Page 114 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“How’s the little guy?” Jordan asked.
“Nathaniel is an absolute dream when he’s sucking me dry. I’ve become a milk machine. Get ready, Georgie! You don’t have long now.”
Georgie glanced down at her ample C-cups, hardly able to believe that she’d be feeding a baby with those things soon.
“Pregnancy is like a sci-fi movie,” she said.
“And post-pregnancy is half horror flick, half comedy, but it’s all worth it, isn’t it, sweet Nathaniel,” Irene added, her voice going gooey enamored.
Jordan pointed to his wristwatch, and she nodded.
“Irene, we don’t have long to chat. We’re on our way to host that fundraiser for my mom and Howard.”
“What did they say when you told them about the baby? I figured they would have hopped the next private jet home.”
Georgie shared a troubled glance with Jordan. “They don’t know about the pregnancy yet.”
The line went quiet.
“Last time we talked, you said that you’d called Howard’s office,” Irene replied with a puzzled edge.
Georgie released a frustrated sigh. “According to fifteen of Howard’s assistants, he and my mother have gone off the grid to find their innermost desire. I’ve left messages, but I don’t think they’ve gotten any of them.”
“Georgie, I’m sorry. I know what a big deal it was for you to make that call,” her friend replied, then yawned, and it sounded like a bear had taken over her BFF’s body. “You know what my innermost desire is?”
“What?” Georgie asked.
“Eight solid hours of sleep,” Irene answered on a dreamy exhale.
“Any chance of that happening in the near future?” Jordan asked.
Irene chuckled. “Nope, the milk machine is open twenty-four seven. But, Georgie?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you tried contacting your mom’s assistant or the energy lady in Boulder, who hooked your mom up with this spiritual retreat?”
“No, but I think that’s our next step,” she answered as Jordan nodded.
“Okay, I’ll let you two go back to playing socialites. Drink all the champagne for me, Jordan, and try not to annihilate any tropical fruit displays, Georgie,” Irene said with a weary chuckle.
“Will do, Irene. Take care,” Jordan said as she ended the call.
She reclined into the seat. “Tomorrow, we can reach out to Nicolette and the Boulder psychic lady. I don’t know why I didn’t think to do it sooner.”
Jordan took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I agree. We’ll get through tonight, then tackle all the calls tomorrow.”
She nodded, ready for a nap. Sexytimes, while gestating, really took it out of a gal.
But it was showtime.
She stared up at the hotel hosting the gala as the car slowed and pulled up to the grand entrance.
“We’re here,” the driver said, rolling up to the Ritz-Carlton.
“The Ritz. My mom’s old stomping ground,” she said, tucking her pineapple juice into her purse. She could chug it in the restroom like the heathen, anti-socialite she was.
Jordan took Faby, then helped her out of the car as clapping erupted, and Hector and Bobby descended on them.
