Tasty Mango by JJ Knight
Havannah
It’s time to name this baby.
They’ve brought back the drill sergeant nurse because I haven’t been cooperating. My parents exchange a nervous glance as she smacks a form on my over-the-bed tray.
“No name, no going home,” she says. “And your insurance stops paying for you in precisely one hour.”
The baby stirs against my chest. “Shh,” I tell the woman. She doesn’t scare me, not after what I’ve already been through. “You’ll wake him.”
But the woman doesn’t budge. “I’m not moving until you put a name on that form.”
I look over to my father for help. Normally he would take on Godzilla for me, but he shrugs. “The baby needs a name.”
Mom is no use, busying herself by packing all the flowers and gifts I’ve managed to accumulate since I got here two days ago.
I turn to my sister. “Mags?”
“Havannah, we have a great list. Let’s go over it one more time.” She pulls up a chair and cracks open the baby name book. “Aaron.”
“He’ll think he has to play baseball.”
Magnolia rolls her eyes but keeps going. “Bernard.”
“Bookworm. What if he’s more like me than you?”
A sigh this time. “Constantine.”
“I liked that one before?”
“You thought it sounded classic.”
“They’ll call him con-man!”
“She’s not wrong,” Dad says.
I glide my fingers across the baby’s cheek. To be honest, I thought seeing him would make his name obvious.
But nope. The only thing that pops into my head when I look at him is perfect love. Can’t name him that.
“Dennis,” Magnolia says.
“The menace?” What was I thinking?
“Fergus.”
“I was smoking something. Give me that book. You’re making stuff up now.”
Magnolia passes it over. I shift the baby into the crook of my elbow as I flip through it. Actually, I did highlight those names.
Gary. Hastings. Jericho. Liam.
Okay, those are better.
“Liam,” I say to the baby. His face scrunches. “Okay, maybe not.”
Magnolia’s exasperated. “You’re letting the baby judge?”
“It’s the cosmic energy!” I say.
“The baby’s more decisive than she is,” Dad says.
The nurse nods. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“Here, take him.” I hold the baby out to Magnolia. She clucks over him as I go through the book. “How permanent is this choice today?”
“You can change it,” the nurse says.
I sigh. “Great.”
“In court,” she adds.
“Oh.”
Back to the book. Morty. Paul. Ranier.
“Say Ranier to him,” I tell Mags.
She takes in a long breath, like she’s trying to stay patient. But she whispers, “Ranier,” next to his ear.
He doesn’t move.
Hmm.
Stefan. Xander. Zeke.
Crap, I’m at the end.
I lean back against the pillows. “Why is this so hard?”
“It’s a big decision,” Mom says.
“Right! So why am I being pushed?”
“Hospital rule,” the nurse says. “It’s for the social security forms.”
“Maybe we can be rebels,” I say.
“You already are,” the nurse says.
Mom pops her head up. “That was my father’s middle name.”
Dad snorts. “He was definitely a rebel.”
Mom punches his arm. “No, I mean for real. His name was Gustave Rebel.”
“Rebel. Rebel.” I hold my arms out for the baby. “Let me have him back.”
I pull up my feet to make a ramp with my thighs and lay the baby there, jiggling him until his slate-blue eyes open.
“What do you think of Rebel, little man?”
He gives a big yawn, then thrusts out a tiny fist.
“It’s a yes!” I say.
The whole room whoops.
“She did it!” Mom says, hugging my father. “And for Dad. It’s perfect.”
Magnolia nods. “It’s a good choice. And undoubtedly, it’s going to be true as heck.”
“Give me that form,” I say, passing the baby to Mom. I pull the page to me. “Uh oh.”
Everyone looks to me. “What?” Dad asks.
“He needs a middle name, too.”
* * *
When I bring Rebel Zachariah through the door of the two-bedroom apartment I share with my sister, I have to stop three steps in. The living room is an explosion of balloons, gifts, and unopened boxes.
“Where did all this come from?” Mom asks.
“It’s been coming in for a while,” I say. “Looks like the landlord stuffed more in while we were gone.”
Magnolia scoots aside three boxes of diapers so we can walk through. Dad stacks containers of baby wipes and three unopened packages on the floor so he can plunk down on the sofa.
Mom sets Donovan’s flowers on the coffee table. “You’re going to need more room!”
I shimmy between the armchair and the TV, the bucket car seat heavy in my arms. When Rebel is safely in the corner, still snoozing, I plop onto the floor beside him. “We’ll get it all put away. It’s fine. I’m not expecting a magazine shoot in here.”
Dang, I’m tired. With all the noises, beeps, and nurse checks during the nights in the hospital, I haven’t slept more than six hours total since my date with Donovan. I lean my head against the wall. Sleep when the baby sleeps, more than one nurse told me. I could use a nap.
“I’m going to unpack the kitchen things, bottles, pump parts, brushes, and all that,” Magnolia says.
I give her a weak thumbs-up.
“Havannah, why don’t you go rest?” Mom says. “We’ll bring you Rebel if he wakes up hungry. John Paul, you start rearranging the boxes so we have some semblance of a walkway in here.”
Dad lumbers up from the sofa. For a moment, I’m too tired to even stand. I contemplate crawling to my bed, but Mom leans down and extends a hand. “Come on, baby girl.”
I stumble to the bedroom. Abandoned dresses are strewn across my bed from my indecisiveness before going out with Donovan. I shove them aside and collapse on the rumpled sheets.
I swear only seconds have passed when a cry startles me awake. Mom stands in the doorway. “I’ve got him,” she says. “Magnolia assembled the pump so that after this feeding, you can express some, and next time you can sleep a little more.”
She sits next to me on the bed. Rebel squirms in her arms, his mouth opening and closing like a bird’s.
I scoot back so I’m sitting up against the wicker headboard. That’s uncomfortable, so I pile the pillows behind me. “Pass him over.”
Mom hands me the baby and glances around. “Would you like me to pick up in here?” She lifts one of the discarded dresses to reveal a red lace bra and matching thong. She sets the dress down again as if she hasn’t seen.
I don’t feel a lick of mortification that she saw my sexy undergarments when I just had a baby. That’s who I am.
I shift Rebel and squeeze my boob in hopes he’ll latch easily. Sometimes he does, and other times, it’s a struggle.
After some tussling, he’s on, and I let out a sigh. Mom waits at the end of the bed. When I look up, she says, “So, you want to tell me about Donovan? We didn’t expect to see him at the birth.”
“He’s not the father,” I say quickly.
“We assumed.” She folds her hands carefully in her lap. The room is dim, the filtered light from the window outlining her mop of light curls. Neither Magnolia nor I got the texture of her hair, only the color. “It appeared as though you two only met when he and Dell came down for the mentoring meetings.”
“We did. That’s it.”
“We noticed he was smitten. Everybody did.”
I stare down at Rebel. He’s already fallen asleep. I shift him, and he resumes sucking. “Me too. But I ended up in the hospital on ribbon-cutting day.”
“That’s right. And he left town. He came back to see you?”
Wow, this is the nosiest she’s been in years. Does the baby mean she feels like she needs to know everything about my life?
“He wanted to go on a date. I thought I had time. Then my water just…broke.”
She glances back at the dress that covers the lacy underwear. “When your waters ruptured, were you…”
“What? No! We were at a restaurant. I had been leaking a bit, but thought maybe it was pee.”
Oh, why am I telling this story?
She waits for me to keep talking. Ugh. Fine.
“It all gushed out after a sneeze. The waiters dropped napkins at my feet.” I’m hoping that detail convinces her I was not banging Donovan when my water broke.
Her eyes meet mine for a moment. “Are you going to continue to see Donovan?” Her gaze drops to the baby’s head. “Even now?”
“I have no idea.” I don’t even know why Donovan was willing to ask out a massively pregnant woman. A sloppy, milk-dribbling new mother is even less appealing.
“Maybe he has a pregnancy fetish.”
“Mom!”
She shrugs. “It’s a thing.”
“Mom!”
She stands up, picks up the dress again, and this time hangs it in the closet. Then another and another. She opens a few drawers, locates the underwear, and tucks the lacy ones inside. “I assume they were clean.”
“Yes.” This is the absolute worst. It was bad enough I was hanging out for all the world to see in labor and delivery. But this is too, too much.
“Can you send Magnolia in?” I ask her. “I can talk with her about where to put all the new stuff.”
She hesitates, clearly knowing I’ve found a tactful way to kick her out. “Sure. Your dad is arranging boxes and assembling a swing that came in. You sure you don’t want to live with us for a while? We have more room.”
“I’m sure. We’ll come over a few nights a week, especially if I feel Magnolia needs a break from us.”
She nods. “All right, then.”
When she’s finally gone, my head falls back against the headboard. That was mortifying. But with Rebel here, there’s probably plenty more prying to come. A single mom with no father in sight is always going to be the source of speculation.
It’s probably best if I leave Donovan alone.
I gave it a shot.
My priorities have to change.