Clearer (J.HALE)

23

"Kevin?"

"No."

"Martin?"

"No."

"George?"

I hesitated. "Maybe. Put it on the list."

"And, if it's a girl?" Paul asked, scribbling it down on a piece of paper.

"I like Maisie," I replied. "A lot of Clarke women have names that start with 'M'."

"You don't."

"My dad named me," I said. "He lives in the Bahamas, now. Sends me a postcard on my birthday."

Paul nodded, obviously not wanting to unpack that one.

He was laying on the living room floor, holding the list against the leg of the coffee table and writing at an odd angle, causing the script to be tilted and messy. I was stretched out on the couch beside him, balancing a pile of cushions on my belly and seeing how many I could stack before they toppled over.

"Beth?"

"No."

"Lily?"

"Overused."

"Claire?"

"Knew a girl called Claire in high school. Hard pass."

"Phoebe."

"Yes. On the list."

The last couple of weeks had been consumed with baby preparation. Meg had given up her tiny, box-like office opposite my bedroom for the nursery, and Jake had painted it for us—a gentle sea-green with white skirting boards. The three of us had eventually worked out how to assemble a crib to a non-collapsible standard, and Jared, Quil and Embry had donated some of their old stuffed animals from when they were kids. We'd bought diapers, blankets, clothing, wipes, talcum powder, bubble bath, bottles, pacifiers, burping cloths, tiny pairs of shoes... There was barely any room to move. I'd given Meg the remainder of the money I'd saved in Meridian, but that barely covered half. I promised her that I would pay her back once I was able to work again.

I'd finally have to give in to the maternity pants. Alice had swooped in and dumped a bag of maternity clothes on our doorstep, far more stylish than necessary. It was nice to walk around in something other than a long jumper and socks, admittedly. The skin of my stomach didn't even really look like skin, anymore. It was like plastic film, stretched and thin, and was several different colours at the same time in patches. But the maternity pants were soft and elastic, a relief to say the least.

"Toby?"

"Boy or girl?" I asked.

"Either I guess."

"Cute. Add it."

Paul sat up and turned to look at me, his expression serious. "Are you going to be okay?"

I recoiled in surprise. "Complicated question."

"I mean, when the baby comes. Doing it by yourself."

I'd been avoiding thinking about it. "I won't be doing it by myself. I'll have Aunt Meg."

"Yeah, I know, but..." He trailed off. "I just mean, I've spoken to the boys, and we all want to help if we can."