Page 135 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“Fine. My big, fat, pregnant face!” she amended as the van sputtered and came to a standstill.
Jordan tapped the gages on the dashboard, and she craned her neck to see what he was doing.
“What’s wrong?”
He leaned back. “We’re out of gas. We were low, to begin with. But I thought we’d make it.”
She blew out a frustrated breath, then gathered her resolve. Her date with destiny was just up the road. A little car trouble was not about to stand in her way.
She snagged Faby, then swung open the door. “It’s not too far. We can walk.”
Jordan jogged up alongside her and shielded his eyes, staring down the treelined drive. “This might be a longer walk than you think. I should call up and have them send a golf cart.”
She shook her head. “Oh no! I am not losing the element of surprise. This is the last place in the entire world my mother would expect to find me.”
“Why is that?” he asked, offering his arm, which she gladly took.
“Because after she made me compete in the country club’s debutant pageant here when I was seventeen, I explicitly told her I’d never set foot in this place again.”
She froze and gripped her husband’s forearm as a lightning bolt of a contraction tore through her.
Jordan stroked her cheek. “Georgie, let’s call the doctor.”
She shook her head. “No, not yet. The contractions are still pretty random. Dr. Beaver said to wait to call until they were five minutes apart. Something just like this happened the other day. I had a bunch of contractions, and then they stopped. I need to see my mom. I need to have some kind of resolution. And I need it today.”
“Why today?” he pressed as they continued up the drive.
She stared down at her belly. “Call it pregnancy intuition. Call it indigestion. Call it never wanting to see another pineapple for as long as I live. I just know that I have to do this.”
His jaw dropped. “Are you serious about the pineapple?”
“Yeah, in fact, whatever happens inside this godforsaken place, afterward, we’re calling for a car and having it take us to get a giant tube of vegan chocolate chip cookie dough.”
“Wow! I never thought that I’d hear you say that again. Pregnancy cravings and anti-cravings come out of nowhere,” he replied.
“I know. It was like a switch flipped,” she answered, rubbing her belly.
They continued up the drive as luxury cars whipped past them. Maybe Jordan was right? What she thought would be a two- or three-minute walk was taking much longer. Then again, she’d never walked it. After a few more steps, she was ready to give in and let Jordan call for a golf cart when they rounded the bend, and the pristine country club building emerged. Shrouded in emerald green fairways and manicured hedges, the June sun glinted off a sea of luxury cars parked in the circle drive.
“We made it!” she cried, walking up the steps as two men opened a set of grand double doors for them to enter.
Jordan lowered his voice. “We’ll play this cool, right?”
“Right, I don’t want to make a scene. What happened at the gala cannot happen again,” she replied, then spied the man she needed.
Gustavo.
The Country Club General Manager.
And Denver upper-crust insider.
“Hello, Gustavo!” she said as the man did a double take.
“It’s been ages, Georgiana,” the man said, dipping down for a set of air kisses. “Your mother and Wandering River didn’t mention you and your husband were joining them for brunch.”
She had to bite back a grin. Howard, still calling himself Wandering River, had to have raised some eyebrows. Then again, this was Colorado, and he was loaded.
“I’m dropping in unannounced, and I’d like to keep it that way,” she answered.
