Page 137 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“I’m here because we need to talk.”
“As you can see, we’re in the middle of brunch,” Lorraine Vanderdinkle replied with a demure wave of her hand toward Howard, who’d donned a sport jacket over his flowing robes.
Georgie glanced around, trying to figure out where to start, her brain temporarily scrambled from the searing contractions that seemed to be growing stronger.
“It looks like you were able to keep your table,” she threw out, then wanted to jam a tube of vegan cookie dough into her mouth to keep the idiotic comments from flying out.
“Of course, we were able to keep our table. Do you think I’d allow Muffy Bradford to steal it out from under me?” her mother replied, gesturing toward the back of the room where a miffed Muffy pretended not to notice.
“Mom, I need a minute with you and Howard.”
“It’s Wandering River, and you’ve got quite an aura, Georgie. Lots of energy. Something psychedelically powerful is about to happen to you,” Howard or whatever the hell he went by said with his hands in a prayer position.
“Thanks for that,” she replied, still floored that this guy was her formerly pragmatic, anti-yogi stepfather.
Lorraine folded her hands on the table. “Perhaps, I have an opening after brunch. You’ll have to check with my assistant.”
Georgie’s jaw dropped. “Another Nicolette?”
“No, her name is Colette. I’m moving on.”
“Mom, what I have to say to you is bigger than brunch at the club,” she replied as the room went silent.
“Bigger than brunch?” her mother repeated in horror as if anything could top brunch at the club.
“Yes.”
Lorraine glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t you be at your baby shower?”
“I left it to come here.”
Her mother gasped. “You didn’t like it? Were the colors off? I specifically asked for spring green—not pale green. Now, I’ll have to fire Colette. You have no idea the amount of effort it takes to manage an assistant.”
“That was you?” Jordan asked. “You changed the theme?”
Her mother smoothed an already smooth lock of hair. “I know every party planner in the city. I couldn’t let the news get out that my daughter had a headless doll-themed baby shower.”
But it was more than that. She could see it in her mother’s eyes.
The emotion the woman was working so hard to hide was love.
“The tablecloths had great energy. I could feel it when we picked them out,” Howard added.
Georgie stared at her mother, who was trying to play it cool. She thought back to the picture the Gilberts had taped into the book. While her father had given her the gift of experiencing life through literature, her mother had given her the gift of rebellion—of saying my path isn’t your path. The gift of knowing her choices were her own.
All those pageants had cemented who she wanted to be. Without them, her passion to own a bookshop may have never ignited.
The strange yin and yang push and pull that made her who she was today was, in part, thanks to her mother.
“Mom,” she said gently. “We’re here because I wanted to apologize. I should have told you about the baby.”
“Well, pumpkin, you didn’t, and that’s that,” she replied sharply, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“No, there’s more. I need to say this.”
Her mother schooled her features. “Say what?”
Georgie held the woman’s gaze. “I’m glad you’re my mom.”
