Page 69 of Interference
“What?”
I turn toward Brett. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”
“Buttercup, I genuinely don’t care what we have as long as you and the baby are fine in the end.”
Huffing, I turn back to the clothes. “Do you have to be so perfect?”
“You think I’m perfect?” he jokes, making me roll my eyes.
“I’m serious. Which would you prefer? Then again, how can I ask you to choose when I don’t know what I want. Should we find out? If we don’t, how will we pick a baby name? If we don’t know a name then we can’t leave the hospital, right? Oh god, if we don’t know the gender how will we pick what type of crib to get? What if we get something that’s feminine and we end up with a son? Or vice versa.”
Brett turns me toward him and places his hands on my shoulders. “Breathe, buttercup. Breathe.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, then repeat it again, and then a third time for good measure.
“Better now?”
“I think so,” I murmur.
“Good. Now don’t worry about being stuck in the hospital. We are going to pick up a book of baby names before we leave here, and then we will slowly work our way through it. We will pick a couple of girl and boy names ahead of time. Then when the baby is born, we can decide which one we like best for our child. Okay?”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Because it is.”
“Now, as for the crib, it won’t matter. The baby won’t care as long as they are comfortable.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” I groan, dropping my head to his chest.
“Buttercup, you’re pregnant. Your hormones are raging, so you’re bound to have moments where you aren’t your usual level-headed self.”
“There you go, sweet-talking to me again.”
“I try, now do you want to start looking at things or do you want to leave?”
“Stay. I want to stay.”
“Good, I was hoping you would say that. There’s this stroller-car seat combo I was wanting to show you.”
I chuckle under my breath as he drags me to the other side of the store. I should have seen this coming. Already having baby stuff in mind is completely his MO, and I love it.
“Did you know people name their babies after fruit?”
I wince. “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. I want our child to have a real name.”
Emery sighs. “Thank God. What about Cassian for a boy?”
I look over at Emery, and her nose is buried in the baby book we bought. Looking back at the road, I smile.
When we got to the store and she freaked out, for a split second, I thought I had messed up. In true Emery form, though, she rallied, and since we got into the car, she’s been completely consumed with the book of names.
“It’s not horrible, but it’s definitely not my top choice in names for a son or a daughter, for that matter.”
She hums but keeps reading.
