Page 133 of Good as Gold
I hand Leila her phone, and then I take mine out, too. Baby names are not part of my repertoire, but I do have one idea. So I perform a web search.
“Okay,” Leila says. “I like flower names, like Iris and Daisy. And I also like Heaven and Amelia. But…” She hesitates.
“But what?”
“We didn’t discuss herlastname,” Leila says shyly.
“Oh.” I’m so tired that this hadn’t even occurred to me. “Giltmaker-Rossi has a nice ring to it, no?”
I expect a playful punch for this suggestion, because our names don’t hyphenate well. They just don’t.
But Leila looks thoughtful. “What if hermiddlename was Giltmaker and her last name was Rossi? Then she’d belong to both of us, but still might learn to write her name on kindergarten paintings?”
I wrap my arms around her and hold tight. “I’d just kind of assumed you’d use your own last name, since I’ve spent the last decade or so being too stupid to marry you. But I would be honored to give her my name.”
She laughs in my arms. “All right. We need a first name that sounds good with Rossi, then. From my list, I think only Iris works. What do you think? Any other ideas?”
“Yeah, I got one.” I wake up my phone and hand it to her.
The screen says:Reina:meaningqueen.
Leila inhales sharply. “Seriously? I kind of love it. Reina Rossi.” She glances at our sleeping daughter.
“Reina Giltmaker Rossi,” I correct. “And it has the same vowel sounds as your name. Leila and Reina.”
“You are kind of a genius,” she whispers.
“Nah. Thinking about you is the easiest thing there is. I just love you, queen.”
And then the most tired and happy new dad in Vermont gives his queen a kiss.
CHAPTER51
MATTEO
SEVEN WEEKS LATER
It’s a warm June day. I know from experience that Reina is not a fan of air conditioning, so I’ve put her in a little cotton sleeper for our big trip to the grocery store. I carry her in the front-pack for extra snuggles.
Leila is at her follow-up visit to the obstetrician, so it’s just the two of us on this shopping trip. We’re out of everything, so we’re going to be here a while.
After I clear the produce department, Reina starts to look impatient. By the time I make it to the cheese counter, I’m singing Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.” And by the time I’m waiting in line at the butcher’s counter, I’ve moved on to Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World.”
This wins me a lot of strange looks. And by “strange” I mean strangely lustful. “Your baby is sooooo cute!” one woman says with hearts in her eyes.
“Thanks! She gets that from me,” I joke.
“Ohdefinitely,” she growls.
Huh. People act differently around babies.
Finally, it’s my turn, and I load up on a couple of steaks and some burger meat. I’ve installed a gas grill on Leila’s balcony, and I’m eager to use it.
These have been the best seven weeks of my life. Before we left the hospital, the nurse told Leila, “Your only job for the next few weeks is feeding the baby and taking care of yourself. Everything else comes second.”
So that makes me the family chef and tour director. I’ve cooked some excellent meals. I’ve puttered around the apartment, doing small projects as needed. I’ve taken my little family on some nice walks with our new stroller, and a sunset rowboat ride on the river.
I’ve held the baby as often as I can, giving Leila a break between feedings. And whenever my family tries to ask me to do anything I don’t feel like doing, I say, “Sorry, I can’t. The baby isn’t sleeping very well yet, and I have to be there for Leila.”
