There were three puppies.
And three placentas.
Eventually Georgie thought to call her mom.
And then she called the vet, who talked them through cutting the last umbilical cord and making Petunia comfortable.
The puppies got a sponge bath. Georgie took charge of the one she was still holding inside her shirt. Then they all got tucked back into the dryer with clean towels. “It’s her little nest,” Heather said, patting the dryer like it had helped.
Georgie tried to put the Metallica shirt in the washer, but Heather grabbed onto it, making a disgusted face. “Georgie, no. This is an intervention.”
“Heather. That’s Neal’s shirt. From high school.”
“It gave its life for a good cause.”
Georgie let go. Heather handed the T-shirt to pizza girl, who was starting to clean up.
Pizza girl’s name was Alison, and Heather’s face followed her around the room like a sunflower chasing daylight.
“I still don’t like you,” Georgie said to Petunia, reaching in and stroking the dog’s slack stomach. “Look at you, nursing like a champ. Now who’s a notoriously bad mother?”
The puppies were clean, but Georgie and Heather and Alison were still sticky with blood and fetal juices—and pug vomit, Georgie was pretty sure.
Their mom looked horrified when she finally ran into the laundry room, kitten heels clicking on the stairs.
“It’s fine,” Georgie tried to assure her. “Everything is fine.”
“Where are my babies?” her mom asked, taking in the pile of bloody towels and the pile of bloody girls. Heather and Alison were sitting together in front of the dryer. Alison was cuddling Porky, who’d been stashed in the hall bathroom for most of the action. Her stained white T-shirt made her look like a butcher.
“They’re right here,” Heather said. “In the dryer.”
Georgie’s mom hurried over, and Alison quickly got up to make room. “My little mama,” Georgie’s mom said, “my little hero.”
Alison took a step back. “I guess . . . ,” she said, looking over at Heather.
Heather’s head was in the dryer.
“I guess I should go,” Alison said. After a few more seconds, she handed Porky to Georgie (who immediately handed him over to Kendrick), then wiped her hands on her jeans and started walking toward the door.
“Alison,” Georgie said, “thanks. You were a lifesaver. If I ever have another baby, I want you to deliver it.”
Alison waved her hand, like it was nothing, and kept walking.
“Who was that?” Kendrick asked as soon as she was out of sight.
“Pizza—,” Georgie said, but stopped when Heather’s head whipped up, her face full of dread. “Heather, can you help me with something in the kitchen?” Georgie leaned over and grabbed her sister’s sleeve, then pulled her up the steps and into the house, just as the front door was closing.
“What are you doing?” Georgie demanded.
“Nothing,” Heather said, jerking away. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t let that incredibly attractive, steady-handed girl walk away.”
“Georgie, I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Heather, that girl just helped us deliver babies.”
“Because she’s a nice person.”
“No. Because she’s willing to wade through blood and amniotic fluid just to impress you.”
Heather rolled her eyes.
“What is wrong with you?” Georgie asked. “You obviously want to kiss that girl. I kind of want to kiss that girl. So go do it. Or go, I don’t know, make progress in that general direction.”
“It’s not that easy, Georgie.”
“I think it might be.”
“I’m not you. I can’t just . . . take what I want. And Mom’s here, and she’ll figure out that I’m gay—”
“She’s gonna figure it out anyway. She won’t care.”
“Eventually she won’t care. I’ll tell her eventually. Just, not while I’m living here. I don’t want to, it’s not worth it—none of this is worth it. I mean, what? I humiliate myself? And freak out Mom, and probably get hurt . . . And just ruin everything for the chance that maybe I’m supposed to be with this girl I don’t even know?”
“Yes,” Georgie said. “That’s how it works. Exactly.”
Heather folded her arms. “Oh, you don’t know how it works—you told me so yourself. And that’s after spending your whole life trying to figure it out. It’s not worth it.”
Georgie couldn’t stop shaking her head. “Oh my God, Heather—forget what I said. Don’t listen to me. Why would you listen to me? Of course it’s worth it.”
“But it’s not even anything,” Heather said, glancing miserably at the door. “It’s just a chance.”
“The chance to be happy.”
“Or the chance to be heartbroken, like you?”
“The chance to be alive. To be . . . Heather, forget everything I said before. It’s worth it. Do you think I wouldn’t risk everything to bring Neal to that door right now? That’s how it works. You keep risking everything. And you keep hoping you can keep him from walking away.”
“Her.”
“Whoever. Jesus.”
The doorbell rang, and they both turned. After a second, the door opened, and Alison stepped carefully through, pushing her long bangs out of her eyes. “Sorry,” she said. “I thought everybody might still be out back—I think I left my keys on the dryer. . . .”
“I’ll get them,” Georgie said before either of the girls could say anything more. “I’ll be right back.” She squeezed Heather’s arm on the way to the laundry room, then sat down next her mom, pointing out which puppy was hers.
She left Alison’s keys sitting on top of the dryer.