Page 54 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“Faby and I’ll be waiting right here,” he answered as his belly did a flip-flop.
Today was a big day.
The big day.
Their first Battle of the Births challenge.
It was no wonder Georgie got sick. He was jittery as hell. It was a wonder he hadn’t lost his lunch, too.
He’d tried telling himself that this contest was ceremonial at most and not a real competition like the Battle of the Blogs or the wilderness boot camp torment they’d endured before their wedding. No, this would be similar to a class or a seminar. A learning experience they desperately needed because, thanks to their busy schedules, all the baby knowledge they’d garnered over the last month had come from a toy baby.
No burping or feedings. Nope, just a onesie change, here and there, whenever the mood struck.
Honestly, they had the fake baby care down to an art, but he had a suspicion that real babies took a heck of a lot more work.
“I’m coming out,” Georgie said, opening the door.
He cupped her face in his hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “It looks like you’ve got some color back.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “Yeah, I feel much better, but remind me to go easy on those pineapple squares.”
He nodded, but it was no use. She was like a mama bear with those squares, and he was a smart enough husband not to get between his wife and whatever pineapple delight she’d happened upon that week.
“And how is Faby?” she asked.
“Just chilling and rocking at being the best fake baby in Denver,” he said, switching the doll to his other arm as he followed his wife out of the shop and back to the car.
Georgie settled herself into the passenger seat, and he passed her the doll. She gently set Faby between her feet on the car’s floorboards. It wasn’t that they didn’t want Faby up with them, but it distressed other drivers to see an infant, even a fake infant, riding shotgun. So, they’d switched to thewhat-you-can’t-see-won’t-hurt-youoption.
And, then again, Faby was a fake baby.
Still, who needs the hassle of getting pulled over and explaining why two seemingly ordinary adults are toting around a doll. Yep, that happened. Twice.
He started the car and maneuvered the BMW into traffic as they headed toward an industrial section of the city.
“I feel like we’ve been here before,” Georgie said, staring at warehouse after warehouse.
He gasped, hardly able to believe his eyes. “You’re right! We have.”
A giant nondescript building loomed in front of them with a weathered porcelain doll head painted on the crumbling exterior.
“We’re in the same location as the Denver wedding underground! We’re not headed to the same building, are we? They can’t be one and the same!” Georgie whisper-shouted.
He glanced at the GPS. “No, the address Lenny and Stu sent for the first Battle of the Births challenge is for the warehouse across the street.”
“What are the chances? That’s crazy,” she said, shaking her head.
It was about to get crazier.
“Georgie, there’s a limo pulling up to the Denver wedding underground!” he whisper-shouted back.
He had no idea why they were whisper-shouting, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
He turned into the parking lot for the Battle of the Births location, which gave them a perfect perch to watch as a doe-eyed couple emerged from the car along with Cornelia Lieblingsschatz, the Denver Wedding Frau and the city’s premier wedding planner.
“That was us not so long ago,” Georgie recalled as Cornelia glanced at their car.
Clad in her signature black with her silvery asymmetrical bob, the formidable woman stilled, then drew her Jackie-O sunglasses down, and gave them a tiny twist of a grin.
