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There is no discussion allowed until Peggy can’t see her own feet any more. Only then would she begrudgingly entertain ideas.
“Anne? Charlotte?”
She looks up at him over her paperwork. “Are you naming queens of England?”
“Ah!” he slaps the back of the chair he is leaning on, “Elizabeth! Mary? Mmm, not sure about Mary.”
Peggy shakes her head, returning to her paperwork but he will not be dissuaded. “Edward? Richard? Henry?”
“Now we’ve moved on to kings, I see.”
“George? John?” There is a pause, “Wait, are those really all the kings you’ve had?”
“Steven! I have got to finish this paperwork.”
He tuts and putters back into the kitchen where he is ostensibly preparing dinner. After looking back down at her report for a moment, she leans back in her chair and fires off, “James, Charles, technically Phillip, during the reign of Mary the first, Edmund, Harold, Edgar, Canute, of course, and you forgot Victoria.”
He pops his head back out of the kitchen, “Harold?”
“Harold.” she says firmly.
“Well, that’s no kind of name for a kid.”
He disappears again and the sounds of his at times over enthusiastic meal preparation resume. It’s stew night, his specialty, and he’s just given it the final stir when he turns to find Peggy leaning her hip against the sink with her arms crossed, not meeting his eyes.
“Honey, I’m not saying we have to name the kid now, but it seems like a good idea to at least have a list.”
“But what if -” he waits and it is so quiet he can hear the soft tick of the clock in the living room, “I had a list last time.”
He moves over and they stand at the sink for a long time wrapped around each other.
--
He’s already in bed when she turns off the last light and sits down on her side. He’s reading so she snakes her arm through his and drops her head onto his shoulder.
“There was, of all things, a Girl Guide. When we were in Poland, in ‘44 just before the Uprising. I was so impressed with her. She was so gutsy and totally in command of the volunteers she was assigned. She was really something.”
“Sounds like someone I know.”
Peggy curls in closer to him. “I’m just telling you because I thought then that if we ever, I mean we weren’t even a “we” in ‘44...”
“Peg, we were a “we” from the moment I laid eyes on you at Camp Lehigh.”
“Well, I’m just saying that if a list exists, I’d like Ilsa to be on it.”
“Ilsa, I like that. Much better than Harold.”
“Quite.”