Page 98 of The Fake Play

“Reese Smith? Too many s’s. Sounds like re-Smith.”

I hear it, too, now that he said it out loud.

A staffer peeks her head in. “I’ve got breakfast for Mom and Dad. Is that okay?”

“Yes, please,” I respond, happy to see her and the trays on her cart.

She sets them up for us, and Luke asks, “They won’t let us leave with an unnamed baby, right?”

She chuckles. “The baby is yours, named or not.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

She continues. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I’ve never seen them not allow a couple to leave the hospital because they hadn’t named their baby yet. It’s for the birth certificate filing.”

“That’s good to know,” Luke says. “But since you’re an expert in the matter, what boy names do you like?”

“Oh, gosh. Well, I’ve always liked Oscar, but no one else seems to when I bring it up.”

Luke mischievously smiles down at me. “He is a bit of a grouch, especially when he’s hungry.”

I laugh. “He is. And considering your family’s occupation, it only seems right that you get an Oscar, too.”

He bends down, smiling at our son. “What do you think, little man? Are you an Oscar?”

Our son scrunches his eyes before opening them to look at his father. Then wails.

“I think that’s his version of yes,” Luke says.

“Oscar Smith, it is,” I confirm.

The staffer gasps. “Really?”

“Yes. Say hello to Oscar.”

“Hi, Baby Oscar. It’s so nice to meet you,” she says, beaming at him.

We ask her for her name, and after she leaves, Luke suggests doing something nice for her. “We should buy her a car.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I think that might be overdoing it. And besides, I’m sure she already has one.”

“Fine, I’ll figure out something.”

With Luke’s hand resting on mine, I know we have everything we need.

Our love, our Oscar, and each other.

Forever.

THE END