Out On a Limb(65)

“Are there any names you’ve always liked?” I ask.

Bo tilts his head, appearing deep in thought with his bottom lip pouted. “No, but there are definitely names I don’t like.”

“Oh, same. No exes or school bullies. No cringey television show characters. No shitty coworkers or mean customer service reps.”

“That last one was very specific,” Bo says, pouring two cups of water from the bottle left on the table.

“Brittany from Staples knows what she did.”

“Family names?” he asks. “What was Sarah’s mom’s name? She was special to you, right?”

“Marcie, and yes, she was. But I’d have to be careful there. My mom always felt a bit jealous of how close Marcie and I were. They were best friends, but I think my mom might feel left out if I was to use Marcie as a name.”

“What’s your mom’s name?” Bo asks, then winces. I feel it too, the discomfort of being so involved with someone and not knowing a whole lot about them. “Maybe one of these evenings we should write out a family tree or something.”

“Her name is June.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“It’s my middle name,” I say, glancing around for our waiter. “What’s yours?”

“I have two. Robert Hugo August Durand.”

I go entirely still. “August?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s the month my parents met.”

August.

Yes, my heart sounds. That’s right.

Marcie passed away in August. Sarah made a comment about the baby arriving then to make the month less sad. And my mother and I have a month in our name. So it’s possibly the perfect name. It would honour each of us. Bo, his parents, me, and mine.

“I love August,” I say.

“August,” Bo repeats, pressing his lips together as he nods, a smile overtaking his face. “Did we…” Bo sits straighter, his expression beyond smug. “Did we just name our kid?”

“August,” I whisper to myself, testing it aloud again.

“It should be illegal to be so good at this shit,” Bo says confidently. “August… It feels right, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” I agree, smiling. It can’t be that easy, right?

“There they are!” a familiar, boisterous voice calls from the kitchen door across the restaurant. I immediately look up to find Kevin bouncing over to us.

“Kevin?” I ask Bo, smiling widely as I stand to greet him.

“It’s his place. Get ready to eat everything you can.”

Kevin wraps me in a big bear hug before setting me down. “I’ve heard we’re on a mission for ketchup, my dear.”

“When did you—” I start to ask Bo, but then my stomach rumbles again.

“Actually, I think the baby changed its mind. I just want cheese. All of it.”

“Probably avoid the soft cheeses, though,” Bo says, holding up a finger before using it to scratch his ear. “You know, anything unpasteurised.” I stare at him funny. “It was in the baby book… no soft cheeses.”

Kevin turns to me, eerily calm. “If you want me to, I can have him removed.”

“He’s probably right. He’s much better at pregnancy than I am.”

“Well, all the safe cheeses will be yours. Are we thinking of a cheese board? Cheese on pizza? Cheesy sandwich? Pasta covered in cheese?”

“Oh, definitely pasta.”

“Tomato sauce? That good enough to satisfy the ketchup craving too?”

“Yes!” I sway from side to side. “It’s not too much trouble, right?”

“Not at all,” he says, pulling out my chair. “You two lovebirds talk amongst yourselves. I’ll be back with that and…” Kevin points to Bo.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” Bo answers.

“Got it.”

“He called us lovebirds,” I whisper when Kevin disappears out of view.

“Did he?”

I nod, watching the woman next to us pick up her baby out of the aforementioned stroller and tuck them close to her chest. She bounces while shushing the baby, holding them against her with one hand as she forks her salad with her other.

I try to visualise whether I’ll be able to do such a thing, my hand subconsciously rising to my shoulder.

“You okay?” Bo asks, his voice soft and low.

I shake myself, lowering my hand. “Sorry… I’m fine.”

Bo looks toward the same table, the small baby in the woman’s arms, and back to me. He purses his lips and nods, letting his head hang between us. “I’m worried that our kid will be really into sports, running or soccer or something, and I won’t be able to keep up.”

I detach from my haze and snap back to focus. “What? No. Bo, you’re working on a prosthesis that hardly fits, and you’re still doing great. Soon you’ll have one that works much better, and you’ll be able to run or do whatever you want. Plus, you kick with your right foot, not your left. Even if we come against barriers, we’ll figure it out.”

“I’m worried they’ll be embarrassed, though. That their dad is different.”

“No, they’ll be our kid. They’ll have empathy and kindness and—” I stop myself, noticing Bo’s proud smile.