Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t torture at all, it was very cool. I want to bring my nieces and nephews here next time they visit. And my favorite thing was Sue the T. rex, of course,” Joe said. “I can’t believe they found that thing in South Dakota.”
“I know.” I picked up a kids’ book about the paleontologist who discovered the bones and thumbed through it. “Oh, look how cute this is.” I showed Joe one of the illustrated pages. “The scientist who found the skeleton was a woman named Sue, so they named it after her. And this book talks about how when she was little, she was always hunting for treasures in her backyard.”
He nudged me with his arm. “Sounds like someone else I know.”
I laughed. “Exactly.”
“We should get the book for the artichoke.”
I looked up at him in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah. And maybe one of these things.” He picked up a pair of newborn footie pajamas with little dinosaurs all over them. Then he draped it on my stomach. “Will they fit?”
I couldn’t speak right away. I almost felt like turning away from him so I could burst into tears. But at the same time, I wanted to throw my arms around him. “Not yet,” I said with a smile. “But they will when he’s born.”
“Let’s get them.” He looked around for the cashier. “You can read him the story at bedtime and tell him about the day we were here.”
I put a hand on his arm. “You can read it to him too, Joe.”
“Right. Yeah.” He looked down at the sleeper in his hands. “I just won’t be there at bedtime as often as you will.”
I had to swallow back sobs as I followed him to the cashier, where he purchased the book and the pajamas. I imagined reading the story to our son one day, and my heart filled with love and longing for a little dark-haired boy with pudgy cheeks and sweet-smelling skin and wide, curious eyes. And it ached for his father who’d miss out on everyday things like bedtime stories and babbling and those first wobbly steps.
“Maybe we should talk about names,” I said to Joe as we made our way outside.
“Can we do it over dinner? I’m starved.”
“Sure. I’m hungry too.”
“Restaurant or takeout?”
“I’m good with either one,” I said, buttoning up my coat against the wind. “But will you be recognized at a restaurant?”
He tipped his head this way and that. “Depends. But I know a little place where the manager will give me a table with some privacy if it’s available. Do you like steak?”
“Yes.”
He took my arm. “Okay, let’s try it. Careful on the steps.”
“Helmer?” I made a face at Joe from across the table. We were trying out different baby names by working our way through the alphabet, each of us suggesting one name per letter.
“Yeah, it’s Swedish.” He took a bite of his New York strip. “I’ve got a buddy named Helmer. A defenseman. He’s badass.”
“How about something classic like Henry?”
“Too boring. Our kid needs a cool name. Something different.”
“Let’s move on,” I said, because I was not about to name my baby Helmer. “Letter I.”
“Ivan. That’s a good hockey name too.”
Laughing, I reached for my water glass. “What if he’s not a hockey player?”
“Of course he’ll be a hockey player,” Joe scoffed. “What else would he be?”
“Anything. He might be a chef like your dad. Or have his own home improvement business, like my dad. Or be an actor or a teacher or an astronaut.”
Joe’s eyes lit up. “An astronaut is badass too. Commander Ivan Lupo.”
“Commander Jeremy Lupo?”
“Commander Jaxon Lupo.” He pointed a potato wedge at me. “With an X.”
“Maybe it should be an Italian name,” I suggested. “Lupo is Italian, right?”
“Yeah. It means wolf. But that’s the only Italian word I know, except for the names of foods.” He paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “Hey, we didn’t even talk about this, but is Lupo the last name you want the baby to have?”
I nodded, pressing my napkin to my mouth. “I’ve thought about it, and I think he should have your last name.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I looked down at the napkin in my lap, twisting it around my fingers. “I mean, someday I hope to get married, and I’ll take my husband’s last name. Any kids I have then will have that last name too. So it doesn’t make much sense to give our baby Buckley as a last name.”
“You don’t have to take his name,” Joe said, an unmistakably defensive note in his voice, as if my future husband was being unreasonable about it.
“I know,” I said gently. “But I hope I’ll want to.”
Joe was silent for a minute, his brow furrowed as he sliced his steak but didn’t take another bite.
“What are some Italian names in your family?” I asked.