Page 32 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“You’re not upset or disappointed?” she asked the men.
“Are you kidding! Under the circumstances, this is the best news!” Bobby answered.
The circumstances?
“You understand that means Georgie and I can’t jump off of cliffs while holding hands or guzzle local ale in matching beer steins,” Jordan said, sharing a perplexed look with her.
“All the plans and sponsorships will have to be canceled. I’m due in June,” she added.
“Not canceled, amended,” Hector replied with a devious little glint in his eyes.
“Amended to what?” Jordan asked.
Hector steepled his fingers as a contemplative crease formed on his brow. “Barry, have they arrived?”
They?
What was Hector talking about?
The CityBeat producer checked his phone. “Yep, they’re here.”
“Tell them what’s going on and ask them to join us.”
“Will do!” Barry replied, hammering out a text.
Georgie looked around. Were there more people watching them?
“Who are you talking about?” she shot back.
Barry pocketed his phone and stood, but Hector raised his hand, ushering him to sit.
“Hold on, one hot knocked-up second!” Hector said, doing a yoga-thing with his hands, drawing his index finger and thumb together in a mystical okay gesture.
“Now, Georgie, you know the psychic energist shared that I have a gift. I know things. Spiritual things. Energetic things,” he whispered into the air.
Sweet Jesus!
She’d been grateful to have her mother, Hector, and Bobby occupied and out of her hair when their wedding planner sent them to a psychic energist, who deemed them enlightened, then assigned the trio the important job of reading the spiritual energy of wedding favors.
But she’d never considered the ramifications or ripple effect of their newfound skill set.
At least Bobby seemed to have realized their psychic abilities mounted up to supernatural silliness. Unfortunately, that insight hadn’t dawned on his husband.
Hector looked ready to continue talking of otherworldly things when his eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “Wait! Have you told your mother and Howard about the baby?”
Oh, crap!
“Not yet. We just confirmed the pregnancy with the doctor this morning,” Jordan answered.
And there it was—again, the question of when they would tell her mother.
How would she handle spilling the beans? The minute her mom found out she was going to be a grandmother, she’d visit the dermatologist for a few Botox hits and then, depending on which Lorraine Vanderdinkle personality showed up, it would either be Mrs. Namaste Vanderdinkle, let’s chant and light some candles, or socialite Lorraine, who’d be all about designer baby this and designer baby that.
Either version, she wasn’t up for it. Not yet. Not when she hadn’t fully wrapped her mind around becoming a mother.
No, she’d hold off telling her parents. People did that. They waited, didn’t they? Plus, her mother and Howard were probably very busy meditating and measuring the psychic energy of mini Buddhas and elephant figurines. When she and Jordan were ready, they’d call her stepfather’s office and send word. It bought them a little time.
Georgie swallowed hard. “My mother and Howard are in India, honing their psychic skills at a retreat for the next several months, but we wanted to wait before we told them.”
