Arrow Rock Literary Journal

“What about Spencer?”

“No.”

“Okay. How about Ethan?”

“How about no?”

“Um, John?”

“Even you don’t want to name him John.”

I take a deep breath. We’ve been at this for several minutes now and she hasn’t even
taken her eyes off her book. She grabs her glass of lemonade and takes a slow drink from it, all
while she gently rocks her chair.

“Anabelle, please take this more seriously,” I ask.

“I am,” she says, eyes still glued to her novel. “Your suggestions have all been bad.”

“But you haven’t even explained why you don’t like my suggestions!” I exclaim.

“Why do you need me to waste our time explaining why naming our baby Spencer or
John would make me hate you forever?” she asks.

“I’m simply asking that you help me understand why you’re turning down all of my
suggestions,” I say.

She finally looks up from her novel. Her lips twist into a small smile. “Okay, seeing you
care this much is cute, I’ll humor you.” She closes her book and places it on the stand next to her
beverage. “I was at a good stopping point anyway.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. I think of some of my best ideas, my wife patiently
waiting for my pitches.

“Albert.”

“I don’t like Albert,” she says, shaking her head. “Sure, he would sound like he’s smart,
but he would also sound like he’s a pompous douche bag who’d hate women.”

“…That was weirdly specific,” I say, eyes narrowed.

“You asked for an explanation, sweetie,” she says.

“Wait, didn’t you have an ex named Al-”

“Next name, honey.”

“Nathan.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she says, hand on her chin. “I feel like he’d always be called
‘Nate’, which I hate.”

“Drat, I thought for sure you’d go for Nathan”,” I say.

“Then why didn’t you start with that?” she asks.

“I…don’t know actually,” I confess. “Well, what do you think about Justin?”

“I had a childhood friend named Justin,” she reminisces. “He kissed me once. It was
awkward. I don’t want to think about that every time I say my son’s name.”

“Why am I learning about this now?” I ask.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Ed.”

“Hey, that’s it!” I say, snapping my fingers.

“What?”

“Ed!” I shout. “He can be named after me!”

“…Are you serious?” she says, eyebrows raised. “You want to name our baby after you?
You want me to keep track of two Eds?”

“Well, we can call him ‘Junior’,” I say. “C’mon, Ana, who can say no to two Eds?”

“I can,” she replies. “That’s your worst suggestion yet.”

“This is going nowhere,” I growl, my hands raking through my hair. “Okay, how about
you suggest some baby names?”

“Gladly,” she says. She settles in her chair, hands in her lap. “Cassius.”

“Cassius, eh?” I say. My eyes glance over to the book she was reading. “It sounds like a
strong name.”

“I agree,” she says. “That’s why I suggested it.”

“Hmm, it feels masculine,” I continue. “It sounds tough and sweaty and sexy.”

“O-okay,” she says, her expression awkward.

“But would it be easy to keep track of two of them?” I ask.

“W-what are you saying?” she says, eyes darting around.

“Anabelle?”

“Hmm?”

“Is ‘Cassius’ the name of that jacked man on the front of that book you’ve been reading?”
She won’t meet my eyes. “His name is Cassian.”

“Good lord,” I say, face-palming.

“Okay, okay,” she says, waving her arms like she was trying to clear off a non-existent
table. “How about Ryan?”

“Eh, that sounds like a punk’s name,” I say.

“I take it you knew a jerk in school named Ryan?”

“Several, actually. I remember this one time in seventh grade wh-”

“Forget Ryan,” she interrupts. “Hm, alright. How about Milton?”

“If we name him Milton, he’ll be born with dentures and liver spots.”

“Well, would you consider Alaric?” she asks.

“Only if he plans to sack Rome,” I say.

“Lucius?”

“That’s a villain’s name if I ever heard one,” I respond.

“I kinda like Gilbert,” she says.

“If my son is bullied, it will be because he’s a loser, not because I named him like one.”

“Edward!” she shouts, her hand going to her stomach.

“Sorry, too far,” I say, holding up my hands.

“This is going nowhere,” she says, hands in her face. “Maybe we should approach this
differently. Let’s say some names we both hate, that way we know what we shouldn’t consider.”

“Okay,” I nod. “I know we both hate Dylan.”

“Yep.”

“We both hate Alan.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I never liked Drake.”

“Agreed.”

“Trevor.”

“Ugh.”

“Travis.”

“More ugh.”

“Trip.”

“You’re getting me riled up here, Ed.”

“Pretty sure you said something about Marcus.”

“OH, don’t get me started on Marcus!”

“I get it,” I say. “I get twitchy every time I think about the name Brock. Ugh, hate that
name.”

“…I kinda like Brock,” she whispers.

“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” I say. “At this point, we’ll just end up calling him
‘Baby’ his whole life. Not a suggestion, by the way.”

She snorts, taking another sip of lemonade. Then she ponders for a moment. “Theodore.”

“What?” I ask.

“How about Theodore?” she says.

“Theodore?” I say, testing the name out for myself. “Theodore. I like it. It’s good.”

“It was my grandfather’s name,” she says. “When he’s young and cute, we can call him
“‘Theo’ for short.”

“Theo!” I exclaim. “I love that! I think this is the one, honey!”

She giggles and stands up to embrace me. I hug her back, feeling her baby bump. It felt
good to hug as a family.

“…I can’t believe you wanted to call him ‘Junior’.”

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Andrew Rashleigh is an undergraduate student at Lindenwood University who is majoring in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing. He is currently the president of Lindenwood’s Creative Writing Club. His favorite genre to write is fantasy, but he also enjoys writing nonfiction, realistic fiction, and humorous works as well. When not writing, he enjoys reading, playing video games, and watching television, always assessing what makes them good and wondering how he can apply those good traits to his own writing.