Page 59 of Sin Wagon
“No fucking way. That’s ironic,” I exclaim, my eyes widening in surprise. It’s crazy how our birthdays are just a day apart.Maybe it’s a sign that we were meant to find each other, even with the large age gap.
“Yeah, it is. Now we’ll have to celebrate together.”
“For sure.”
I change the subject, needing to talk about something that’s been on my mind.
“Are you gonna want to be in the room when I have the baby?”
“Absolutely.” His immediate and firm response is a relief.
I need him there.
“Then I should tell you my birth plan so we’re on the same page, and if anything happens to me, you can make sure my wishes are followed.” Wells’ commitment to being there for the birth means everything to me. I take a deep breath, ready to share my carefully thought-out plan for our baby’s arrival.
“I will do whatever you want. Just tell me your plan.”
“It’s nothing intense. I want to have a vaginal birth unless there’s an emergency. I’m getting an epidural, and God forbid anything happens during the birth and you have to choose me or the baby. Choose me. I can have another baby. I have a lot of things left to do in my life.” Saying it out loud makes the reality of childbirth more tangible and terrifying.
“Is that all?”
“Oh, and I want to do skin-to-skin immediately and no bath for a few days. I hear it’s better for them.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it? Just okay? You don’t have anything to add?” I probe, wanting to make sure he really understands the gravity of my words.
“Nope. You’re the one going to push a baby out of a place one shouldn’t fit, so I am going to let you lead the way. It’s your body, you know it better than me.”
“Thank you.” His unwavering support is everything I need right now.
“Names, though. That I want a little bit of a say in. Do you have any ideas?”
“Umm, if it’s a boy, I was thinking Channing Wells.” I fidget, moving back and forth as I try to get comfortable again. Wells grabs me, positioning me between his legs and pulling me backward so I’m resting against his chest. The warmth of his body against mine is comforting, and I can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong.
“Better?”
“Thanks.”
“Welcome. Now, I like Channing Wells. But what about a girl?”
“That’s harder, and I’m empty.” Naming our daughter feels like an impossible task, and I haven’t found the right name that clicks yet.
“Posey Grace,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.
“Where did you come up with that so fast?” It’s delicate, pretty, and not ordinary—a name that feels just right for our little one.
“Grace is my mom’s middle name, and Posey is just a name I’ve always liked. It means a bunch of flowers, and I remember my great-grandma saying that a bouquet of posies isn’t just beautiful on the outside; they smell good too.”
“I love it.”
“We can look for other options,” he says apprehensively.
“No, I like it. Channing or Posey.”
I close my eyes, starting to get tired. After a long day, Wells’ comforting arms are making it challenging for me to keep my eyes open.
“Little Doe?”
