Page 12 of Geordie

The name Geordie MacTavish produces a slew of articles and photos, mostly to do with wine. He’s standing next to his cousin, Lochlan, in most of the images. Both are handsome—what am I saying? I don’t know what gene pool they fell out of in Scotland, but they’re both gorgeous males. Lochlan is that dark, brooding, I’m the laird of the castle, kind of handsome, where Geordie is, I don’t know, more approachable, hot, and comfortable in his own skin with that teasing grin.

Maybe if I stop by the winery tomorrow with a peace offering like a dozen cookies made by the pastry chef, it will make my apology easier to deliver. I’ll swing by in the late morning and if Connell is available, it won’t be a wasted trip.

I click out of the MacTavish men research and pull up PollenNation. I told my friend Molly I’d check out the website for her. She and Eddie have been trying to get pregnant with no luck, so they decided to explore other options. It overwhelmed them when they found out the cost of in vitro fertilization. My actions saved them from the clutches of a so-called fertilization coach who promised to help her through the process for an enormous fee. I’m all for contracting with professionals when you need them, but this woman wasn’t part of the medical community and didn’t have any kids. I hate people who prey on vulnerability.

Molly turned to me to help her sort out some options. When she tried to get help from Eddie, who is all for having a family, his eyes glazed over at the volume of information. The fear of the monster task rendered him a useless researcher. He said he would be more helpful when we had a few choices broken down into understandable bites about the length of a tweet.

I love my friends. We’ve known each other since high school, but Molly is an alarmist drama queen, really. They’ve been trying for a baby for only a few months with no luck.

I suggested they plan a no-stress vacation on an island and try then. Stephen said he would send them somewhere romantic to help. I think he offered more to relieve my stress over my friend’s problems than Molly not conceiving instantly.

Molly, bless her little conspiracy theory-loving heart, thinks there’s something sinister afoot, like the universe doesn’t want her to be a mother.

I found PollenNation a few days ago. It has tons of information with forums, blogs, and related articles. It’s like slipping down a rabbit hole to find everything you always wanted to know about how to have a baby.

I glance at the clock and remember I promised to report something this morning. I resume clicking links, hoping for something I can use to tell them. Then, on page five of the site, I find an article titled “Ten Things to do Before Considering Fertility Treatments.” I know they’re thinking of trying these treatments, but that’s something someone with a shitload of money would do first without a thought. As someone who wasn’t raised with unlimited funds, I need to be careful how I spend money.

My phone rings and my friend’s laughing face flashes on the screen. “Hi, Molly,” I say, opening the article to do a quick scan.

“Who’s the best chef with Michelin stars in her eyes?”

“That would be me,” I say, laughing into the phone.

“Then I’ve called the right friend. How have you been? We haven’t spoken for ages.”

“The restaurant is doing fine; I’m thinking about expanding. Stephen and I broke up. I’m considering a trip to the Azores. You know, normal stuff.” I sneak this by her, hoping it will be unnoticed, because I didn’t talk to her about the breakup.

“So you’re doing that well that you want a second restaurant? I love the Azores, although I prefer Bora Bora. And why the hell didn’t you tell me about breaking up with Stephen?”

I sigh. I can’t get anything past her.

“Don’t think you’re going to deprive me of helping you dissect your relationship and the reasons you decided to end it with Stephen again. Why do you go through this? You know you’ll go back to him, as you should. Why wouldn’t you? He’s young, handsome, and has more money than three countries.”

I groan. This is all true. Stephen is perfect for me, and we agree on everything except for one thing. “Can we table this discussion until I’ve had time to process? It’s only been a few days, and it was a spur-of-the-moment decision to leave him.”

“Okay, I’m going to hold you to it. We can go to that cute bar I’ve been dying to try. We can discuss this over mocktails.”

The relief of avoiding a discussion about my breakup with Stephen makes me almost giddy until I stop and say, “Mocktails? When have you ever had a mocktail?”

Molly squeals into the phone. “It’s been two weeks since we talked. I didn’t want to say anything. I wanted to make sure I was right. Girl, I peed on a stick, and it came out positive. We went to the doctor, and she confirmed it. I’m going to be a mama.”

“But you said you were having trouble conceiving?”

“Truth is, I thought I was. You know how irregular I am. I couldn’t figure out when my last period was. I kept trying to do the math when Eddie suggested we buy a pregnancy test and that’s how it happened.”

“Congratulations, Molly. You and Eddie did it; I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, sugar pie. Don’t think your research will be wasted. You can use the information for yourself.”

“What are you talking about? I just told you, Stephen and I broke up.”

“I know you think I’m a little ditzy, but we’ve talked about our children playing together. And if I’m about to have a little munchkin, it’s time for you to get serious about working on a playmate for my kid.”

“My life is too busy right now to have a child and with this expansion, there’s even less time.”

She gives a long, lazy, protracted yawn into my ear. “I need to get more sleep,” she says to herself. “Anyway, you’re always preaching about priorities. If you want a child, you’re going to have to make it a priority. It’s that simple.”

Yeah, simple for someone who wakes up when dappled sunlight finds her face.

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