“This challenge is about meditation and staying calm under pressure,” Stu explained, then gestured to a woman who looked like she came straight out of a yoga apparel advertisement.
“Dawn is a meditation specialist,” the man continued. “She’s here to lead you in some breathing exercises you can utilize during your child’s birth.”
Lenny held up several white envelopes. “Here’s the catch. We’re going to hand you the envelope with your baby’s gender information inside. It would be easy to get excited and send your heart rate through the roof. We know that you’re all eager to learn if you’re having a boy or a girl.”
“The challenge is to maintain a resting heart rate for the entire forty-minute meditation. Then, we’ll head outdoors—after Nadine’s group is safely off the premises—and open our envelopes as a group.”
She felt her husband shift behind her as he raised his hand.
“Yes, Jordan,” Lenny said, calling on him.
“How do we know who wins?”
Georgie tried not to cringe.
No, no, no, no!
He was not about to go all asshat competitive—not when this challenge was about being chill. She dug her elbow into his belly, but he didn’t flinch. The man had rock-hard abs. Something she usually reveled in, but not today.
“All you have to do is get through the meditation, and everyone wins,” Stu answered.
Jordan raised his hand again.
“Yes, Jordan,” Lenny replied.
“That’s great about everyone winning, but what if one wanted to earn some extra points? Would there be an opportunity for some extra credit? Like if Georgie went all Zen-master meditator, could that help our rank?”
And hello, Emperor of Asshattery! So nice of you to show up—not!
“There’s no extra credit, but there is one more challenge—a secret challenge we’re keeping close to the vest,” Stu added.
She sighed with relief when her husband’s hand didn’t rocket back up for another question.
“Without further ado, we’ll let Dawn start the meditation practice,” Lenny said with another strum as the cameramen continued rolling.
Miss Yoga USA pressed her hands into a prayer position. “We usually like to do our meditations outdoors with our animal friends. But we’re double-booked today, so we’re bringing a few of our goats in here to join us in the barn,” she said as a farmhand opened one of the stall doors and a troop of baby goats bleated and pranced toward the group.
“It’s baby goat meditation, Jordan,” she whispered.
“We’ve totally got this, babe,” he replied as Stu handed her the envelope with their baby’s gender.
She pressed the paper to her heart. “This is it. We’ll know if we’ve got a Georgie junior or a Jordan junior on the way,” she said as a curious baby goat sniffed her shoes.
“Babe, take a breath. Your heart rate jumped into the nineties,” he replied, gaze on the phone.
“Aren’t you excited?” she pressed.
He kissed the crown of her head. “Let’s just say that if I were holding Faby’s heart rate monitor arm, it would be off the charts. And not because I’m scared of the goats, but because I can’t wait to be a father. Boy or girl, this is going to be one special kid.”
This man! One minute, he’s a competitive douche canoe, the next, he’s melting her heart.
“Couples, I have a few announcements before we begin. As you can see, we’re in a barn, and barns have their share of creepy-crawly friends,” the woman said, causing the breath to catch in Georgie’s throat.
Creepy-crawly things were definitely not anyone’s friend.
“If you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you,” the meditation guru added.
“Georgie, take a breath,” Jordan coaxed as Lenny and Stu glanced over their iPad at her.
Let’s get real. Spiders weren’t just creepy and crawly—which was bad enough. No, they were eight-legged harbingers of hell.
She shifted her body, scanning the hay for the little buggers as the yogi instructed the group to close their eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Jordan whispered.
She swallowed hard. “I’m not a fan of spiders.”
“I can tell. Your heart rate shot up.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I checked the hay. I didn’t see any. I should be okay.”
Should be—but she couldn’t make any promises.
Jordan moved from side to side.
“I don’t see anything. We’re in the clear. But…”
“But what? Did you see a spider?” she whisper-shouted.
“But…you have a ridiculous phobia,” he said, and she could hear the cocky grin in his voice.
“It’s not silly,” she hissed when someone in the room hushed her.
The nerve!
“There’s nothing on the ground but hay,” he said gently.
She nodded, then worked to slow her breathing.
Only hay. No spiders.
This would be her mantra.
She closed her eyes, listening as the baby goats padded around as the yogi instructed the participants to picture a serene place.
That was easier said than done.
All she could conjure up were rows of people seated in a darkened ballroom as bright lights cast her in an unearthly glow. She stood there, shoulder to shoulder, with the other teen pageant contestants, smiling into the void like animated Barbie dolls until the tiny beast descended from its hair-thin silk rope.
A spider, going about its spider life, crashed the Miss Drumstick Pageant.
She hadn’t wanted to compete in a Thanksgiving-themed pageant, but her mother had signed her up, nevertheless. And there she was, smiling so hard she thought her lips would snap while a spider hung, suspended a breath away from her nose.
Legs wiggling, she’d hope the pageant-crasher would continue its creepy descent without touching her. And it might have. But at the very moment the spider stilled, the contestant next to her flipped her hair, sending a whoosh of air strong enough to carry Mr. Spider right onto her cheek.
If ever she could sympathize with Miss Muffet, it was that moment.
And that’s when it happened. At this exact moment, in this very barn, she sensed a bevy of tiny arachnid eyeballs staring at her.
“Georgie, are you okay? Your heart rate is through the roof,” Stu said from somewhere in the barn.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and…
There it was.
Suspended in the air and lit by a shard of light, a spider descended from above.
And he was headed straight for Faby!
Oh, hell no!
She lunged forward, slicing at the eight-legged micro-monster with the envelope. Back and forth, she wielded the rectangular paper like a pregnant Lancelot brandishing a sword, intent on fending off an evil attacker—or multi-legged bug.
But her actions were in vain. She sliced through the thread of silk, and the spider landed right on Faby’s leg. She shot to her feet, dropping the envelope and swinging the fake baby like a tiny sack of potatoes.
“You will not touch my Faby!” she called as the spider seemed to hang on for dear life.
“Georgie!” Jordan cried, but she had to get that damned creature off of her fake baby.