Page 88 of Salty Pickle

“Those too. There are some schools of thought that they even know the steps you take to walk in your house. The creak of the front door. The tinkle of a spoon stirring milk into your coffee. Your routines are their routines.”

“That’s remarkable.”

“Talk to him enough in this last month, and he’ll know you, too.”

Would he?

“Hello, baby,” I say.

She runs her hands along the skin of her belly. “I guess we should wait on the test to talk about names.”

“Do you have any in mind?”

“Mildred or Agatha, if she’s a girl. Herman maybe, as a boy.”

I sit up. “What century do you think this is?”

She laughs. “I’m kidding. I haven’t thought too much about it. I guess I always refer to him in my mind as just ‘baby.’”

“I guess you could name him the old-fashioned way.”

She props her head up on her hand. “Family names?”

“Random name generators on the internet.”

“You’re so funny. I was named after my great-grandmother. Lucille Marie.”

“I like it.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“Court Julian.”

“Oooh, I like Julian.”

“Really? I always wished it was my first name. Court got me lots of teasing.”

“How?”

“Basketball court, courtesan, courtroom, courtyard.”

“Is it short for anything?”

“Nope. I tried switching to Julian in middle school, but it didn’t stick.”

“I’m named after a mean cartoon character and a wacky sitcom.”

I laugh. “But they’re cool. Nobody messes with Lucy, either one.”

“Kids are mean no matter what your name is.”

“Also true.”

She rests her head on the pillow. “Julian. Julian Brown. I’ll have to fill out the form in the hospital. I don’t know if we’ll know in time to make him Armstrong.”

That’s a conundrum. “We’ll figure it out.”

She runs a hand along my arm. “Did the teasing as a kid bug you?”

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