Page 120 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“Is he okay?” Jordan asked, but her mother waved him off.
“Yes, I mean, the sex with Wandering River is out of this world, but that’s not important now. We’re not discussing Howard—”
“Wandering River,” the man corrected.
“Wandering River’s innermost desire,” Lorraine finished.
“My innermost desire is being present in the moment, like I am right now. I am presently here, as are you,” the man replied, clasping his hands behind his back.
“That’s mine, too,” Bobby called with a wide grin only to have her mother raise a hand and silence the man like a stern headmistress.
Georgie glanced around the ballroom to find a flurry of attendees holding up their phones and recording this train wreck of a mother-daughter reunion. These people were getting a heck of a lot more out of this night than just an auction and some square dancing.
“What is important,” her mother continued, “is that the Belgian duchess follows a Belgian waffle blogger, who posts her pictures on the CityBeat site.”
Georgie’s jaw dropped as it all came together in a perfect blog-a-licious cluster.
“Does the duchess follow the Belgian Waffle Princess blog?” she asked.
“She does. And she’s not even a real princess. She’s from Sheboygan, Wisconsin, of all places. But she can knock out an amazing waffle montage. I’ll give her that. But there’s more. She posted a picture sent to her by her sister, who lives in Denver,” her mother finished, confirming what Georgie had feared.
The policeman’s wife’s sister was a breakfast blogger from Sheboygan.
The Belgian Waffle Princess must have posted that picture she’d taken with the police officer.
Her mother’s frown deepened. “What were you doing in your sailor suit that day? Did you enter a pregnancy beauty pageant? If so, I would have insisted on altering the costume to something more flattering. But your work pinning the hat was spot-on.”
Outed by a waffle blogger and on display as Denver’s worst pregnant daughter, Georgie shook her head as the room went topsy-turvy. This insanity is why she hadn’t wanted to share the news with her mother. She stared out at the sea of sparkly cowgirls and leather-vested cowboys, then met her husband’s gaze.
“Is this happening, or are we trapped in a pregnancy delusion?”
Before he could answer, her mother cut in.
“This is no delusion, Georgiana. This is a mother confronting an ungrateful daughter.”
Jordan took a step forward and hardened his features. “Go easy, Lorraine. We understand that you’re upset, but I will not stand here and allow anyone to accuse my wife of being ungrateful. Georgie has been trying to get ahold of you for weeks.”
Howard pressed his hands into a prayer position. “Well done, harnessing the tiger within, Jordan.”
This was too damn much!
Georgie stared up at the ceiling, shaking her head before meeting her mother’s eye. “This is why I didn’t know how or when to tell you.”
“It’s not that hard, pumpkin. Three words. I am pregnant.”
“It’s not that easy. Not with you, Mom,” she bit back.
“Georgie,” her husband whispered.
“I’m fine. If she wants to do this here and now, we do it.” She lifted her chin, mirroring her mother. “I didn’t know how to tell you about the baby because I was afraid that you’d go overboard.”
Her mother scoffed. “Overboard like what? Fly in a couture baby’s clothing designer from Paris to create a complete line of signature baby outfits? Rent out the botanic gardens and invite every spiritual energist in the state to commune with nature, then chart your baby’s astrological life course?”
Georgie released a humorless bark of a laugh. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was worried about!”
“Georgiana, worry is an emotion as helpful as the dew on a blade of grass,” Howard replied.
“Is this how he talks all the time?” she asked as her mother huffed her frustration.
