-run challenge,” Lenny chimed.
Jordan tensed, and she craned her neck to whisper in his ear.
“Don’t worry, Emperor. Even with a boatload of diarrhea, we’re still not in last place.”
“Unfortunately, we had to say goodbye to one of our couples. They moved overseas and had to pull out of the competition,” Stu added.
Welp, they were dead last. But that was about to change.
More than that—today, they’d know if they had a little miss or a little mister on the way!
They could debate names and go back and forth over what color to paint the baby’s room.
Then, a wave of relief settled over her. This was also the day she was going to contact Howard’s office, and all the weeks of worrying and wondering how her mother would react would be over.
Would the woman go full-on socialite or insist on a spiritual in utero chanting session? Either was possible. But they’d be okay. Their time with Ollie proved they were up for the parenting task.
“I’d like to ask the non-pregnant partner to take out their cell phone and open the Battle of the Births app. Then, click on the heart icon,” Lenny instructed.
Jordan slipped his phone from his pocket and opened the app.
“Thanks to the hospital practice-run challenge, you all know that your infant simulation doll is a technological feat. And guess what? This doll has another surprise. Now, we’d like the pregnant partner to place the doll in your lap, then grip your baby’s left arm,” Lenny instructed.
“Here we go, Faby,” she said, following directions.
Jordan held his phone so she could see the screen. “Georgie, I think Faby can act as a heart rate monitor.”
“What?”
“Like the handlebars on the treadmills at my gym. It looks like the information is sent to the app,” he explained.
“Look at you, Faby. You’re not just a beeping demon-baby,” she said, then instantly felt like an idiot when the pregnant woman next to her gasped at her demon-baby description.
“I’m being silly,” she said as the woman gave her a curt, we’re-done-here nod.
“Play nice,” Jordan teased.
“Is the app doing anything?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s tracking your heart rate. You’re clocking in at a respectable eighty-two,” he answered, showing her the heart icon blinking with an eight and a two next to it.
“Is that good?”
He nodded. “A resting heart rate should be between sixty and one hundred. You’re doing great.”
She nestled into him. “We’ve got this challenge in the bag.”
Lenny strummed his guitar to get everyone’s attention.
“We’ve got every contestants’ heart rate readouts on our laptop,” Lenny said as Stu held up the device.