“Morning, sunshine.”
A sleepy wave, a yawn. “Morning.”
“Coffee should still be hot. I just made it a half hour ago.”
“Awesome.”
A stretch of almost-silence while coffee is poured and cereal is slurped. A moment later he is joined on the couch; a second pair of feet in polka-dotted socks land next to his bare ones on the coffee table.
“I hate this show.”
“I know.”
“Our kids are never watching this.”
“Mmkay.”
A moment passes. He laughs at the antics of the animated starfish. She rolls her eyes; sips her coffee.
“Seriously, never.”
“You got it.”
----
Moonlight and Late Night illuminate his bedroom.
“James Jr.?”
“No.”
A kiss.
“Thomas.”
“Nuh-uh.”
Another kiss.
“Brady?”
He gives her a stern look. “Never.”
Back to business. A gasp, then:
“How about Ryan?”
From somewhere near her shoulder: “Ha ha.”
A quiet stretch. “No ideas from you?”
“The Force.”
“You’d name our son ‘The Force?’”
“Absolutely.”
A hand disappears under the sheet.
No argument is presented.
----
“Can it really hurt that bad?”
The shrimp falls from her chopsticks, hitting the noodles with a plop.
“No, I mean, I’ve heard about squeezing a watermelon out of your nostril or whatever, but I mean honestly?”
The shrimp remains ignored.
“Wouldn’t women just quit having babies if it hurt that bad? It all seems a little…exaggerated, you know?”
He is certain she can barely see him through such narrowed eyes.
“You’re aware I can ban you from the birthing room, right?”
A pause.
“I was not.”
“Fact: I can.”
Another pause.
“I was totally kidding.”
“That’s what I thought.”
----
The shelves around them are filled with baffling technicolor options.
“I have a question.”
She studies a box, scoffs at the price tag. “Yeah?”
“When did Legos and Play-Doh stop being enough for kids?”
A shrug. “I was always happiest with markers and some paper.”
He reads in a monotone from another package: “’Guaranteed to stimulate your young one’s imagination, encourage dexterity and enhance social skills.’”
A long look is exchanged.
“How did we manage without these toys, Beesly?”
“I have no idea. But our kids will too.”
“And if they ask for anything that ‘stimulates creativity,’ I say we send them out in the yard and find creative uses for sticks.”
A laugh. “Agreed.”
----
The house is quiet. She stands in the doorway of the empty room. Closes her eyes.
She can see riotous flowers painted in bold strokes. Cartoonish animals frolicking through them. Bright curtains, pulled back to allow sunshine in. A crib in one corner, a changing table next to it. Books about green eggs and curious kittens and saying goodnight packed into a bookshelf. He is in a rocker, humming to the bundle in his arms.
Warm arms encircle her from behind. She opens her eyes.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
She leans into him. “Decorating.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is the closest I will ever get to writing about Jim and Pam having little ones. Ever. And that's for the best - honestly, there are people far more qualified than I to handle that topic. But I offer you this, and do hope you enjoy - and not hypothetically.
