Page 134 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
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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.
Thanks to Brice Casey—yep, the once douche canoe whose asshattery had sparked the Own the Eights blog and tipped the first domino that had led her to this very moment—she’d had an epiphany. She also needed to find another pest control company to dispose of the spiders Brice had missed—but that was a task for another day.
Here’s what hit her like a wrecking ball. It was the same thought she had when she saw the first positive pregnancy test—but with a twist.
Life is a roller coaster. She wasn’t wrong about that.
But, unlike the day she learned she was pregnant, reeling from how she’d manage to do it all, Brice’s words led her to see that she didn’t have to.
She and Jordan weren’t going to be perfect parents.
They would be loving parents.
Love couldn’t be measured by a score or a competition. Love was beyond that—infinite and abundant.
He’d said that all you can do is hold on to the ones you love—and he was right.
She and Jordan had each lost a parent. They’d battled their own demons and insecurities, but one thing remained true.
Love.
It was their foundation, and thanks to the wacky ups and downs the universe had thrown at them, love was all around them. Bobby and Hector, Gene and Marjory, Denny and Maureen, Irene and Will, even Becca and Brice. But two people were missing.
Her mother and Howard.
But with love comes risks. And just like Peter Rabbit, she was ready to put it all on the line.
Had she momentarily lost her gangster edge and bawled her eyes out, then hugged everyone at the shower before they left?
Yes.
Did she then steal Brice’s car keys off the counter and tell Talya and Simon to let the guy know that they’d hijacked his van?
Yep, at that point, she’d regained her Bonnie and Clyde vibe and went with it. Plus, everyone else who’d arrived at the party had walked, so their choices were limited when it came to securing a vehicle.
“What’s the plan?” Jordan said, starting up the long drive leading to the country club.
She chewed her lip—a very un-sea captainy behavior, but she had a lot going on. Hormones, adrenaline, that boost from Jordan’s shake. It all came together like a pregnancy pick-me-up that sent a zing through her body until another Braxton Hicks contraction knocked her down a peg. Truth be told, even with the practice contractions giving her a run for the money today, she was so amped up, she could probably power the city with the stimulants in her bloodstream.
“We’re pulling a Peter Rabbit,” she answered as her trifecta donned leather jackets to add to the badass, break-the-rules vibe.
“You want us to enter a dangerous place and barely make it out in one piece?” he questioned.
She nodded. “I don’t know about you, but that’s exactly how I describe brunch at the country club.”
He glanced over. “And once we crash the place?”
“I’m going to confront my mother. There’s no more hiding behind late RSVPs and unanswered emails. If she wants nothing to do with me, she’ll have to tell it to my big, fat, pregnant ankles. I’m going to apologize, and like it or not, she’ll have to listen.”
There, that was a plan.
“There’s nothing wrong with your ankles, MBG,” her husband replied.
