Page 146 of The Trouble with Flings

“I’m so excited to hear the suggestions,” Margot says.

“Me too,” I admit. “We’ve been talking about names for weeks and have yet to find one we both like.”

“My suggestion will be the best,” Wells says.

“Fitz isn’t going to name his child Wells Junior,” his father says, and everyone laughs.

Fitz squeezes my hand and says, “Go for it, sweet thing.”

My pulse quickens as I pull out a piece of paper and read the name. “Baby McBabyface?”

Laughter erupts around us.

Fitz unfolds a piece of paper and laughs before he even reads it aloud. “Optimus Prime Stone-Silver.”

More laughter rings out.

“You laugh, but it’s the perfect name,” Wells calls out. “It reeks of strong leadership qualities.”

“I wouldn’t trust you to name our pet,” Fitz says, earning more laughs.

I open another and read, “Seraphina,” and a collective “Aw” rings out.

“That’s a beautiful name,” Shelley says.

“It is.” Fitz unfolds another one and says, “Fabio,” causing more of an uproar.

“You know that baby’s going to have hair like Jen’s and be prettier than Fitz!” Grant shouts.

Everyone loses it again.

As we read off names—Princess Dragonfly, Tax Deduction, Oops, Duchess, Jude, Stinky Butt, Megatron, Evelyn, Samuel, Beach Baby, Bartholomew, Marin, Thunder Nugget, Lucy, Cockblocker, Cap’n Crunch—and dozens more, laughter, jokes, and the occasional plea for a favorite name fill the air.

By the time Fitz pulls out the last blue paper and reads, “Whatever Jennifer wants,” my cheeks hurt from laughing so hard.

“Don’t wish that on our baby!” I say through my laughter. “Our child will go through life being called the Baby or Little Bean.”

That just incites more good-natured teasing, and the guys try to one-up each other with ridiculousness.

We’re shuffled off to the other side of the yard, where four ancient toy strollers with baby dolls wearing diapers and bibs with dragonflies on them are lined up. A few feet away is a chair with blue balloons tied to the back, and opposite it, about thirty feet away, is another chair, with pink balloons tied to it.

“Split up into four teams,” Keira directs. “Two teams of boys and two teams of girls.”

“Let’s go!” Thane shouts, and tears across the grass.

Joey scoops up Toni, sprinting after him, and Hadley runs toward Daphne, yelling, “Daddy Dock! Get the boys!”

As our parents step out of their path, Bellamy says, “Oh no, you don’t! You guys are playing, too. Mom and Dad and Jen’s parents are responsible for bringing these baby makers into the world!”

Roddy barks out a laugh and reaches for Gail’s hand. “Better you than us!”

Steve claps Alexander on the back. “Get your ass in there, old man.”

“You, too, Dad!” Jules says. “Let’s go, Mom, Grandma Lenore, you, too! We’re all playing!”

Everyone cheers as the parents walk over, each couple holding hands like there’s nothing they’d rather do.

Lenore makes a show of sauntering toward the group and says, “Prepare to lose, boys!”