Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
HAPPILY EVER DURING
Arden
“Come on, Pearl Sterling?! She sounds like she went down on the Titanic.” Will and I are both laying in bed with notebooks full of names, and in some cases, just random words. “Veto.” I say, as I lean across his chest to the yellow striped spiral pages in his hand, and cross it off the list.
His glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose make him look more like a professor than I think he intended. But it wasn’t a fashion choice as much as an ophthalmological need. One I'm desperately avoiding myself, even though when he leaves them at home I often borrow them to sharpen my own sight, though I tell myself it’s so I don’t burn my retinas from staring at a screen for twelve hours a day. And when they are never in the same spot he leaves them, I just shrug and plead ignorance. Not willing to admit to any more aging that I’ve already had to.
Only women would have the existence where your age is a complete contradiction of ‘you're too old’ and ‘ you’re too young’ at the exact same point in time. I gently rub my hand over the curve of my stomach. Geriatric. There’s no definition of that word that makes it less offensive. Trust me, we looked it up. But of course, up until now, I wouldn't have even been able to run for President of the country, and now, I’m considered a geriatric pregnancy.
“Fine. Pearl is off the list… Your turn, hit me .” Will adjusts his position, the mattress dipping as he flips to a new page in his notebook.
"What about Alexandra? Defender of mankind, that's pretty powerful." I offer.
"Alexandra Sterling sounds like she exclusively wears tennis whites and summers in the Hamptons," he counters.
“As opposed to Newport?”
"See, I’m qualified to make that assessment. Plus, every other girl in boarding school was either Alexandra or Victoria. Hard pass."
He taps his pen against the page thoughtfully.
"Okay, what about something mythology-based? Athena?"
"You want to name our daughter after the goddess who sprung fully formed from her father's forehead? I’ll tell you what, if you have her spring from your forehead, Athena it is.”
“Alright then, no to Athena .” He says as he vigorously scratches it from the list.
"Besides, Athena Sterling sounds like she teaches advanced Latin and has strong opinions about the Oxford comma." I say doubling down on my veto.
Will laughs, his chest vibrating against my shoulder. "As opposed to her mother, who has no strong opinions whatsoever?"
"I have exactly the right amount of opinions, thank you very much. All of them correct." I poke him in the ribs. "What about Matilda, we could call her Tilly."
"Sure, I’ll prepare her dowry of petticoats… veto ."
“Kennedy.”
"Too presidential." I cross it off the list.
"What about... Aurora?"
"Do you want our daughter to spend her entire life hearing 'Oh, like Sleeping Beauty?’ Absolutely not." I shake my head.
Will is quiet for a moment, his fingers run against the flesh on my arm, occasionally drifting to my stomach where our daughter, still nameless , kicks as if joining the debate. His fingers read my skin like scripture, following paths only he knows. The way my fingertips trace his illustrated skin, some pieces he carried before me, their meaning woven into who he was, and others he added in the chapters of us, two words not an illustration at all added near his heart. Fragments of our story etched permanent as stars. While his canvas tells tales to any observer, he finds the invisible art written on mine. Maps of freckles, the silver whispers of some scars, the invisibility of others. Places life has left its marks in ways only he can read, the constellation of beauty marks that led him home.
"You know," he says slowly, "there's one name we haven't considered."
"If you say Pearl again, I swear?—"
"Think about it," Will continues, warming to his own idea. "It's strong without being pretentious. It sounds like someone who could either run Wall Street or dismantle it, depending on her mood… we could call her Banks for short.”
"Your father would have an aneurysm over the implications," I say, but I'm smiling. ‘A Sterling heir named after his financial legacy?’ I tease the idea, but it fits.
"It's you. Your name, your legacy.” He shifts to face me, his expression earnest behind his glasses.
"The weight of a name, I wonder if we're giving her armor or a burden."
I think about my own name, how it shaped me and challenged me and gave me something to live up to. How Will’s name opened every door for him, even the ones he never wanted.
“You don’t think it’s arrogant?”
“How many men name their sons after themselves, juniors or thirds, or hell, we’ve all heard of Henry VIII.”
“Is that really the example you want to go with?” I lean back against him and write on my notepad the future permutations of her pen.
Bancroft Sterling. Banks Sterling. Banks. BS. B. Croft. Sterling. Banny. Banksy.
"Banks Sterling. God help the world." The name takes shape like a prophecy in the dim light.
"God help us ," Will corrects with a laugh that rumbles through his chest and into mine, pulling me closer as if preparing for the beautiful chaos we've just named into being.