“Look at that tan! Pumpkin, you are glowing! How was Fiji? Anything exciting to report?” the woman purred.
Georgie shared a look with her husband. “It was fantastic—lots of fun in the sun! Your standard beach honeymoon—no more, no less,” she added, then immediately wanted to stuff her mouth with all the Slim Jims she’d bought at the drugstore to block the deluge of game show hostess gobbledygook flowing from her mouth.
Between stuffing her face with pineapple prepared in every way, shape, and form, their time in Fiji was about as X-rated as a honeymoon could get, but she wasn’t about to go there. Nor was she about to drop the bomb that she was possibly pregnant.
“And Jordan? Where’s that husband of yours?” Lorraine pressed.
“He’s right here,” she answered, her plastic grin smashed to her face.
“Well, let me say hello to my son-in-law!”
“Now?”
“Of course, now! What could you be doing other than relaxing after that long flight back to Denver?”
What was she supposed to do? Stand up and reveal her location or stay put and hope her mother didn’t notice the back of the toilet seat? She tapped the object in her hand against her chin.
“Georgie, the box!” Jordan whisper-shouted.
“What’s that in your hand, pumpkin?” Her mother’s image zoomed in as if she were trying to get a closer look through the phone.
Without thinking, Georgie flung the pregnancy test out of the bathroom.
“Ouch!”
And right into the face of her husband.
“Is that Jordan?” her mother chimed.
“Hold on, Mom,” she said, covering the camera with her hand, then mouthing an apology to the poor man who just got whacked in the face with the corner of a pregnancy test box.
Jordan rubbed his cheek, but there was no time to address the damage. He needed to take one for the team and get on this video call. She waved him over, and he wedged his large body next to her in the snug space between the toilet and the wall.
“I’m here, Lorraine. How are you?”
“Look at that gorgeous face! Who would have thought Georgiana could have snagged such a handsome man? The universe did you a favor, pumpkin.”
Georgie parted her lips to reply, but nothing came out. Luckily, her mother wasn’t expecting an answer and pulled the phone back to reveal her stepfather, Howard Vanderdinkle, seated by her side.
Her mother turned to the man. “Howard, don’t they look wonderful?”
Her stepfather narrowed his gaze. “Are you sitting on the toilet, Georgie?”
“We’re cleaning the bathroom. You guys caught us mid-chore,” Jordan replied, swooping in like a champ.
“We’ve been spending a lot of time here…cleaning,” she added, then got a better look at her mother and Howard’s surroundings in the camera frame.
It was dark, and colorful silk banners infused with twinkling lights illuminated her parents as an elephant lumbered by behind them.
Now, it was her turn to pull the phone in close to try to get a better look at the background.
“Where are you guys?”
“India!” her mother exclaimed.
“The country?” Georgie shot back.
Her mother’s tinkling laughter carried over the phone’s speaker. “Yes, the country, pumpkin!”
“Why are you there?” Jordan asked.
“Because of Buddha,” the woman replied, then handed Howard the phone so she could do a little mid-call Namaste move.
Lorraine Vanderdinkle had transformed. To keep the busybody socialite out of their hair before their nuptials, the wedding planner had put her mother in touch with a psychic energist, who told her she possessed a gift for reading the spiritual energy emitted from wedding favors. As cockeyed as it sounds, her mother embraced her new ability and dove head-first into communing with the universe as well as measuring the psychic energy of scented candles and imported chocolates—which, in all honesty, turned out to be quite lovely wedding favors.
The Chanel-clad woman who had dragged her all over the country to compete in beauty pageants when she was growing up, now donned flowing tunics and jangly necklaces with giant crystals.
But it was one thing for her mother and Howard to jet off to their bungalow in Fiji, their place in Aspen, or a chalet in Switzerland. Her business-minded stepfather owned a successful venture capitalist firm, and money wasn’t an issue for them. But India seemed way out of the collective wheelhouse for her workaholic stepfather.
Thanks to him spending long hours at the office and her rigorous pageant schedule, she and Howard hadn’t spent much time together while she was growing up. Her parents divorced when she was a girl, and when she wasn’t with her mother, she’d spent half of her time with her literature-loving mechanic father. She’d straddled two worlds: one of opulence and many, many beauty pageants with her mother and a simpler life, spending hours browsing the shelves of the public library with her father. When he passed away suddenly, she’d told herself that despite the money and connections her mother and stepfather could offer, she’d make her way in this world on her own, just like her father.
She’d worked hard and had earned her success. In the process, she’d also learned more about her mother’s motivations, which may seem a little nutty but always came from a good place, as well as uncovering her stepfather’s hidden devotion to her and her mother.
Still, while Howard seemed to get a kick out of her mom, cruising the high-end shops of Denver’s Cherry Creek neighborhood in a Prius instead of being driven around in a Bentley, she hadn’t expected the pragmatic man to jump on the psychic energy bandwagon.
“The Buddha told you to go to India?” she asked, needing some clarification.
“The Buddha came to me in a dream and instructed me to come here with Howard.”
Georgie pursed her lips. “You dreamed about the Buddha?”
Her mother’s expression grew pensive. “I dreamed about a turtle, but he had a message for me from Buddha.”
Georgie stifled a chuckle as Jordan cleared his throat to most likely abstain from laughing as well. But maybe turtle Buddha was doing her a favor. If she were pregnant—not that she believed she was—her mother would insist she partake in some kind of prenatal psychic seminar.
“How long will you be visiting India?” Jordan asked, blessedly shifting gears.
“Twelve months,” her mother answered.
“A year?” she questioned, her voice going up an octave.
“Yes, pumpkin.” Her mother sighed. “I wish your father hadn’t insisted we send you to public school. Maybe you’d have learned that.”
That yearlong break wasn’t looking so bad.
“I’m fully aware twelve months equals a year, Mom.”
“Because I told you so,” Lorraine Vanderdinkle replied, then sighed again as she turned to her husband, her many crystals clapping together. “You see, Howard, a mother’s job is never done.”
“What will you be doing for a year?” Jordan asked.
“Beginning the journey to enlightenment and harnessing our chi at an exclusive five-star retreat cut off from civilization,” she answered.
Howard leaned forward. “And I’ve invested in a few companies near the retreat, so if you need anything, you can always contact my office. They’ll know how to get ahold of me.”