Page 57 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“Most expectant parents name their infant care simulation doll,” Lenny supplied with a crease between his brows.
“That’s what we did,” Georgie answered.
The man’s crease deepened. “Usually, a real name like Tony or Claire.”
He and Georgie stared at Faby, who looked nothing like a Tony or a Claire.
“But Faby works,” the good-natured Stu offered, sharing a quick glance with his partner.
“And the app works,” Barry added, handing them their phones. “The app will show you your standing in the competition. You earn points for all your correct choices in the simulator. It’s like a video game.”
“The app also integrates with your infant care simulation doll. It’s slick baby tech, that’s for sure,” Lenny added.
Now it was his wife with a crease between her brows. “There’s an app for fake babies?”
He met Georgie’s gaze and shrugged. He was lost, too.
“It’s a lot to take in. Do your best. I’ll take Faby, and Lenny will get you situated in a simulation cubicle,” Stu explained.
“Where will you put Faby?” Georgie asked, eyeing the man.
“In the infant care simulation nursery,” Stu said, then opened the frosted glass door to reveal a child’s playroom filled with dolls.
Jordan leaned in and lowered his voice. “That’s a little creepy, right?”
“It’s better than putting Faby back in the bag,” she countered.
True.
“Come with me. We’re going to put you through a simulation to test your parenting abilities,” Lenny said, leading them down a hallway.
“Are all these people competing in the Battle of the Births?” Georgie asked.
“They sure are. We’ve got eleven couples taking part in the challenge.”
“What does the winner get?” Jordan asked, working to keep his nerves in check. This was not the Baby 101, sit down and listen to a lecture he was expecting.
Lenny paused. “A baby…and bragging rights, I suppose.”
Bragging rights?
That revelation brought out the competitive streak in him, and his face must have shown it because his wife immediately flashedsimmer-down-asshateyes at him.
She’d crowned him the Emperor of Asshattery, and sometimes, his royal jackass-ed-ness reared its regal head.
“If I’m hearing you right, the scores will indicate if we’re complete parenting nightmares,” he replied, half-joking, but Lenny didn’t laugh.
The baby expert opened the glass door and gestured for them to enter the room. “Do your best, and we’ll go from there.”
“No singing vagabonds today?” Georgie asked, her voice rising an octave.
“We don’t sing on simulation days,” Lenny replied, stone-cold serious.
“Sure, that makes sense,” his wife answered, her voice still lingering in anxious octave land.
Clearly, these men did not mess around when it came to baby prep.
Note to self: Lenny and Stu dressed as jaunty drifters were all bright smiles and singing in the rain.
