Chapter 14 Georgie
Georgie
Fuck me sideways, I cannot believe I admitted that to James.
It’s been a few hours, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
I’m… whatever is even worse than mortified.
What makes it more embarrassing is how nice James acted throughout the ordeal.
Like being forced to manhandle my boob for twenty minutes while a doctor watched wasn’t the most unbearable experience of his life.
Maybe it wasn’t for him, but having a doctor order my fake husband to massage my breast certainly ranked up there as my most embarrassing moment.
I’m supposed to be resting, but I can’t stop reliving our whispered conversation.
I should have shut my freaking mouth and not admitted that I think about him touching me.
It was so awkward. Then, when James stayed silent, probably too polite to tell me I don’t have a chance with him, I wanted to shrivel up and die on the spot.
Sure, he agreed to a fake marriage to help me out, but there’s no way James would entertain anything real happening between us.
Scratch my earlier thought. It was that moment—when James didn’t say a word after my confession—that was the most excruciating experience of my life.
Seriously, how is it possible for my life to get any weirder?
A few weeks ago, I was pregnant, pretty much homeless, and didn’t have a clue how I was going to survive, and now, I’m living in the lap of luxury and pretending to be married to the drummer of a famous band while he palpates my breast tissue every three hours. Talk about a fucking plot twist.
Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought in the car accident, and this is just one long hallucination.
There’s a soft knock on the bedroom door, and James walks in carrying Weston. “Hey, sorry to wake you, but it’s time to feed him again.”
Pushing myself into a sitting position, I reassure James. “That’s okay. You didn’t wake me.”
I wedge a couple of pillows onto my lap and hold out my arms to take Weston.
“I think I can do it myself. You don’t need to help me while Weston nurses,” I say, hoping James will hand me the baby and leave me alone.
I’m not emotionally prepared to go through the awkward experience again.
We can forget what happened earlier, and I can chalk it up to a moment of insanity brought on by my fever.
But James tuts and motions with his chin for me to scooch forward. When I do, only then does he hand me the baby so he can sit behind me.
Well, alrighty then. I guess we’re doing this again.
If anything, it’s even more awkward this time around. Our silence drenches me in familiar feelings of shame and inadequacy, and the continued pain frays my already overwrought nerves.
Taking his hands off my left breast, James puts them on my shoulders, rubbing them. “Georgie, you need to relax. You’re too tense.”
I blow out a heavy breath when I feel tears gathering behind my eyelids. “I just… I feel like I can’t do anything right. Before you offered us a place to stay, I was an unemployed college dropout living in my truck. And now… I can’t even nurse my baby without help.”
With gentle hands, James turns my head to look at him over my shoulder. “Darlin’, we all need a helping hand from time to time. I’m proud of you for how well you love and care for Weston. You’re a natural with him.”
I scoff. He’s proud of me for loving my child. Isn’t that the bare minimum a parent should do?
“Don’t do that, Georgie. Don’t start talking yourself out of celebrating your victories just because you’ve had some losses along the way.”
Is that what I’m doing? I chew on the corner of my lip.
When I remain quiet, James prods, “You haven’t talked much about your life before we met, but I’m guessing you may not have had a great mom as your role model. But here you are, being the best damn mama to your son.”
There are a lot of reasons I don’t talk about my mom. Why would I tell James that everyone always leaves me? That I’m messed up and broken and… unlovable.
The obvious answer is that I don’t. James doesn’t need to see behind the curtain. He already sees more than I’d like him to. I don’t need to disclose all the bitter truths about my past.
But James presses, asking, “Why didn’t she ever return the voicemail I left for her?”
Uncomfortable with the conversation, I shift on the bed.
In the soft light that spills into the room from the hallway, I look down to watch my son.
The hospital nurse’s words spiral through my mind.
Now you finally understand how much your mother loves you.
But I don’t because I don’t think my mom ever loved me.
At least, not the way I love Weston. How could she have chosen not to love me?
I can’t fathom what it would feel like to look at my son and not love him.
And for the first time, I consider the possibility that maybe I’m incorrectly assigning blame. Maybe it isn’t my fault my mom doesn’t love me. Maybe the fault lies at her feet, not mine.
That notion loosens my tongue.
“My mom had me when she was still in high school. Having a baby forced her to grow up before she was ready, and she resented me for that. For a few years, she tried to be a mom, but she got caught up in partying. Drinking led to drugs, and once she fell into addiction, it took over her life. She started leaving me with extended family members for weeks, then months, at a time. I bounced from house to house until finally I wound up with Nana, my mom’s mother.
My mom went to rehab a few times, and when she’d get clean, she’d pop back into my life with heartfelt apologies and big promises that always went unfulfilled when she’d disappear the next time.
When I was twelve, Nana was granted full custody of me, and it was the first time I ever had a stable home. ”
I sigh and lean back against James as I keep talking, sharing more about my rocky childhood.
“Soon after I went to live with my Nana, my mom finally got her act together and stayed clean. But she never came back for me. Instead, she started over with a new family. She met a normal guy, they got married, and now they have two kids. My half-siblings. I’ve only met them once at Nana’s funeral, when I was eighteen. ”
I’ll never forget the panic on my mother’s face when she saw me talking to her children. I realized they didn’t know I was their sister. They didn’t know their mom had another child. When I saw my mom’s eyes dart around, searching for her husband, it hit me—he didn’t know about me either.
I was just my mom’s dirty little secret. A mistake. A regret. It wasn’t just that she left me behind… it was the realization that she erased my existence from her life completely.
So, I walked away and vowed never to speak to her again.
It hurts to know she’s capable of loving and caring for a child… just not me. No matter what I do, I’ll never be enough to earn her love.
With a shrug, I finish, “I haven’t spoken to her since Nana’s funeral.”
“I’m sorry, Georgie. Her failure to include you in her family says everything about her character and nothing about your worth.”
His words hit me hard since I’ve been needing that outside validation for the last six years. Clenching my jaw, I grapple to keep my emotions at bay.
James stops kneading my breast to wrap his arms around my shoulders. Careful not to bump Weston, James tugs me into him for a long moment, his warm touch offering me needed comfort. I close my eyes, blinking away tears, and lean into his embrace.
“I keep her number in my phone because it’s my last link to her.
I know she doesn’t want me in her life, but I can’t bring myself to delete her number.
” A wan smile pulls at my lips after my whispered confession.
“No matter how badly she’s hurt me, I consider her part of my family, and if I cut my last remaining link to her, I’ll just be left…
alone. I know I need to make peace with it and accept that she’ll never be the mother I want her to be. But I’m not sure I’m ready yet.”
To his credit, James doesn’t throw out any trite platitudes, like everything happens for a reason or time heals all wounds. He kisses the top of my head and continues massaging my boob again.
“What about DeeDee?” James asks, his voice breaking the quiet. “Is she a friend?”
“DeeDee?” Confused, my brows furrow.
“She was the other number listed in your phone.”
“Oh, D.D.” I scoff mirthlessly. “Otherwise known as Dickhead Deluxe, the guy who impregnated and then deserted me.”
“Oh, shit. Well, glad I didn’t call him after the accident then.”
You and me both, buddy. Had James called Nolan, James would have opened a giant can of worms. I haven’t spoken to Nolan since we broke up. It’s better that Nolan forgets all about me and our child.
Note to self: delete his number. I’m more than ready to sever that connection.
When Weston finishes nursing, James orders me to lie down as he gets up to burp Weston and change his diaper.
After he’s finished, James takes off for parts unknown with Weston still in his arms. He surprises me when he returns to the nursery a few minutes later without the baby.
Pulling me to my feet, he nudges me out of the room.
“Where are we going?”
“The sheets on the guest bed need to get changed since you sweated through them,” he says, slipping his arm around my waist.
“I can walk,” I mumble.
“Maybe I just like holding you.”
When my heart skips a beat, I blame it on being sick. It certainly can’t be attributed to what James just said.
Then, he leads me down the hallway and into his bedroom.
My eyes focus on the item standing on the left side of the bed.
“What is that?” I ask even though I know exactly what it is.
“Bassinet. Thought it’d be easier if we all bunk in here together since I’ll need to get up with you for every feeding.” He throws me a look. “And I don’t trust that you’ll wake me up.”