Page 111 of Pregnant in Plaid
"My mom was Brooke."
We look at each other.
"Brooklyn," I say slowly.
"Brooklyn," Patrice repeats. Her eyes widen. "Oh my god. Brooklyn. Brooke and Lynn."
"It's perfect."
"It's—" She stops, her throat working. "It's both of them. Both our moms."
My own throat gets tight. "Yeah. It is."
"Brooklyn." Patrice tests the name, rolling it around in her mouth. "Brooklyn MacKenzie. Brooklyn whatever-we-decide-for-her-middle-name MacKenzie."
"Brooklyn Tessa?" I suggest. "After your best friend?"
She laughs, a sound that's half sob. "Brooklyn Tessa MacKenzie. That's... that's actually beautiful."
"So, we agree? We have a name?"
"We have a name." She reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. "Our daughter is Brooklyn."
I squeeze her hand, feeling something settle in my chest. Brooklyn. Our daughter finally has a name.
There's a knock on the door, and Tessa pokes her head in. "Everyone decent?"
"As decent as we get," Patrice says.
Tessa enters, followed by Gage carrying enough coffee to caffeinate a small army. "Brought reinforcements. Also, Marnie sent care packages. She's worried you're both wasting away."
"Marnie's a saint," I say, accepting one of the coffees.
"A saint who packed six dozen cookies," Gage adds, setting a massive basket on the side table. "She said, and I quote, 'Hospitals have terrible food, and new parents need sugar.'"
"She's not wrong." Patrice eyes the basket with interest. "What kind of cookies?"
"All of them, apparently. Chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, snickerdoodles, some kind of lemon thing?—"
"Lemon cookies?" Patrice interrupts. "Give me those immediately."
Tessa hands over a container of cookies, and Patrice's grateful moan is possibly inappropriate for a hospital setting.
"So," Tessa says, settling into the other visitor chair. "How's the baby doing today?"
We all exchange a look.
"Actually," Patrice says, "we just named her. Like, five minutes ago."
Tessa sits up straight. "You did? What is it?"
"Brooklyn," I say. "Brooklyn Tessa MacKenzie."
Tessa's face crumples. "You named her after me?"
"Middle name," Patrice clarifies. "Brooklyn is for both our moms. But yes. Tessa."
"Oh my god." Tessa's openly crying now. "I'm the godmother and the namesake? I can't handle this emotional responsibility."
