Chapter 30 Georgie
Georgie
The nursery looks like it’s straight out of a magazine. It’s gorgeous, absolutely stunning.
The walls are mossy green with modern molding added for visual detail.
The color of the walls looks fantastic against the wooden crib, and it makes the wall décor pop.
There are two antique framed maps, one of Alabama and one of Tennessee, a plush mounted deer head made to look like taxidermy, an old-fashioned pennant with Weston’s name written across it, and a series of framed photos of Weston with James and me.
I walk further into the room, in awe of all the changes.
Creamy ivory velvet drapes hang from the windows, and the crib is situated between the windows, providing a nice sense of symmetry and balance to the space.
Above the crib hangs a mobile with planets, stars, and clouds.
The queen-sized bed has vanished and, in its place, sits a linen glider next to a new bookshelf filled with children’s books.
There’s also a large, open toy chest stuffed with soft toys, and even a cloth teepee in one corner of the room.
Why? Why would James do this when he knows Weston’s time here is limited? I’m supposed to move out in less than two months. Yet this is a room a child grows into, a room that suggests Weston will still be living here when he’s old enough to play with those toys or hide inside the teepee.
Hopefully, it’s indicative of James’ seriousness about wanting to stay in Weston’s life even after we move out and our farce of a marriage ends. The thought of those things—moving out and ending our fake marriage—has my heart twisting in my chest cavity. It hurts even to imagine that day coming.
Turning this room into a true nursery feels like a gift… but also more than that. This weighted gift feels like a statement, only I’m not sure what it’s saying.
On the rare occasions when Nolan would give me a gift, he would lord it over me and use the gift as a tool of control.
Since knowing James, he’s never done anything similar to that, but my brain is still wired to be vigilant.
It took me far too long to see the red flags in my last relationship, so now I’m prone to colorblindness.
Most people would see this gift as a giant green flag.
And maybe it is.
I force my lips into a half-smile, murmuring, “Thank you, James. It’s… amazing.”
As I amble around the room, my fingertips trail along the surfaces. When I come to the dresser, I stop when I spot some unframed photos. Lifting one, I look at it. It’s one of Weston when he’d first gotten out of the hospital. The snapshot is small. Tiny, really.
Quizzically, I hold it up to James. “What’s this for?”
He points at my chest. “Your locket. It has space for two photos, but you only have one. Thought you might like to add one of these photos of Weston.”
My hand reaches for my locket. I just have a photo of Nana inside it because I’ve never had anyone else in my life who earned a spot. But Weston doesn’t need to earn a spot; he deserves it just by existing. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of adding his picture myself.
And I can’t believe James did.
“Need anything?”
Only answers that I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.
So, I shake my head, and James turns to leave, pausing in the doorway. “I want you, Georgie. I want us. But I’m willing to wait until you believe me.” He shuts the door behind him.
Those are the same words he said to me days ago.
Walking to the glider, I drop into it, feeling it sway back and forth under my weight. The whole time Weston nurses, I keep looking around the room, noticing new details. Like the baby-sized cowboy boots on the floor of the closet or the soft miniature football displayed on the bookshelf.
Did James remember our conversation from the hospital when he picked that toy out? Is it possible that I mentioned wanting Weston to play high school football once and James remembered it enough to buy Weston a toy football?
I want you, Georgie. I want us. But I’m willing to wait until you believe me.
An idea begins to take root in my brain.
What if… what if James is serious about wanting me? Wanting us? What if it wasn’t just a line to get in my pants or to manipulate me in some other way?
And if he is, am I brave enough to try?
“Here’s the usual for you, Norm,” I chirp, setting down the plate. “You must have an iron stomach to survive all that heat.”
“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it, pretty lady,” he retorts.
“He pops Tums like candy, Georgie,” Ron grins, calling out his buddy.
“He’s spilling your secrets, Norm,” I tease, setting down plates in front of Ron and Greg. “One cheeseburger all the way for you, Ron, and another one for you, Greg. There’s ketchup on the table, and your milkshakes will be out in a jiffy. Let me know if you need anything else, fellas.”
After stowing away the tray I used to carry their plates, I glance around the restaurant as an old Brooks one I’ve come to recognize because I see it often. “After Norm and the boys leave, you can clock out, Georgie.”
I figured as much since there haven’t been any new customers in the last half hour, and Sheila already dismissed Cara.
While my table finishes their dinners, I grab a cloth and start dusting the framed photos that line the walls of the restaurant.
Within each frame is a black-and-white photo, many of which are autographed, of Nashville celebrities of yesteryear.
The most current photo I find is from the mid-nineties.
It gives me an idea. I wonder if Deb’s wouldn’t benefit from an influx of current famous Nashville musicians… like members of one of country music’s biggest bands.
I know from Josh’s reaction to me working at Deb’s that the guys might not be thrilled about eating here, but I also know if James asks them to show up, they will.
After dusting, I grab a damp cloth and wipe down the laminated menus, cleaning off any food debris.
Much like the old photos on the walls, the menus appear as if they haven’t been updated since around the mid-nineties either.
Hamburgers, grilled cheese, Salisbury steak, chicken fried steak, tuna fish sandwiches, meatloaf.
None of the offerings are bad, but there’s also nothing exciting or novel to draw in new customers.
And realistically, the prices need to be increased to keep up with the increasing cost of, well, just about everything these days.
Which gives me another idea. While I was in college, I was studying advertising and marketing.
Would Sheila let me play around with the logo and menu to give Deb’s a little facelift?
I haven’t done anything remotely connected to my old area of study since I left college three years ago, and the idea of taking Deb’s under my wing sparks something inside me.
While waiting for Norm, Greg, and Ron to finish their milkshakes, I start scratching out ideas on my notepad, excited at all the prospects swirling around in my head.
After clocking out and saying goodbye to Sheila and Lou, I walk out the door toward the car I’m borrowing from James and check my old phone. I’ve been turning it on once a day to make sure Nolan hasn’t responded. So far, I’ve been lucky, but tonight, my luck has run out.
My breath freezes in my lungs, and I feel like the walls are closing in around me. Sheer panic sets in as I read Nolan’s text messages.
Nolan
If you wanted me to believe this wasn’t your number, you should have changed your voicemail message, Georgie.
My eyes bulge. How could I have been so stupid? The thought didn’t even cross my mind.
I gave you money to get an abortion, Georgie. So, why the fuck did I see you on the front page with a baby?
Did you have a baby, Georgie? Did you have MY baby?
Three missed calls from D.D.
You dumb bitch! Answer my fucking phone calls.
Unless you want me to sell my story to the tabloids, you'd better call me back.
You’ve got twenty-four hours to call me before I start talking.
Tick tock, Georgie. Tick fucking tock.
My fingers clench tightly around the phone as my breathing grows ragged. I knew Nolan wouldn’t let this go. I knew he wouldn't let me be happy.