There was one thing I never understood about hospitals; there were signs everywhere indicating that it was an unscented environment, and yet I could smell something. It was a strange disinfectant sort of odor that made my sense of smell want to shrivel up and die. I sighed as I lay in my hospital bed during what would probably be a small respite between labor pains. I had so much respect for my mother at the moment. “I’m dying,” I told Adrian as he walked in from his trip to the bathroom.

He looked as effortlessly flawless as usual. His grey, sleeveless shirt showed off his impressive biceps and his abs really well. I still wasn’t convinced that Adrian owned any clothing that wasn’t skin-tight. “If you die in childbirth, I’ll kill you,” he said. “Did you know the United States has the highest rate of deaths in childbirth of any modern nation?”

I laughed. “I hadn’t really planned on dying,” I said. “I promise I’ll do my best.”

Adrian pulled a seat up beside the bed and held my hand. “That wasn’t really something I should’ve said, was it?” Adrian asked.

“Not really. You aren’t nervous, are you?”

“No. I just promised Angelica she’d get to have a little brother or sister. You have to come through for her, Lancelot.”

I smiled mischievously. I’d insisted upon not knowing the baby’s sex until he or she was born. I wanted the surprise. This had led to no small amount of complaining from Adrian’s family who’d been unsure what colors to buy for anything. Most of them had settled on mint green for presents.

“But if I do die, you have to go with a sensible name for the baby,” I said. “I will rise from the grave and haunt you if you dare name our child something terrible. Like…Geoffrey Beauregard Lafayette. Or ESPN.”

“I’d name him after you, Lancelot.”

I wrinkled my nose. And let our child be bullied all through high school? No way. “If you’re going to do King Arthur, at least, do Arthur. If it’s a boy. Guinevere if it isn’t. We could call her Gwen.”

“Guinevere Elizabeth,” Adrian muttered. “Lafayette-Wilcox.”

We probably needed to have a talk about the last name. Although Guinevere Elizabeth sounded very regal and lovely, Lafayette-Wilcox sounded atrocious. “Of course. That’s beautiful,” I lied.

I winced as a stab of pain burst through my abdomen. I swore and waved vaguely. “Whoever they are, I think they’re ready to come out,” I said. “You missed it. The doctor said it’s going to have to be a C-section.”

Adrian squeezed my hand tightly. “You’re going to be fine, Lance.”

The doctor returned, and I nodded. “Yeah, I know,” I replied.

This was terrifying. I thought I might throw up.

“Don’t take videos, please,” I teased in a vain attempt to calm my nerves. “Especially if for some reason they have to put me under. Who knows what I’d say when I’m coming out of the anesthesia?”

“Guinevere Elizabeth or Lancelot Geoffrey Beauregard,” Adrian joked.

I laughed. “Fine,” I said. “If that’s really want you want. Doom our beloved child to a lifetime of mockery. I’ll spend the rest of my afterlife nagging you about your decision. You think I’m joking, but I’m not.”

“You had a perfectly normal name and still got subjected to it, Lancelot,” Adrian replied gleefully.

“You monster.”

Adrian shrugged. “I’ve been called worse, dear. Feel free to hold my hand while you’re giving birth if you want.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be conscious enough for that,” I said, “But if I am, I promise I will.”

Adrian kissed my knuckles. He’d been very gentle in the past couple of weeks. “Guinevere Elizabeth is fine,” I said, “But I beg of you, do not stick our poor child with the name Lancelot.”

I was too tired to move, but I still managed it when the doctor handed me my baby, all cleaned up and wrapped in a pink towel. Guinevere Elizabeth came into the world screaming. She hadn’t looked quite like I’d expected a baby to look. I’d imagined something soft and peaceful-looking with, maybe, a fluff of hair on top of her head. In contrast, she was bright red, practically fluorescent, and crumpled.

Angelica, still in her prep school uniform, hopped to the side of the bed and wrinkled her nose. “She looks like an alien, Lance,” she said, with all the tact one would expect from an eleven-year-old child.

“All children do when they’re first born,” I replied.

At least, that’s what the nurse had said. I had no idea if that was really true or not.

“Really?” Angelica asked. “Even you?”

“Even me.”

“I was the exception to the rule,” Adrian said, stepping in. “I told you not to run ahead, Angelica.”

Angelica stuck her tongue out at him.

“You didn’t ruin it, did you?” Adrian asked.

“Ruin what?” I asked.

“The…moment,” Adrian said.

“Yeah, that,” Angelica replied. “Did dad really come out looking better?”

“Yes,” I said, “Adrian was born looking like a supermodel. Alas, it is true.”

Adrian planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “She’s beautiful,” he said.

“Not really,” Angelica argued.

“It’s a different sort of beautiful,” Adrian replied. “It’s different when it’s your kid, Angelica.”

I smiled and nodded. “She’ll be a cute baby very soon,” I said, “And you’ll have a little sister. Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah,” Angelica said. “I think so! I’m going to teach her everything I know.”

“That’s the spirit,” Adrian said.

“Do you want to hold her, Adrian?” I asked.

Adrian shook his head. “I can’t hold the ring if I’m holding her.”

My jaw dropped. “Ring? You aren’t joking?” I asked.

Adrian drew out the black, velvet ring box. Angelica clapped her hands together. “Why would I joke?” Adrian asked.

He opened the box to reveal a gleaming white-gold band with a row of white and blue gemstones, their facets sparkling brightly beneath the hospital lights. My throat was dry. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “You really mean it?” I whispered.

“I do, so say ‘yes.’ I know you want to,” Adrian replied. “I love you, and you love me. If we’re going to raise kids together, we should at least be married. What would you say about being my husband?”

I bit my lip and looked from his face to Angelica’s. He looked expectant and confident, so certain that I would agree. Angelica looked like she was on the edge of her seat, uncertain but expectant all the same. “I’d say yes.”

END.