“Wren, I’m focusing,” Dr. Abadi said. “So please be vewwy, vewwy quiet.”
“Did you just make a joke?”
“What, I’m not allowed?”
Wren felt as though she had accomplished something of great significance, getting this no-nonsense professional to loosen up, even just a little. When the doctor was finished, she patted Wren on the shoulder firmly. “Excellent job.” That felt even better.
Soon, Arthur came to check on her.
“You did it.” He kissed her forehead, wiping away the sweat. “You really did it. He’s perfect.”
“He needs a name.”
“There’s plenty of time for that. Just rest.”
“You need to give him a normal name. If I pick, he’ll get beat up at school.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. She didn’t have the energy to do this part.
“Whatever you want. Just choose quickly or I’m going to start calling him Xavier.”
“OK, OK. Will you choose the middle name, at least?”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah, go crazy,” Arthur said. “Go nuts in there. He’ll only hear it when he’s in trouble, and the wackier it is, the more humiliated he’ll be when we reprimand him.”
“Now, that I like.”
She’d need to give it a little thought, but she was pretty certain she could work with this plan.
“One more thing, speaking of names,” she said. “I don’t want to change mine, when we get married. It’s nothing against Peterson, it just doesn’t feel right.”
“OK.”
“But I also have no real connection to Morris. It’s fine, I guess. It barely feels like mine, but I also don’t want to completely let it go.”
“I’m confused. What are you saying?”
“Some people combine their last names, make a new one together.”
Arthur thought about this. “The Metersons.”
“No.”
“The Porisses.”
“No.” She laughed. “It was just an idea.”
“We’ll figure it out. Just rest. They’re already looking like they want to kick us out of here soon.”
The idea of going home filled her with dread, but she was too tired to give it oxygen. She let her eyes fall all the way closed knowing it might be her last chance for a while.
Soon they were moved to another room, a recovery room, and their son was delivered to them on what looked like a little rolling drink cart, tucked up in a blankie, sleeping peacefully. Their little baby burrito.
The nurses kept telling Wren to “get some rest,” and then kept coming in to check her vitals every seventeen minutes, flicking on all the lights, waking everyone back up. No rest was gotten.
