Chapter 7 Georgie
Georgie
“Given any thought to what you’ll name him?
” James asks, tearing a paper towel into tiny pieces.
After each shred, he adds it to the top of the little pile on his knee.
When he finishes destroying one, he sweeps the pieces into his hand, discarding them in the trash can.
Although he’s neat with his destruction, he’s already on his seventh paper towel.
I’m not sure how many he’ll be allowed to rip to shreds until the nurse takes them away from him.
I don’t know much about James, but I have figured out that he needs to keep his hands busy. Makes sense for a drummer, I guess.
I’ve also figured out that he’s not as brusque as I first thought.
James is like one of those sour, crunchy candies with a sugary center.
He may be introverted and a little grumpy on the outside, but every so often, his inner sweetness breaks through with an unexpected intensity.
Like when he refused to leave me alone at the hospital.
Nolan, my baby’s father, was the opposite. Outwardly, he acted sweet, pretending to care about me when we were in front of an audience, but he was rotten at the core.
However, because of my past, I’m not sure yet if the way James treats me is performative for the hospital staff or borne out of genuine concern for me. The longer James stays with me, the more I’m leaning toward the latter, though.
“Some, but I wanted to get to know him a bit before naming him.” I brush my fingertips across my son’s patch of dark hair as he sleeps in his small bassinet. My son was upgraded to a bassinet this morning since he proved he could keep his body temperature within the normal range on his own.
“Well, you’ve had two days to think about it.”
The last forty-eight hours have been a huge blur, but it’s slowly sinking in that I’m a mother and I have a son.
And he deserves to have a name. I can’t just refer to him as my son forever.
When I remain silent, James remarks, “James has a nice ring to it.”
Timidly, I say, “I was thinking of Westynne or Braighlynd.”
James scoffs, “Braylynn? Spell it.”
When I hear the tone of James’ voice, my palms grow clammy.
“B-R-A-I-G-H-L-Y-N-D. The D is silent.”
“What kind of name is that? That would definitely make it onto the Tragedeigh subreddit.” James chuckles, shaking his head.
I’m confused by his reaction. “Tragedy?”
“Yeah, Reddit has a subreddit called Tragedeigh, spelled T-R-A-G-E-D-E-I-G-H, for all the terrible names people give their kids. I’ll show it to you later.”
“And Braighlynd is a tragedy?”
“You tell me, Georgie. Have you ever heard of Braighlynd before?”
“It’s unique,” I explain, hesitation lacing my whisper. Whenever I disagreed with Nolan about anything, even something minor, it would escalate into a huge argument. Pasting an artificial smile onto my face, I brace myself for James’ response after I asserted my opinion.
“It sounds like one of those names people create by combining two normal names into one weird name. Like Renesmee from Twilight.”
He laughs again, but it doesn’t sound mean-spirited. I don’t think he’s mocking me. I think he’s just… teasing me, like how friends tease each other. And my defenses stand down.
Sure, he’s a little gruff and rough around the edges, but James has been nothing but nice to me. Not everyone has a hidden agenda, I remind myself. Not everyone is an asshole like Nolan.
As I relax, my lips twitch. “You watched Twilight?”
“Not by choice,” he grumbles. “It was playing on the tour bus once, and I got sucked in.”
“Sucked in. Nice pun.” James just stares at me. “You know, like how a vampire sucks blood and Twilight is a vampire movie.”
“Yeah, Georgie, I got it. Side note: if you have to explain a joke, it’s not funny.”
I roll my eyes as my comfort level grows, feeling more like myself again after my mini-internal freakout. “Anyway, Braighlynd is not a terrible name.”
“Well, what a ringing endorsement. It’s not a terrible name,” he huffs.
I fight a smile, this one a real smile. Now that I’m not terrified of James picking a fight with me, I can enjoy our playful banter. Each time James reacts the opposite of how Nolan would, my trust in James grows incrementally.
“Can we just agree on Weston? Assuming you’re going to spell it the normal way. You will spell it W-E-S-T-O-N, right?”
I’m not about to admit that I’d planned on spelling it differently now.
“Pretty presumptuous of you to assume you get a say in his name, James.”
James sighs, sounding put out. “Do you want him to have to spell his name every time he orders a coffee from Starbuck’s?”
“It doesn’t matter if your name is Jane at Starbuck’s, they’re going to misspell it.”
“Okay, valid, but—”
“Besides, the important thing is if the high school football announcers can say his name when he runs out on the field,” I say.
Since I was never part of the popular crowd in school, I always dreamed my kids might grow up to be the football players or the cheerleaders, the ones who belonged on the field, not the sidelined kids sitting alone at the top of the bleachers.
“Which name do you think they’ll be able to pronounce?” James replies drolly. “And which one will the announcer stumble over?” With an exaggerated sputter, he imitates a sports commentator and mispronounces the name Brag-ha-land.
“Fine,” I concede. “I’ve also been considering the name Crockett. It’s a cool, historical name but still unique.”
“Christ, woman. It just keeps getting worse. Crockett Davies, really? Do you just want kids to make fun of him on the playground and call him Davy Crockett?”
I squint my eyes, pursing my lips and hating that he might be right. So, I switch from defense to offense and put James under the microscope.
“You’re an interesting man, James Harper. You watch teenybopper movies and spend your free time lurking on Reddit. You play in a country band, but… you don’t seem very cowboy. No offense.”
“I wear boots,” he counters, pointing at his feet.
“So does half of Nashville, and most of them aren’t country folks. In fact, I can’t remember ever seeing a photo of you in a cowboy hat.”
A huge smile spreads across his face. He looks happier than a dog with two tails.
As we’ve gotten acquainted, James has been shooting me more smiles and grins. Each one tugs at my heart in a funny way that unsettles me.
“Been searching for photos of me, huh?”
Well, this conversation just took an embarrassing turn.
To encourage breastfeeding, the hospital allows NICU mothers to use their breast pumps.
So, for the past two nights, while James sleeps, I’ve been up waking up every three hours to pump.
Knowing I’d get bored while pumping, James was sweet enough to hand over his phone.
I’m pretty sure he assumed I’d just scroll Reddit again…
but honestly, it’s been far more entertaining to dig into him and his band.
Not that I’m going to admit that either.
Stammering, I deflect, “Uh, irrelevant. I—”
“Highly relevant, Georgette. You looking me up on the internet?”
Crossing my arms over my ample chest, I try my best to look annoyed.
But it’s hard to do that successfully when I see James’ gaze fall, coming to rest on my breasts.
I’ve always been plus-sized and curvy, but between pregnancy and breastfeeding, my boobs are now enormous.
So, I uncross my arms and shoot him a look when he finally raises his eyes to meet mine again.
“James,” I tut.
“Georgie.” He grins, not looking the least bit guilty at having been caught staring.
Undeterred, I continue my line of questioning. “Do you drive a truck?”
“Nope.”
“Own a ranch or anything?”
“My buddy does, so I just go stay at his place when I want the ranch experience.”
“Ride horses?”
“I have. It’s not a regular occurrence, though.
” He leans back in his chair, stretching out his long legs.
“Truth be told, I like old cars. If I weren’t a drummer, I would have been a mechanic with only a high school degree and been happy.
Maybe I’m more blue-collar drummer than hoity-toity country cowboy.
” He raises his eyes to meet mine. “What about you? What’s your story? ”
“Not much to tell. I started college, but I had to drop out.” I shrug as if it doesn’t still hurt. “Ran out of money and had to start working full-time to survive. I worked as a waitress until I couldn’t carry the trays and stand on my feet all day anymore.”
“What about your family?”
I know he’s asking because he called my mom, and she never returned his call. Whose mom is told that her daughter is in labor and that information doesn’t even warrant a call back? Mine. But I don’t want to get into all that right now.
The baby starts wiggling a little as he wakes up, and a quick glance at the clock tells me that it’s almost feeding time. One of the things I’m already learning about the NICU is that they really like their schedules and routines.
With James’ help, I lift my son out of the bassinet so I can nurse him. But just then, a new nurse wearing cheerful pink scrubs pulls back the curtain, interrupting our conversation with serendipitous timing.
“Hi, I’m Patsy.” She squirts some hand sanitizer on her hands, rubbing them together, as she approaches, her white tennis shoes squeaking on the polished floor. “I figured I might find you here since you weren’t in your room. How are you feeling today, Georgie?”
“Pretty good. Not much pain.”
Motioning toward my son, she asks, “Dad, can you hold the baby while I check Georgie’s incision site?”
The breath in my lungs freezes when she refers to James as my child’s father.
It’s not the first time it’s happened, but each time it does, I’m filled with discomfort.
But the awkwardness I feel doesn’t affect James as he carefully takes my son from my arms, cradling the baby to his chest like he’s been holding him for months, not minutes.
The sight stirs sensations in my stomach that feel like butterflies.
I lick my lips. “Weston,” I say, meeting James’ eyes, wanting to see his approval. “The baby’s name is Weston.”
In addition to keeping me company and learning how to take care of Weston with me, James is like my fairy godmother.
When I need something, like magic, it appears.
New clothes, slippers, toiletries, and even parenting books have all been delivered to the hospital.
I’m not entirely comfortable with him spending money on me, but I can’t afford to let my pride dictate my decisions.
But what I crave most can’t be bought. Safety, belonging. Unconditional love.
Things I hope to have one day.
Instead of focusing on the distant future, though, I choose to focus on the present.
Weston is snuggled up on my chest, sleeping, as I stroke his little cheek.
He’s getting stronger each day, and he’s been weaned off the oxygen already.
He had a minor episode of apnea and bradycardia four days ago, but none since.
He needs to make it five days without any incidents of the As and Bs, as the NICU staff call it, before he can be discharged from the hospital.
The doctors hope he will come home within the next day or two.
Home.
Without James, Weston and I wouldn’t have a home to go home to.
I glance at the red numbers on the digital clock that hangs on the wall of the NICU, as my stomach twists.
We’ve been in the hospital for six days, and this is the first time James has left my side, other than to shower or grab us some food.
When he left earlier, he said he needed to run a couple of errands, but that was hours ago.
He’s never been away from the hospital this long, and as the hours drag on, my nerves grow.
What if he came to his senses and decided to leave us?
Good Lord, what rational man wouldn’t?
It was stupid of me to put my trust in James. It was stupid of me to believe he would keep his word.
No one likes you, Georgie.
You’re lucky I put up with you.
One day, I’ll walk out that door and not come back.
As Nolan’s past words circulate through my brain, my feelings of inadequacy grow, and I beat myself up for blindly trusting a man again. I should know by now that the only person I can trust is myself.
Looking at my son, I vow to be strong for him and do better.
Patsy, the same nurse from the other day, stops in to check on us, and she catches me staring at Weston.
“I recognize that look. That’s the look of a mother who loves her baby. The love you feel for your child is something powerful, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I murmur in agreement.
An indulgent smile stretches across Patsy’s lips. “Now you finally understand how much your mother loves you.”
Patsy’s words, while well-intentioned, drive a knife through my already weeping heart. Because my mom never loved me like I love Weston. If she had, she wouldn’t have abandoned me time and time again, until I finally went to live full time with my grandmother.
A single tear escapes as my overwrought nerves get the best of me. I wipe it away as quickly as it tumbled down, making a lame apology to Patsy for my emotional display.
“It’s okay, dear. It’s overwhelming being a first-time mom. Good thing you have such a supportive partner,” she whispers with another smile as she leaves.
After Patsy leaves, a sob bursts forth because she’s reminded me of yet another thing I don’t have.
I don’t have a loving mom or a supportive partner.
I have a mom who erased me from her life and a man who’s pretending to be my fake husband.
“Hey, sorry that took longer than expected,” James says as he enters. His feet falter when he sees me crying, concern etched across his face. “Is everything okay? Is Weston alright?” His eyes dart to the baby before coming back to land on me again.
I nod as relief flows through my veins. In a moment of utter weakness, I whisper the truth, “I thought you weren’t coming back.”