Work Text:
“Aye.”
You look up from your computer, eyeing the man in front of you, who was grinning as wide as a Cheshire cat. He was looking excited, shuffling his feet side to side. The dreads that hung over his head swayed to the rhythm, looking almost as lively as he was. The man, who you affectionally knew as your husband Erik, holds a paper in his hand. It was already looking wrinkled, but Erik continued to grip it more, making it look like something he got last minute to write on. You set your computer on the wooden coffee table in front of you, placing a hand on your round belly. Sternly gazing at your husband, you tilt your head, trying to hide your amusement.
“You got better names now?”
Erik holds up a finger, grinning even wider – if that was even possible. This was the fifth time he was coming up to present a list of baby names to approve. As you were growing heavily pregnant, baby names were all Erik could think about. You had no problem with it – seeing Erik getting excited about a new member of the house was better than watching Love and Hip Hop on TV. However, the number of times Erik had to come up with names is where the problem lies. It wasn’t the names you had issues with. It was more of how Erik presented them.
Like now.
“Okay, check this out,” he says. His finger was at a standstill in the air as he starts to read something on his paper. “How ‘bout Kobe, if it is a boy?”
This wasn’t the first basketball-related name he suggested.
There was James (“James Harden? C’mon man, that’s the man.”).
Shaq (“Name him Shaq, and all the kids will be scared. Watch.”).
And…Lonzo (“Listen, I’m not too hot on this name. But he’ll survive.”).
For the record, you were extremely against the last name suggested. You were extremely relieved when he dropped it after you shot him with the most deadly stare (“Alright, alright ma. Damn. I was just playing.”)
But for once, Kobe didn’t sound like a bad name.
You shrug. “Alright, I’m digging Kobe. Why Kobe though?”
“Because I shot a 3-pointer in that pussy.”
Silence stretched in the house as you stared at your husband, your lips stretched to a straight line.
That, right there, is where your problem lies.
Don’t get it wrong though, it was funny – hilarious even. There were times you wanted to laugh so badly. But you knew if you encouraged this foolishness, Erik would continue and your baby would not have a suitable name (without terrible reasoning behind it).
“No.” you sigh. “Try again.”
“You don’t like that one?” Erik asks, rolling his eyes. “’Ight. How about LeBron? I mean, we are making a king up in this bitch. It’s only fitting.”
“Do you smoke 2K on a daily, or…? Think of something outside of basketball.”
“Fine,” Erik huffs, looking down at his list. “How about Rhianna if it is a girl? I mean, I did sing one of her songs.” He grins at you. “Remember when I fucked you that one time? And Wild Thoughts was playing? And I was like, ‘I don’t know if you can take it?’”
“Man, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You ask, trying to hide your laughter. “Why are you butchering these names like this? You play too much.”
“In my opinion, I see nothing wrong. I keep it 100, remember?” He replies.
“Too honest,” you snort, shaking your head. “Knowing you, you are literally gonna tell our kid all this shit. I don’t want it to know all that. Especially the Kobe and Rhianna one.”
Erik laughs. “Alright. Look. Last one. You ready?”
You throw your hands up. “I’m all ears.”
“How about Rick Ross? You know…something a lil light.”
“What?” you stuttered. “Rick Ross? The baby’s name would just be Rick Ross? What?”
“I mean,” Erik says. “I did eat you up like a plate of lemon pepper wings.”
“Oh, my God.”