Jordan looked out at the group of people, all staring at him as if he had ten heads.
“It’s a baby with a penis and a vagina,” came one of the blue-haired brigade members, holding up her smartphone.
“Georgie’s baby has a penis and a vagina?” asked another.
“This is what the phone says.”
Becca frowned and crossed her arms. “I didn’t think you learned the sex! That could have helped me with planning the games and added a whole new dimension to this party. The only interesting baby game I could find on the internet was when you melt a bunch of different chocolate bars into diapers to make it look like poop. Then, everyone gets a taste of each baby candy poop diaper, and they have to guess which candy bar it is,” Becca said, her pout still in place.
Brice winced. “Oh no! I ate them all. I didn’t think you needed those for the shower.”
Jordan raised his hands to get the group’s attention. While he was grateful they wouldn’t have to sample chocolate baby poop, he needed to clarify the dual sex baby comment.
“What I meant was that I made up a boy and a girl baby profile and put our child on two waiting lists.”
“I thought we agreed not to do that?” Georgie said with a pinched expression, which could either mean she was pissed or having another Stevie Nicks practice contraction.
“We did,” he conceded.
“Then why did you do it?”
He held her gaze. It was the moment of truth.
“Maybe for the same reason you didn’t tell your mom—wanting some control over the unknown.”
Her lips twisted into the hint of a grin. “You really are the Emperor of Asshattery.”
He grinned right back at her. How he loved this woman!
“We can’t have you being the only one freaking out about losing control,” he said, leaning over to press a kiss to her temple.
“I think you guys are missing the point,” Brice said, through a bite of a pineapple scone.
“And what’s that?” Georgie asked.
“Control is an illusion. Things always change, Georgie,” Brice said, tossing the final bite into his mouth, then reaching for another flaky pastry.
Georgie leaned forward and stared at the man. “Did you call me Georgie?”
The guy grinned through the bite. “Yeah, that’s your name.”
“I’m amazed you remembered. You’ve called me Virginia and Georgia for so long, it almost sounds odd to hear you get it right.”
“You can thank Becca for that. She said that if I got your name right at the baby shower, she’d get down on her knees and—”
Becca’s cheeks bloomed scarlet as she clapped her hand over Brice’s mouth. “This is not an appropriate place to discuss our Georgie arrangement.”
“You called it the Georgie arrangement?” Georgie balked.
Yeah, he had to side with his wife. Having your name equal a BJ was pretty gross.
Becca threw up her hands. “What did you want me to call it? The Virginia arrangement? That would have only confused him more!”
“Did you say the baby has a vagina?” another blue-haired brigade lady called.
Sweet Jesus! The nice knitting ladies hadn’t moved on from the dual sex fiasco—and it would all be captured on film.
“Not vagina! He said, Virginia, like the state,” Becca answered, raising her voice and speaking slowly.
“Can I explain my thoughts about change?” Brice asked, his voice muffled by Becca’s hand.
“Do your thoughts involve whipped cream or handcuffs?” Becca queried as everyone’s eyebrows shot to their foreheads.
“Becca!” he and Georgie cried in unison—with a searing parental bend to the word.
Becca was like a little sister to him and to Georgie! Sure, she was a grown woman—but still!
“What do you do with the whipped cream?” a blue-haired briagader asked.
At least they’d moved on from vaginas.
“Ask the phone?” another offered.
Becca shook her head and removed her hand from Brice’s mouth.
“Keep it clean,” she warned.
“Got it. Now, Georgie,” Brice said, then glanced at Becca as if to make sure she was keeping track of all the correct uses of Georgie. “Control is an illusion. Like I was telling Becca the other day when I was here for a pest inspection. I can’t get all the spiders out of the bookshop. There will always be some I miss. All I can do is try my best, and the rest you’ve got to leave to the universe.”
“Are there spiders in my shop?” Georgie asked, her gaze rocketing to the ceiling where, thankfully, there wasn’t a spider about to pull a Little Miss Muffet caper.
“No,” Becca replied as Brice nodded yes.
“You see, Virginia,” the man continued, two for three on the Georgie front. “All you can do is sit back and love the people around you. Also…”
“Yes, Brice?”
“Good hair never hurts,” the man added, running his hand through his exceptionally good hair.
Becca shrugged, then grinned at her boyfriend. “He’s not totally wrong.”
Georgie stood up. “No, he’s not wrong at all. We’re not in control. Not one little bit. I’ve lost my father. Jordan, you’ve lost your mother.” She gazed around the room. “All we can do is love the people we have in our lives.”
“Are you all right?” he asked his wife as she nestled Faby into the crux of her arm, looking decidedly like a woman with a mission.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m good. I know what I need to do before this baby is born.”
“And what’s that?” he asked as a determined spark gleamed in her eyes.
“I’m taking Faby, and we’re getting out of here.”
“You’re leaving?” Becca cried.
Georgie nodded resolutely.
“Yes, but it’s for a good cause. It’s something I have to do.”
He cupped her face in his hand. “Is it something with the baby? Do you need the doctor?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He held her gaze. “Then what?”
She schooled her features—going full-on hardcore MBG. “I need you to be the Clyde to my Bonnie.”
That was a new request, but one he had no trouble answering.
He met her badass expression with one of his own. “Call me Clyde. What do you have up your sleeve, Bonnie?”
Her blue-green eyes flashed unwavering determination. “We’re about to go country-club-gangster and crash brunch.”
19
Georgie
“Land ho!” Georgie cried, pointing at the street sign for Country Club Drive as her trifecta bristled at her attempt at pirate-speak.
Jordan cranked the wheel, and the van shrieked and heaved as they took the corner. She didn’t need to supply directions. Her husband knew the way to the posh playground for Denver’s elite families, but the urgency coursing through her body had given her the fortitude of a dogged sea captain, trapped in roiling waters and hellbent on making it to shore. Besides batten down the hatches, land ho was the only pirate phrase she could think of, and lucky for her, it suited the situation.