Page 87 of Geordie

“I've already invited him.”

If she weren't pregnant, I would shake my clueless friend. “How? We set the date minutes ago.”

“I just sent him a text.” She tilts her head, considering, like a cobra deciding the right time to strike. “I've been wanting to talk to you about Stephen. I had a long discussion with him after he found out you were pregnant, he says, in the most humiliating way.”

I flinch at the accusation. “That wasn't my fault, I didn't know–”

She holds her hand up, and I stop my excuses. “He told me what happened in the hospital.” She says this like she’s already made a judgment. “All the years I've known Stephen, and I mean through all of your many break-ups, I swear you must have left him all those times, then gone back for the make-up sex. Anyway, I've never seen him this distraught. It's like someone working through physical trauma.” She drops her voice as if someone might overhear us. “I have to warn you, Stephen is in denial about you leaving him. He said he would step aside and move on, but he can't, because he doesn't consider you and Geordie in a real relationship.”

This man is like a fucking excuse machine. I never thought he wouldn't accept reality. “It doesn't matter. Having a child together is in a real relationship.”

“He said until you're married to that Celtic sperm donor, he won't accept it's over.” She lets out a frustrated whine. “I don't understand why you won't work this out with him and why you won't have a child with Stephen. You two are frustrating. Neither of you is saying why you really split.”

I'm about to tell her it's none of her business, then I look at my friend, who's only trying to help two people she thinks are in love get back together. I place the tablet back on the end table. “Molly, you need to text him now and un-invite him,” I say quietly.

I study my tablet while I make furtive glances at Geordie's backside as he moves around the kitchen. “I feel like I've slipped into an alternate universe where we've switched places, and now you're taking care of me.”

Geordie turns from the counter with a red electric kettle in his hand. He's more at ease in the kitchen due to my influence.

He pours hot water over the tea bag in my cup. “This is the way it should be, me waiting on the mother of my child. How are you feeling?”

I dunk my tea bag in the hot water a few times, remove it, then dump in some sugar and lemon. Geordie always cringes when he sees me doing this. I glance down at my left hand, which still looks like a Frankenstein part. “You know I'm capable of getting my own breakfast. I sliced up my left hand, not my right.”

“When you stay with me, you'll not want for anything. I enjoy you being here and sharing this time before the baby comes.”

I place my hand over my belly. I'm not showing; it's only been a few weeks since the hospital told me I was pregnant. The two of us together in this apartment is too cozy. “I'm enjoying this time too.” My voice trails off. I should've thought this through before I decided to speak.

Geordie slips into the chair across from me, setting his cup down. “You're making me nervous; I hear abutcoming.”

I watch the steam rise from my mug. “Three weeks is a long time to be away from my life.”

“You've been busy planning Molly's party and the new menu at your restaurant. Didn't you tell me that you started outlining a new cookbook? I don't think you've been idle.”

“True, I've been working on projects, but I got a call from my agent yesterday.”

Geordie's eyebrows reach a point. “Do you really mean that you called him?”

“Do we need to fight about semantics? Okay, I called him. He asked me weeks ago to talk to him when I was strong enough to resume the rest of my cookbook tour.”

“You told me the reason you didn't finish the tour is that people wouldn't trust a chef with a bandaged hand.”

“I did say that,” I start, looking into his skeptical face. “It's true, until I remembered what the doctor said about inventing a really cool story about the injury. We decided to tell everyone I had a minor motorcycle accident.”

“Really?” He gulps a portion of his tea.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

He leans on the table, his hand poised to take another sip. “My suggestion is that you stay here until you're fully recovered.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he holds up his hand, signaling he wants to finish. “As for how you got that gash in your hand, it doesn't matter. But if you insist on touring the country or even going back to Europe, I'm going with you.”

I sit back, staring at him. That was the last thing I ever thought he'd offer. “That's generous, Geordie, but you have your own life. You can't just stop and follow me around. Besides, you'd be bored as hell. It will be a series of hotel rooms, waiting in green rooms while I do my interviews, and I can't vouch for the quality of the food.”

“I have many people who work for me that can assume more responsibility… that's not a problem. I'd rather be by your side bored, instead of worrying if you're getting enough sleep or eating. At least I can see what you're up to.”

“You'd truly do this?”

“I will. We either go together or I just follow you around.”

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