"Nope."
Mike glances at his wife, who is holding a brand new baby. The tiny little bundle is swaddled in a hospital blanket with obnoxious multi-color ducks on it. Frankie's hair is greasy from sweat. It is nearly plastered to her forehead. She looks exhausted as she sits in an upright position in her green and white hospital down.
"This has to be the weirdest thing we've ever done," he insists.
"Face it Mike, we're weird people. This feels completely right to me."
He nods, "And that is what is terrifying."
"You know what else is terrifying?"
"They said you could name her? Please for the love all things good, and holy tell me that isn't true."
"They said that under no circumstances could I even offer a suggestion."
"Are they kicking around anything?"
"They are. They punted the ball," Frankie responds.
Mike furrows his brow, "What does that mean?"
She points to him, "To you."
"To me? What are you talking about?"
"They wrote this beautiful email," she begins.
"Is that what you were crying about last week? In the middle of the night when were sitting in front of the computer in your bathrobe with ice cream absolutely blubbering?"
"Yes. They said that they could never thank us enough for giving them such an incredible gift."
"The money is certainly helping my outlook."
She rolls her eyes, "And so they said that to honor your support throughout this entire thing they wanted you to name the baby."
He scoots his chair closer to the bed. He glances at the tiny round face nestled beneath a cap in Frankie's arms. He made certain to memorize every detail of her face before letting the nursing staff leave the room with her. She's got precious little baby lips, and a tiny button nose. Beneath her cap are waves of dark hair that remind him of Axl's. Though her lids obscure her eyes he can picture those bright grey orbs in his mind. An intrusive thought enters his mind, and exits his mouth.
"Peyton."
He expects an indignant look from his wife. She doesn't meet his gaze. Her eyes fall to the brand new baby secured within her grasp. She smiles.
"I don't hate it even though I know you're naming her after a retired Colt's player who you allege that you don't even really care for."
"What was that one name you kept shooting down before we had Brick?"
"Before we found out Brick was well… Brick?" Frankie pauses to comb the recesses of her mind.
"It was a perfectly nice name," Mike recalls.
"What was on TV back then?"
"Football," Mike responds.
"Oh, I remember the cover of the TV guide… oh, I know. There were so many Law and Order's on that year. I bet it was Olivia."
"Yes. Peyton Olivia? That is a perfectly normal name."
"Which is exactly why in a few short weeks this precious little girl with a perfectly normal name is going to go home with perfectly normal parents."
"I mean they probably aren't one hundred percent normal. They did use your dusty old uterus to percolate their baby."
"Which," she gestures toward the baby, "turned out perfectly fine."
"To be fair, once she was in there you didn't really have an out."
"I knew that my laziness would be the key to seeing this through to the finish."
"What are we going to do with a baby for the next few weeks?"
Frankie shrugs, "I'm off work for several weeks either way, so it's not going to be much of an inconvenience for me. Newborns eat, and poop, and sleep. She can do that while I watch TV."
Eight hours later Frankie is sitting on the side of the bed eating a cup of pudding when the nurse comes in with an exuberant smile on her face.
"Good news, Heck's. You're getting out of here."
"What do you mean, getting out of here?" Frankie asks while waving her spoon.
"Both you, and baby appear healthy. Because of the virus we are not keeping anyone longer than absolutely necessary. You've both got great bowel, and bladder function. You've both eaten. I saw you make a lap down the hallway chasing after that third cup of Jell-o. I've brought your discharge papers."
"Wait a minute," Mike waves his hands. "Just like that you're going to let us take this baby home with no questions?"
"Mister Heck that baby came out of your wife's body. There is nothing we can legally do to stop you."
"The parents are not here. We are not her parents."
"Due to archaic laws, and bureaucratic red tape since the parents are not here legally we will be putting at the very least, your wife's name on the birth certificate. Her parents will file some forms at the court house when they get to Orson, and then they will legally be free to do with her whatever they see fit. Our social worker has already reviewed all of this with them."
"Wow! So you're just kicking us out of here?"
The ponytailed RN nods, "Yes. Please take yourself, and whoever's baby this is, and go home."
Forty minutes later the pair of them are sitting on the couch with a tiny baby nestled in her car seat on their coffee table. Mike wears his typical flannel, and Frankie is clad in a pair of pajamas.
"Now what?" Mike queries.
Frankie shrugs, "I don't know."
"You want a sandwich?"
"I've spent like nine months eating non-stop, of course I want a sandwich."
"I'll make you one if you get the child out of that contraption," Mike gestures toward the car seat.
By the time Mike returns from the kitchen Frankie is in the midst of feeding the baby.
"We're going to get attached to her, you know. We have to give her back in a few weeks." Mike hands her the sandwich.
"Admit it, you already like her more than our own kids."
He nods, "Obviously. Someone let me name her Peyton, and she's still cute. Also, and this is the thing I like most of all, I don't have to be responsible for her for the rest of her life."
"It is a pretty cute story for her to tell her friends when she gets older."
"Really? The time she spent with some geriatric middle Americans in a mediocre town awaiting her spectacular life?"
Frankie just shrugs in response.