Emily
“AVON,” DAVID SAID, lying on the hotel bed and staring at the ceiling.
“What, like the makeup company?” Emily was wearing a white bra and underwear with matching thigh-highs, an ensemble she had originally bought with the intention of seducing him on their wedding night. However, after four pieces of wedding cake, they were both bloated. Before they could even think about consummating their union, they needed to digest.
“No, like Avon Barksdale from The Wire. It’s an awesome name.”
“No. Our kid is going to have to deal with having me as a mother and having my mother as a grandmother. His life will be hard enough, let’s not also give him a name from an HBO show.” She paused. “Although, if it’s a girl, I wouldn’t mind Arya.”
“So Avon is stupid, and Arya isn’t?”
“Boys can’t get away with these weird names. Girls can. Like, you can name your daughter Meadow and her life would basically be normal, but if you name your son Branch, he gets his ass kicked.”
“What about Bamboo?”
“He gets his ass kicked more. As his ass is being kicked, he’s wishing we named him Branch.”
“I meant if it’s a girl.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No, I think it sounds nice.”
She noticed that the tiny bottle of hotel shampoo on the nightstand was from a brand called Bamboo. “This isn’t The Usual Suspects,” she said.
He shrugged and adjusted his butt doughnut underneath him. “It’s just a cool name.”
“What about one of our dads’ names? Nick and Steven. Those are normal names.”
“Those names suck! They’re so boring. Everyone in his class will be named Nick and Steven.”
“Hardly. Go to a baby-name blog. Everyone in his class will be named Brayden, Aiden, Caiden and Braydynn.”
“What’s wrong with Brayden?” He sat up suddenly as if he had had an epiphany. “Actually, I really like that. It’s so different.”
“No, it’s not. It’s the name that pretty much every twenty-two-year-old Southern Pinterest mom gives their kid. I mean, sure, a three-year-old named Brayden is adorable, but can you imagine a fifty-year-old Brayden? Dr. Brayden Porter? Would you trust a lawyer named Brayden?”
“You’re overthinking it.”
“Look, if you like Brayden so much, how about Brandon? That’s a normal name.”
“Brandon sucks.”
“Why does Brandon suck?”
“Braaandon,” he said, in an annoying high-pitched voice.
“What was that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know, I just feel like anyone named Brandon would suck. And besides, if Brandon is so similar to Brayden, why can’t we just do Brayden?”
“Because they’re not that similar, and Brayden is by far the stupider name.”
“I don’t know, I think you want our kid to be boring.”
“Well, we have seven or eight months to figure this out,” she said. “Hopefully we’ll agree on something before then.”
David lay back down on the bed and smiled. “That’s so crazy. Seven or eight months! I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad that soon. Oh, shit, maybe you’re one of those women who’s actually secretly six months along and just has no idea.”
“Don’t freak me out. I already considered that possibility. We’ll get an ultrasound when we get home.”
“Is it safe to...you know?” He trailed off, and then to make things more obvious, made the international sign for sex with his index finger going in and out of a ring he formed with his other hand.
“Real mature,” she said. “Yeah, it’s safe. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“The baby can see it, right?”
“What are you talking about? The baby can’t see anything. It probably doesn’t even have eyes yet.”
“Yeah, but what if it gets, like...dislodged?”
She started laughing. “You can’t possibly be this misinformed. You really think pregnant women can’t have sex?”
“I mean, I know they can, but isn’t it one of those ‘you probably shouldn’t’ things, like eating oysters?”
“Was your plan to go the next eight months without any sex? You really planned on doing that?”
He shrugged. “I mean, we didn’t plan on anything.”
“We can have sex. I’m sure I won’t be up for it when I’m nine months along and the baby is the size of a giant watermelon, but for now it’s really fine.”
“Good to know. Actually, can we give it a go in the morning? Right now my stomach feels like it’s going to explode.”
“Me too. I feel like a pressurized can of farts.”
“Very sexy.” He rolled over and spooned her, running his hands through her hair, which was sticky from twelve-hour-old hair spray and gel. “How about we run a warm bath and I’ll set up some Game of Thrones episodes on my laptop?”
“Sweet,” she said. “You’re the best.”
He got up to run the bath. Emily stared up at the ceiling, feeling so heavy that she wasn’t sure it would be possible for her to get up even if she tried.
Surely this child would need a relationship with his grandparents, and both sets would live a six-hour plane ride away. Maybe that was for the best. Emily couldn’t hide from Marla forever. She had largely ignored her at the reception but someday she would have to attempt at least a cordial relationship again. Perhaps she and David would eventually live somewhere closer to their parents. Not New York, of course, since it was a hotspot for terrorism, disease and Brazilian models lying in wait to steal her husband. Maybe somewhere on the East Coast, a short plane ride away.
Maybe they’d be better off in Boston, if David could get over his irrational hatred of Red Sox fans. Or Virginia. David once said you could buy a house in Virginia for what it cost to buy a steak in San Francisco. Virginia, of course, posed its own problems. For one, she always assumed that any place south of New Jersey was loaded with anti-Semites and neo-Nazis. This was the reason Marla never let them go to Disney World. Plus, some Southern women actually put effort into their appearance, and if she felt as ugly as she did in San Francisco, the Birkenstock Empire of the World, she could only imagine how she would feel in Virginia where women wore heels to the supermarket. Fuck. There was nowhere they could move. Everything was a disaster.
“Hey, babe, the bath is ready and I downloaded the episode where that little bitch Joffrey gets slapped.”
“I think I just want to cuddle with you for the rest of my life.”
“As you wish.” David laid the laptop on the dresser by the window and hopped into bed with her. His body still fit hers perfectly. She knew it always would.
* * * * *