Chapter 24

Gigi

“It’s late,” Mom says with a yawn when she finds me sitting on a stool at the breakfast counter.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say and stare down at the uneaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the counter in front of me.

“Want some milk,” she asks as she tugs the fridge door open.

“No thanks. Where’s Dad?”

“At the clubhouse,” she answers.

“Doing what exactly?”

She turns in my direction and frowns. “You know exactly what he’s doing.”

“Firing Jameson? Getting his guys to hide his body?”

She chuckles, but it’s guarded as if she knows what Dad is capable of when he’s protecting his family.

“I doubt he’s going to kill that man.”

“He wants to,” I mutter.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the way your father was leaning when he headed over there.” She places a cold cup of milk in front of me. I eye it with disinterest.

“Why are you staring at me?” I ask when I look up and find her leaning against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, and her eyes drilling holes into me.

“We only want what’s best for you, Georgia. We want you to be happy.”

“Is this when you tell me that marrying Jameson is what is best? It’s what will make me happy?”

I don’t know how to be a wife or a mother, but I can’t deny the pain I get in my chest at the thought of having both.

She shakes her head, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Marrying a man you don’t love just because you’re pregnant is the last thing you need. It’s not a decision to be made lightly.”

I spin the glass of milk around on the counter, concentrating on the ring of condensation it leaves behind as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. I usually run from serious conversations, opting to ignore anything that may resemble an adult choice.

“Marrying a man for anything less than being madly in love is a huge mistake.” I look up to find her eyes distant, pain pulling at her previously smiling eyes. “You don’t marry out of fear or some obligation to another person. Love. Love is the only reason you stand before your friends and God and say vows, commit to one person for the rest of your life.”

I’ve heard Dad, Shadow, and Kid talking about Mom’s first husband, the same man that came after her after abusing her during their entire relationship. He died for his efforts less than a hundred yards from where we are right now.

“I can see myself loving him,” I confess.

I don’t know if my appeal is merely sexual or if it goes deeper than that, but there has been a pull, low in my gut that confuses me whenever he’s around.

“That’s a start.” The smile that was disappearing with her memories is renewed the moment the front door opens, and Dad appears in the kitchen.

He’s not happy, but the black cloud of anger that rained down on all of us in his office earlier seems to have dissipated some.

“You need to eat,” he huffs on his way to wrap his arms around Mom. “You’re too skinny, and the baby needs the nourishment.”

“How quickly you accept my delicate decision.” I pick up my previously ignored sandwich and take a hearty bite.

“I’m a realist, Georgia. No matter how much I wish things were different, I can’t ignore the truth of the situation.”

“Different?” Irritation marks my tone enough that he leans in, head on my mother’s shoulder, arms wrapped tight around her, and his eyebrow cocks up. “And exactly how do you wish my life was different?”

“I’d prefer you educated, married, and mentally, financially, and emotionally prepared. Parenting is hard even for those that plan on the children they conceive.”

My mom’s smile grows wider as she turns her head and kisses Dad on the jaw.

“Your dad struggled a little in the beginning. Two babies are a handful with everything else going on.”

I’ve heard those stories as well. Only these were told around Thanksgiving tables and near the fireplace at Christmas. The stories of him coming to terms with being the father of not one, but two, little girls were told to family and friends in rooms filled with friendly taunting and laughs.

“I remember.” I smile at both of them, so in love even after two decades, is something I’ve longed for for a while, although I’d never admitted it out loud.

“Blade made you a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow. Thankfully, Dr. Davison had an opening, but it’s first thing in the morning,” Dad says nuzzling into Mom’s neck.

Her cheeks flush, and I want to groan at the arousal he’s building in her, but that’s what kids do, and I’m no longer a child.

“Dr. Davison is old as the hills, and besides, he’s a general practitioner. I think an OB/GYN is better suited for this situation. Don’t you?”

“Dr. Camryn Davison, his daughter, is in her residency. I hear she’s better than the OB she’s working under.”

The pride he has in his eyes for his friend’s daughter hurts more than it should. I haven’t seen it pointed in my direction since stealing home once at a softball game in middle school.

“Sounds good,” I agree and laugh when shock runs across his face at my quick agreement.

I never give in that easy. Normal Gigi would argue, throw a fit about him running her life and making decisions for her, but I know, even though he may not be happy about my out-of-wedlock pregnancy, he’d never send me to a doctor he didn’t have full faith in.

“I trust you, grandpa.” I slide off of the stool, still unable to stomach the half-eaten sandwich and laugh again when he begins to look sick.

“Too soon, honey,” my mother chides as I kiss them both on the cheek and head up to my room.

Maybe making Dad freak out means whatever sexual tension that was building between them will have faded away and they’ll just go to bed. Although I’m exhausted, I know I’ll sleep better in Jameson’s arms. My skin tingles at the mere thought of his hands not just wrapped around me, but his hand wandering lower.

I shake my head.

“Soon,” I mutter, kicking off my shoes and climbing under the warm sheets.

When I hear my mom giggle on their way upstairs, I groan and settle in, knowing they won’t be going to sleep anytime soon.

I spend an hour staring up at the ceiling in my childhood bedroom, mind racing with worry and doubt. There’s nothing I could be doing right this second to make things easier, but I’m still restless at the idea of being back in Farmington. I have no prospects. The only plan on my horizon is hanging out at my parents’ house and growing a baby. The truth of the boredom I’m facing agitates me. I’m not an idle person. I’m not lazy. I can’t stand being stagnant, just sitting around and not doing a damn thing.

Turning my head, I glance over at my dresser. Usually, when I’m dragged back home, I’ve got a suitcase and a stray bag or two. This time, I was honest with Jameson. There was nothing back at the apartment that I wanted to keep. The vacancy on the carpet across the room is unsettling as my itch to get up and do something claws at my skin.

It’s how it has always been. I’m finicky and make decisions pretty quickly. It’s why I just up and leave sometimes. I don’t even have to be annoyed or pissed at my parents. Some days, I just feel like leaving.

I bite my lip at the thought of Jameson chasing me, hunting me down after I’ve left Farmington in my dust. Smiling, I turn to my left side, closing my eyes, and I let the fantasy of him finding me, punishing me for my insolence invades my mind. That thought, that idea carries me into sleep and keeps me warm all night long.