“I think we need to tackle his name first, don’t you think?”
“Have you thought of any names?”
“Besides Alessio, I’m wide open.”
Nodding, Drea said, “Add Edoardo to that list as well.”
“I do want him to have an Italian name.”
“So do I.”
Drea smiled. “And I want him to have your name as a middle name.”
“Gabriele would work too.”
“Yes, that is beautiful.”
Tilting my head at her, I asked, “I’ve always wondered why your parents named you Andrea when in Italian it’s usually a boy’s name.”
She rolled her eyes. “Because my jackass father was determined to only have sons to prove his virility. And I was to be Andrea for his grandfather. Although the ultrasounds told him I was going to be a girl, he wouldn’t accept it. By the time I was born, my mother had grown to like the name, and since we were in America, it worked for a girl.”
With a grin, I said, “You know the bar is set in hell for us to be better parents than we had.”
Drea laughed. “Oh yeah, I know.”
“Whatever name we come up with will be the perfect one for our son.”
“Maybe we need to see him first before naming him.”
“Maybe. But I kind of like the idea of calling him by name when I start talking to your belly.”
“You’re going to start talking to my belly?”
“Absolutely. Then he’ll know his father’s voice when he arrives.”
A pained look came over Drea’s face. “That’s so beautiful, Leo.”
“Come on. Let’s go out and celebrate our son.”
She smiled. “I’m game.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: DREA
Even though I’d read about it inWhat to Expect When You’re Expecting,I couldn’t possibly grasp the true insanity that was pregnancy brain. As I headed into my fourth month, or third for Leo, I reached peak flightness. I mixed up words, and I forgot assignments for school. I felt like I was twenty-one going on seventy-one.
Although Leo was always helpful, he found my daily fuck-ups endearing. He loved to say “Aw, someone’s got Mommy Brain.”
With my pregnancy rage hormones, he was lucky I hadn’t kneed him in the balls. I’m pretty sure that’s why he’d agreed to go hang out with his brothers today. He wanted out of the line of fire.
Just as he was about to head out the door, he poked his head in the living room where he found me pacing around and wringing my hands.
He crossed the room to me. As usual, his hands went straight to my bump. “Are you okay?”
“I’m trying to find my muse.”
“Did it run away?”
“Ha, ha. You’re such a fucking comedian,” I muttered.
