STR2D3PO: LOL, when you put it like that...
GrandVick: I do have a couple of horror stories in the pipeline. They won't have the classic Loud House set up (all the siblings, Royal Woods, Vanzilla, etc) but they do feature Loud characters. I'm going to post something with Lincoln in the starring role soon, and then, at some point down the line, a ghost story with Linka. Some other stuff, too, but those are the two big ones.
With each passing day, the pressure grew as surely as Lily's stomach. At first, it wasn't so bad - the baby was a nebulous concept not unlike eventual mortality. It would happen one day, far beyond the rim of time, but not now. Lincoln worked, came home, and spent as much time with Lily as her punishment would allow (which was never a lot), and that was that, life went on much as it had before. The atmosphere at dinner was darker and heavier - no one spoke and Lily kept her head down, eyes either on her feet or her plate. The others noticed, and three days after Lily found out she was pregnant, Lola, Lucy, and Lana barged into his room like they hadn't in years. What's going on? Lola demanded. Everyone's acting weird. Why they sought him out rather than Mom, Dad, or Lily perplexed and unnerved him. Did they suspect? Instead of playing possum, he told them the truth. Lily's pregnant.
Lola's jaw hit the floor and Lucy gasped. She's what? Lola asked. Maybe he was paranoid, but he noted a hint of accusation in her voice, as though she knew. He flicked his eyes down to his lap lest she see the guilt in his eyes.
Yeah, he replied, she found out the other day.
Seriously? Lana asked, incredulous.
Yeah.
How can she be pregnant? Lola asked, she's eleven! Who's the father?
Lincoln stiffened. S-She won't say, he said. Hot shame colored his cheeks and his hands unconsciously closed into fists. It had been less than a week, but he'd already discovered that not standing by Lily, come what may, made him feel like a bigger loser than anything else he'd ever done. He knew in his heart that not telling his parents that he was the father was the right thing to do (if he did, they'd never let him be apart of Lily or their child's life), but that didn't make it any easier. Every lie, every denial added to the sense of failing both Lily and the baby. An expectant father should be happy and proud, not cowering in the shadows and pretending that his son or daughter wasn't his.
Wow, Lana drew in disbelief.
After they left, Lincoln sat back in his chair and drew a lungful of air through his nose. On a normal Saturday, he and Lily would be drawing together, her perched on his knee and him shifting uncomfortably against the boner in his pants, but today, she was grounded and every time he tried to sneak into her room, Mom, Dad, or one of his sisters just happened to pop up. Almost like they knew and were trying to surreptitiously keep him from her.
Through December, he lived in terror of someone finding out, cringing at every knock upon his door, petrifying every time his mother or father called his name. Two weeks before Christmas, he came in to the living room and froze when his mother spoke from the couch. Lincoln, come here. We need to talk. A hammer head of fear smashed his heart, and he swallowed reflexively. This is it, he thought as he trudged to the sofa and sat, Lily told and I'm getting kicked out. He couldn't blame her for breaking; she'd been grounded for over a week now, and every so often, Mom would hound her about telling. You really need to stop protecting him, he overheard her say once, you're not doing you or your baby any favors. With the constant stress of being perpetually badgered and separated from him, Lily was on edge, not sleeping well, not eating as much as she should, and being extra clingy when he snuck into her room at night to cuddle. The last thing she needed was Mom breathing down her neck, and if she cracked, it wasn't her fault...it was his for not being man enough to accept culpability on his own.
As it turned out, the topic wasn't Lily and the baby, at least not directly. She and Dad were stressing about money and wanted him to pay more rent. With the baby on the way, we have to squeeze every penny. She didn't miss the chance to point out all the money they put into his college. He readily agreed; not for them or even himself, but for Lily - this was the best way he could contribute right now, and he intended to do it, even if he wound up with so little money at the end of the month he could barely afford gas. He'd have to forego getting Lily the ring, but that was alright - he'd already given her a lasting symbol of his love and devotion, though admittedly, she couldn't show that one off.
Yet.
Three days before Christmas, Lincoln's older sisters began drifting into town. Lynn was first - Lincoln picked her up at Detroit International on the afternoon of the 22; gray, ash-like snow fell lazily from the leaden sky, and bitter winds buffeted the Christmas decorations hanging from lampposts up and down Carmen Blvd. He parked at the curb in front of the terminal and cut the engine; it ticked like a bomb in a Hollywood blockbuster as it cooled, and Lincoln chuckled sardonically at how aptly symbolic that was. The secret he and Lily carried with them was much like one of those action movie explosives, counting down, down, ever down. One day, it would blow up in their faces. The previous night, as he held her clandestinely in her bed after everyone else had gone to sleep, they talked about their future. As soon as she was eighteen, she declared, she and their baby (who wouldn't be a baby by then) were going to move in with him, where ever he was. That was seven years away...seven whole years they would have to keep the secret of their child's parentage, seven years in which Lincoln being the father could somehow come out. It was a long, winding road fraught with danger, and they would have to exercise extreme caution in navigating it.
Until Lily was of legal age, Lincoln would have to be content in playing uncle, and as he dwelled on the prospect, he came to realize that he didn't know if he could do it. How can a man not naturally be a father to his child? How can he play at being anything else? He didn't know, and that bothered him - he imagined he could do nothing but act like a father, and that his true relationship to Lily's baby would be revealed on day one.
Shortly, Lynn came out through the automatic doors clad in tight jeans and an olive drab coat, a faded tan rucksack slung over one shoulder. Her thick chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail that swished like a tail, and as she approached, the wind swept her bangs into her eyes. A sly grin crossed her thin lips when she sighted him, and Lincoln readied himself for what was sure to follow. Striding purposely over, she opened the back door, tossed her bag in, then climbed into the passenger seat. Hey, Linc-O, she said...then punched him in the arm; a bolt of agony streaked into his brain and detonated in his skull like a stick of dynamite. He hissed through his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed against a shameful rush of tears.
Two years older than him, Lynn had always been a Jock with a capital 'J'. She played T-ball and peewee football when she was in kindergarten, then graduated to soccer, basketball, regular football, track and field, cross country, and, for a brief time, lacrosse. She kept a strict diet regiment that included a single raw egg in the morning (because they're cliche), and enough protein to sustain an army for a whole month. She ran fast, hit hard, and turned everything into a competition - if you were better than her at something, you better either hide it or suffer through months or even years of her trying to best you.
She wasn't a bully, but her idea of playing and messing around could fool just about anyone who didn't know her. Growing up, Lincoln endured constant kicks, punches, hair pulls, indian burns, noogies, titty twisters, and pants-ings, and while he hated it then, he kind of missed it now.
Hi, he said, nice to see you.
I know, she replied with a smug grin.
Later that day, he drove to the Greyhound station in Chippewa Falls to pick up Luan. A cramped, drab little town with Rockwellian storefronts, American Foursquare houses, and rotting neighborhoods along rusted railroads, Chippewa Falls overlooked the wide, ice-choked Chippewa River, the namesake falls a half mile upstream: Standing on Main Street, you could just make them out through the trees, steely blue water flowing endlessly over a one hundred foot drop and making white-capped swirls in the river below. Being the largest town in the area, Lincoln had been here many times over the years, mainly for family trips to Wal-Mart or to the occasional movie at the Palace Theater, but he didn't know it very well - he wound up lost and driving in circles until he stopped for directions at a BP station.
The Greyhound station sat on a corner between the tracks and an abandoned steel mill splayed with graffiti, a tiny building with a jutting A-shaped overhang shielding the platform from the elements. A group of people milled about, and as soon as he parked, he saw Luan, dressed in black slacks and a purple parka with a fur-lined hood. She was going to school in Arizona and quickly adapted to the dry Southwestern heat, so when she came home, the cold cut right through her. She intended to stay there when she was done with college, and Lincoln hated the idea of rarely seeing her, but such is life.
He honked the horn and waved, and with a big, cheesy grin, she waved back. Hey, Linc! she cried as she climbed in. When she was younger, Luan was a prankster - she delighted in puns, practical jokes, and making people laugh...or groan, mostly the latter. She eventually outgrew it, but not before inflicting thousands of dollars worth of damage onto the house and years of mental scarring on her family.
Despite being the butt of many a Luan joke, Lincoln always liked her most out of all his older sisters: He admired her upbeat personality, and was drawn to it as a moth to flame.
On the drive back to Royal Woods, she gazed out the window at the passing countryside and nodded to the music drifting from the radio. She didn't speak until they were half way through Elk Park. How's Lil?
Mom spoke to each of the girls at least once a week, and told them each, individually, about Lily's pregnancy. She didn't want to ruin anyone's Christmas by doing it in person, even though it would have been easier that way. The fact that she used that word wounded Lincoln, and outside of monosyllables, he hadn't spoken to her in days. Is that what she really thought his and Lily's child would do? Ruin everyone's holiday?
Just thinking about it made him flush with anger.
She's good, he said guardedly. He was certain that Luan didn't know, but he couldn't help feeling as though she were feeling him out, creeping her fingers across his armor and looking for a chink to exploit. I knew it, Linc, you got our little sister pregnant. You sick fucking bastard.
Luan nodded. Did she ever say who the father is?
Lincoln swallowed thickly and did his best not look at her from the corner of his eye as he responded. No. She, uh, she won't tell.
She should, Luan said, make his ass take responsibility.
I am, he almost blurted.
Leni and Lori came in on the 23rd, both by car and with their families in tow. Because it was Christmas, Mom temporarily ungrounded Lily, and she spent most of the day with Lincoln, first drawing then playing with Lydia and Lori's daughter, Lora. Lincoln was so grateful to have Lily that he couldn't stop himself from touching her - rubbing her back, playfully flicking her horselick, and holding her hand even though the house buzzed with people and their chances of getting caught were higher than normal. At one point, they were sitting on the couch together when Lynn came in from the kitchen and sprang over the arm, landing on her butt and making the frame shake. Hey, Lil, she said, how you feeling?
Good, Lily said suspiciously. How are you?
Lynn noded. I'm okay. Still getting sick?
No, not anymore, Lily said.
That's good. The older girl kicked her feet up onto the coffee table and draped her arm across the back of the sofa. You ready? For the baby?
Lily's lips widened into a happy little closed-mouth grin that made Lincoln's heartbeat quicken; not leaning over and kissing her was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life. Yeah, she said with a sunny inflection, I am.
You sure? Lynn asked incredulously. That's a pretty big deal. Lots of work and stuff.
I know, Lily said. I'm ready.
What about the dad? Is he ready? Does he even know?
Lincoln looked away, certain that if Lynn looked into his eyes, she would see his guilt like a flashing neon sign. Lily wavered for a moment, as if trying to decide whether she should say, then nodded quickly. He knows and he's ready.
So...he's gonna actually be a dad? Lynn asked with a hint of derision.
Lily opened her mouth, but closed it again, an uncertain expression flickering across her face. We'll worry about that later, Lincoln stepped in, right now, we're just focused on the baby. Lynn shot him a dismissive look and rolled her eyes.
Whatever. She got to her feet, went around the couch, and disappeared up the stairs, her feet heavily thumping the treads. Lily let out a pent up breath and Lincoln unthinkingly snaked his arm around her shoulder; she looked up at him, then curled up against his chest. I wish they'd leave me alone, she said after a long, silent moment.
I know, he sighed. The night before, Lori sat her down at the kitchen table after dinner and talked her ear off about baby stuff - what to expect during the pregnancy, how to handle croup and gassiness, what she'd experience in the hospital. It was a light, sisterly conversation, one mother sharing knowledge and advice with another, but the topic made Lily uncomfortable and by the end of it, her stomach hurt. I don't like talking about it, she told him as they cuddled later on in her bed, with them. I love talking about it with you, though. What names should we pick out? I was thinking Layna for a girl and Lucas for a boy.
Do you really want to keep with the L name convention? he asked.
Sure, she said and wiggled her butt against his crotch - the thin fabric of his lounge pants and her flimsy nightdress were the only things separating their bodies, and he could feel her dank heat seeping through, saturating his flesh. His dick stirred and he shifted positions as it swelled uncomfortably against her rump. Why not? she asked playfully.
Lincoln shrugged. I just don't like it.
His parents giving him and his siblings uniform names didn't really bother him when he was younger, but Leni and Lori choosing L names for their children as well gave him pause. Was everyone going to follow the trend? Why? There are a million great baby names out there that start with other letters, what was his family going to do, mine the L category to extinction?
Why?
It's kind of strange, he said. L this, L that. We should do something different.
He had to admit, though, he did like Layna, and Lucas wasn't bad either. He said as much, and Lily hooked her leg over his. I know, she said proudly, I come up with good baby names.
Yes you do, he said and kissed her cheek.
The last of the sisters to show up was Luna on Christmas Eve; she and Sam didn't have a car and Luna couldn't afford a bus ticket, so she hitchhiked most of the way from California with an old army rucksack slung over her shoulder. Sam couldn't get time off from work and stayed behind.
Luna arrived just before three in the afternoon in dusty jeans with rips across the thighs and legs (the kind that come with wear and tear, not the kind meant to look cool) and a tattered denim jacket over a black T-shirt. When Lincoln opened the door, she grinned around the filter of a cigarette, Hey, bro! Merry Christmas. Now move, I gotta sit down. She tossed the cigarette away, brushed past him in a swish of stale smoke and body odor, and crossed to the couch. Lily sat at the coffee table coloring with Lora.
Four and blonde like her mother, Lora was the consummate girly girl along the lines of Lola, and one of her favorite games to play was makeover...a fact Lily's face bore stark testament to. Her lips were smeared with red lipstick and her forehead crisscrossed with eyeliner. 'Kay, hold still, Lora told her as she approached with a pen clutched in one tiny hand. Lily, sitting Indian style, gulped, but despite her trepidation, she leaned forward and presented herself to the toddler anyway. Sitting on the floor now in a spill of December sunshine set her golden hair ablaze, she resembled a clown...or a slim, aged down version of Mimi from The Drew Carey Show.
Luna dropped onto the couch, threw her head back, and let out a long, low groan. My feet are fucking killing me. Lily tensed, not because cursing affected her, but because Lora was present. How's it going, Lil? Luna asked. I heard you're gonna have a baby.
Yeah, I am, Lily said without looking up from her drawing. Her voice was strained and patronizing, as though she were trying really hard to be patient but couldn't quite get there.
Wow, Luna said and laughed, that's crazy. I started young too, but holy shit.
Lily sighed and shot an angry look over her shoulder. Can you watch your language? Little ears. She jerked her head in Lora's direction.
Sor-ry, Luna said, then snorted, mom.
For the next two days, the house was a hive of activity; the warm smell of baking cookies scented the air like a pleasant memory and Christmas music filtered from the stereo in the living room, all the biggest Yuletide hits on your hometown holidays station, WKBBL. Santa Claus came and went, riding across the night sky and bellowing good will to man, and on Christmas Day, it snowed briefly, the first thing approaching a white Christmas in Royal Woods since 2005. On the 26th, Lori and Leni both left, their professions requiring an early end to the merrymaking, and by January 3rd, Lynn, Luan, and Luna had gone too.
On the fifth, Lily had her first prenatal appointment. Lincoln requested the day off in advance, and convinced Mom to let him come along. I really wanna be there for her, he said without meeting her eyes, you know? I feel bad that she's alone.
Mom nodded. I'm sure it would mean a lot to her, she said.
Yeah, and it would mean a lot to him, too - he was the father after all, even if he didn't acknowledge it the way he should. He might not be able to do that, but he intended to be there for Lily in every other way he could.
Sitting in a lumpy chair in the exam room with Mom on his left and Lily sitting on the table in front of him, Lincoln laced his fingers between his knees and tapped his foot restlessly against the tile floor. It was a routine visit, but he was nervous nevertheless, and so was Lily; she stared down at her feet, hands balled in her lap like a little girl praying to Jesus, and squirmed agitatedly. The doctor came in after what seemed like an eternity, a tall, balding man in glasses and a blue button up ticked into tan slacks. He held a clipboard in his hand and spoke in an affable tone that allayed Lincoln's anxiety...but only a little. He proceeded to give Lily a full work up, and when he was done, he pronounced her healthy. Sitting on a stool, he explained to Mom and Lily that given Lily's age and size, he wanted the birth done via cesarean section.
You mean cut me open? Lily's eyes widened in fear and the blood drained from her face. One of the things she and Lincoln talked about during their cuddle sessions was the eventual delivery; she was intimidated by the idea of pushing the baby out. Childbirth looks really painful, she said with an apprehensive hilt. I'm kind of very scared. From the looks of it, she liked the thought of her stomach being cut open even less.
Well, the doctor said and ticked his head to one side as if to reluctantly concede her point, yes, but it's more of an incision. He arched his back, poked the spot just above his waist, and dragged his nail across his shirt in a gentle crescent. Right here. It's only six inches long, and the only thing we're touching is the uterus. Everything else - your vital organs - are up here, he patted his stomach for emphasis, out of harm's way. It takes about forty-five minutes to do, and it's a very simple operation.
Lily's hands wrang the hem of her sweater and sucked a series of deep, rapid breaths through her nose; her chest heaved and she chewed her bottom lip between her teeth, the terror in her eyes plunging into Lincoln's heart like a jagged shard of ice. Before he could stop himself, he got to his feet, went over to the table, and sat next to her, his arm circling protectively around her shoulder. He was vaguely aware that he was all but advertizing his true feelings for Lily, but he didn't care - she was afraid and needed comfort. He stole a sidelong glance at his mother, expecting a gape of horror, but she stared at the doctor as though he weren't doing anything wrong.
Of course we're not, she's my sister and she's scared, so I'm consoling her. Stop being so paranoid, Linc.
Easier said than done with a guilty conscious.
It's really nothing to worry about, Lily, the doctor said, I know it sounds frightening, but in his day and age it's as serious as having a tooth pulled.
Will she be sedated? Mom asked.
With a local anesthetic, the doctor nodded, she'd be awake but numb.
Mom considered that a moment. What about recovery time?
Three days in the hospital and six weeks at home. She won't be able to do much, but she should heal quickly. Kids are resilient. His practiced smile wavered ever so slightly, like a candle in the wind, presumably as he realized the dichotomy of that statement, children being resilient after giving birth to children of their own.
Through January and into February, Lincoln worked long hours, picking up every extra shift he could lay his hands on and squirrelling away what little money he had left over after paying Mom and Dad. By the middle of January, Lily started to show, a slight swelling that was only visible when she wore T-shirts and nightdresses. Lying in bed with her at night, he ran his hand over it in a mixture of amazement, tenderness, and trepidation, the knowledge that his child - their child - was growing unseen in her womb both thrilling and terrible. That's my bump, she'd say and giggle in that light, summary way of hers. Feels kind of weird. It did. Before getting pregnant, her stomach was soft like the rest of her, but as she waded deeper into her first trimester, it began to firm like something cooling in the fridge - her body's way of keeping their little man or woman safe from the dangers of the world.
At the beginning of February, Lincoln committed to doing more commissions in his free time as a means of earning extra income. That would cut into his Lily time, but it was a sacrifice that had to be made - a man does whatever it takes to support his family, even if it meant being away from them. His father, who worked eight to twelve hour shifts at the auto plant, taught him that, and he would follow his example.
Being a quick draw, he was able to get five pieces done a day for almost a week straight, making three hundred dollars before he ran out of work. He posted his availability in all his Discord servers and on Twitter and Tumblr, but only a few people contracted him, and he started to stress. Work was getting to him too - Sal rode him like a pretty little sister and responded to every wrong move Lincoln made with spittle-flying, finger-to-chest threats of termination. Lincoln lived every day in terror of fucking up and losing his job, which frayed his nerves and led him to make mistakes like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Between tending to Lily and doing the disappointingly infrequent commission, he scoured the classified ads in the paper and online, but came up against the same jobs that were there in November.
By the end of February, Lily's stomach jutted out over her waist and there was no longer any way of hiding her condition - she was visibly pregnant, and while it filled Lincoln with dread because he wasn't financially ready, it filled him with pride as well. In public, people regarded her with shock, horror, and disbelief (look how young she is, he could hear them think), but he watched her with swelling love and joy. Not holding her hand or putting his arm around her was difficult, so much so that sometimes his muscles twitched. C'mon, Linc, let me touch her! Alone, he touched her plenty - he'd come up behind her and slip his hands around her hips, relishing the feeling of her ever expanding stomach. As terrified as he might have been of not prepared for the advent of their son or daughter, but he was excited too; that he was being forced to play uncle instead of father dampened his spirits, but he would read him or her bedtime stories every night, give them piggyback rides through the house, and play trucks or tea party with them anyway. The only thing about that arrangement that disturbed him was that his little boy or girl would grow up calling him Uncle Lincoln instead of Daddy.
With Lily's increased weight came the inevitable aches and pains of progressing pregnancy: Her back and feet were perpetually sore, and sometimes climbing the stairs left her so short of breath her head spun. Each night, Lincoln dragged himself home from work, exhausted to the point of collapse, slipped into Lily's room, and sat on her bed with her feet in his lap, kneading and rubbing as much of the pain away as he could. Sometimes he fell asleep while doing it, and others, keeping himself awake was a Herculean struggle that resulted in him barely making it to his own bed before losing consciousness. It was hard, but the mother of his child came first, and as February turned into March, he realized that she always would. His life going forward was no longer his own, it belonged to Lily and to their baby. That revelation mortified him at first, but as his love for her and the child dwelling within her grew, so too did his devotion. Every man and woman dedicates his or her life to something, whether they make the conscious decision to or not - for him, it had always been art - and what was a more deserving object of fidelity than the woman you love and the life you created with her? His life was hers and she could have his world - she made it worth living anyway. In a way, he owed it to her. Their child, he knew in his soul, would do as its mother had - enrich his existence beyond measure, and awake in him feelings he never thought he would know. Yes, his life was theirs, and he was happy to hand it over.
Another side effect of Lily's pregnancy was radical mood swings - one minute she would crackle with happiness, and the next she'd curl up on her side and sob. Lincoln did the best he could, but sometimes she didn't even want him around, which hurt more than he cared to admit. He understood, but he always walked away with a sharp, heart clutching pang in his chest.
On March 14, the day they found out the gender, Lily was four months pregnant and all baby, her stomach rounded and bulging and her knees bowing as she walked. Laying on the examination table with the hem of her shirt pushed up to the bottom of her newly (and probably temporarily) grown breasts, she looked like a beached whale, but a in a cute way. Lincoln and his mother sat on one side and the ultrasound tech stood on the other, first working on a computer, then applying jelly to Lily's stomach and rubbing a paddle in it. A loud, staticky duh-DUH, du-DUH filled the room, and a strange emotion Lincoln lacked the power to name flooded his chest...and eyes.
His child's heartbeat.
A satisfied grin that he couldn't suppress danced across his lips, throwing care and caution to the window, he reached out and closed his hand around Lily's. She shot him a giddy smile and he brushed his thumb affectionately across her knuckles. Strong and steady, the tech mused absently as she consulted the screen. In just a few moments, the baby would cease to be an it and become either a he or a she, and Lincoln's guts tangled in suspense and his heart slammed a frenzied tempo against his breast. The tech leaned back and stared at the screen with a low, thoughtful hum. Its legs are in the way, she said. She rubbed harder to coax it into a change of position, and Lily winced in discomfort.
Du-DUH, du-DUH.
Lincoln's heartbeat matched his child's, and his throat went dry. Come on, come on, come on. He didn't care what sex the baby was (and neither did Lily), he just wanted to know - he'd been waiting with burning impatience for months, and now every single second stretched into a dizzying eternity.
The tech scrunched her lips to the side and rubbed harder still; Lily hissed through her teeth and crushed Lincoln's hand - she was small and slight, but had the strength of a goddamn bodybuilder.
There we go, the tech said, making Lincoln's heart bounce.
What is it? Lily asked anxiously.
The tech took the paddle away, sat it aside, and fired her fingers across the keyboard. She turned the screen; a black and white image that Lincoln could make neither head nor tails of greeted him. A tiny arrow pointed at a pale spot. It's a girl, read microscopic script in the margins. Lily giggled girlishly and Lincoln beamed with pride. She clutched his hand and he squeezed back.
A girl.
In five more months, he was going to have a little girl to play dress up, tea party, and fairy princess with. Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked them away. He did not notice his mother regarding him with a wary sidelong look.
That night, Lincoln cradled Lily in his arms, hands laced lovingly across her stomach. Our daughter's in there, she pointed out, and Lincoln smiled.
Yes she is.
Lily turned in his embrace and laid her hands flat on his chest. Do you still want to name her Layna? Or are you deadset against the L thing?
Hm. He had to think on that for a moment. In the beginning, the concept of Lily being pregnant was vague and indistinct, like a vision glimpsed through heavy fog, but over the months it loomed closer and closer, taking shape and gaining substance. The idea of the baby being an actual person did likewise - until today, she was merely an it, but now, knowing her gender, he could actually picture her in his head, a small, petite girl with blond hair in pigtails and a pacifier in her mouth, clad in pink footie pajamas and staring at him with wide, inquisitive brown eyes so much like her mother's. His heart swelled with love so great it threatened to burst from his chest like an alien, and he smiled wistfully at the vision. No, he said and kissed Lily's lips grateful for her love and for the beautiful daughter she was going to give him, Layna is beautiful.
Lily grinned. I knew you'd come around. What should her middle name be?
Okay, that was a good question. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and called the vision back: Layna sat in the middle of the living room floor with her feet out in front of her, sucking her binkie like Maggie Simpson and clutching a teddy bear to her chest. Lily sat behind her, legs on either side and a gentle smile on her lips.
Rose, Lincoln blurted. It was the first thing that popped into his mind. He couldn't say why it occurred so strongly to him - maybe it was the pink outfit he saw her in? Maybe it was her beauty, blushing and delicate like a summer flower? Whatever it may have been, it fit.
Layna Rose, Lily said slowly, tasting the name like a connoisseur, appraising and contemplating. Layna Rose Loud. She smiled beautifically. I like it.
Can you use Loud? Lincoln asked dubiously. The baby's last name is usually the father's. At least that's how he understood it. Loud, of course, was his last name as well, but for obvious reasons, they couldn't tell anyone Layna was his daughter, so what about the surname?
Lily's smile dropped a little. Uhhh...I think the mom is allowed to use her name if she wants. Like...I doubt there's a law saying it has to be the Dad's name. She furrowed her brow. I hope, she added uncertainly. Get your phone and look it up.
In mid-January, after two months, Mom and Dad finally relented and ungrounded Lily, but they didn't let her have her phone, tablet, or laptop back. They were caving by degrees, and eventually, she would be off punishment completely. Mom still prodded her about naming the father from time to time, but she did it with the lassitude of a woman undertaking a vexing but necessary chore. Pretty soon, Lincoln figured she would stop asking altogether.
Reaching into the pocket of his pajama pants, Lincoln took out his phone, swiped his thumb across the screen, and called up Google. He typed in can a mother use her last name on a baby and hit SEARCH. The results page loaded and he read aloud from a block of text under the search bar:
The child may carry the mother's surname, father's surname or a hyphenated surname. The name the couple chooses then appears on the newborn's birth certificate. An alleged father's denial of paternity does not ensure the child will not carry his last name. State laws vary regarding a mother's right to name her child.
Lily pursed her lips in thought. He added in Michigan to the end and found a state legislature document that said a mother could use her last name if she was unmarried at the time of birth. He told Lily, and she nodded. Figured.
So Layna Rose Loud?
Lily broke out in a sunny grin. Layna Rose Loud, she repeated. Emotion overcame him, and tenderly stroked the side of her face, their noses drawing together as if by magnetism; her sweet breath broke against his lips, and he inhaled deeply, pulling her taste into his lungs and letting it out slowly. I love you, he said into her glowing eyes.
I love you too, she replied.
He tilted his head, and their lips skimmed fleetingly together, their gazes locked and each losing themselves wholeheartedly in the other. Lincoln weaved his fingers into her hair and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. She slipped her hand under his shirt and pressed it to his chest, her fingers curling slightly against his flesh and her heat soaking into his soul. She smiled against his mouth, and flicked his tongue over his lips; her face crinkled and she let out a started laugh. Ew, goss, she teased, Lincoln germs.
You like it, he said, and by way of answering, she fused her lips to his and faintly caressed his tongue with hers. Lincoln moved his hand down the swell of her throat, over her bare arm to her free hand, and along her hip, reveling in her shape and form. When he reached the warm, creamy flesh of her leg, he brushed the hem of her dress up around her hips, then crept his hand between her thighs, which she eagerly parted for him. The kiss became more urgent as he slid his middle finger into her folds and swirled it around her leaking entrance, her burning fluid coating his skin like hot oil.
In time, he mounted her, being careful for her stomach, moving with the exaggerated caution of a man handling something precious, priceless, and irreplaceable because that's exactly what he was doing. Lily spread her legs in a V and threw her head back with a breathy moan when he sank himself into her simmering middle; her undulating walls wrapped around him in fond greeting and her heels dug into his back. She bit her bottom lip and stared up at him through narrowed eyes, lifting her butt off the bed to meet his thrust. He bowed his head and rolled his hips, his dick raking her insides and making her breathing catch. Leaning against her stomach (but putting his weight on his knees), he pinned her wrists to the bed, then slipped his fingers through hers, rocking faster now, the tip of his dick placing firm, passionate kisses to her cervix. She clawed the sheet in her hands and moved her body up in perfect harmony with his.
His orgasm coiled in his depths and grew until it filled him as completely as a leaden balloon. Lily thrusted furiously, taking him all the way to her limit and wincing in pain but not stopping; the muscles in her neck strained and tiny, high pitched grunts burst from her lips in a carnal symphony rising to a smashing crescendo. She gripped Lincoln's hands tighter, surged her hips forward, and trembled with the power of her climax; her body contracted as his expanded, working in beautiful tandem as their mutual end came and Lincoln's hot, sticky seed filled her.
Rolling off of her, Lincoln pulled her into his arms and kissed the back of her head, her hair tickling his nose. I love you, he said.
I love you too, she hummed drowsily. She clamped her legs closed to trap his heat inside and cuddled up to him. I love our daughter too, she added.
So do I.
Forever.
Forever, he declared.
