Krystle stirs her latte. “Harper?”
Chelsea scoffs. “You want to saddle our baby with a name that refers to a harp player? What if it’s a boy?”
“Makes barrels. You’ll doom the kid.”
“Someone who drives a cart.”
“I guess Hunter is out too?”
Chelsea makes a face and takes a bite from her vegan muffin.
“An American state.”
Chelsea shakes her head.
“Mason? I really like Mason!”
“Someone who has to work with stone for a living? I hope any baby we have is going to be a great artist. Not working in a pit.”
“That’s somewhere in Asia. Not the best handle for a baby with two white mommas.”
“I give up, Chelsea. We finally find a sperm donor and now we can’t agree on a name.”
Chelsea leans across the table and covers Krystle’s elegant, manicured hand with her own. “Why don’t we go with my suggestion? TinkerBelle it it’s a girl. Tinker if it’s a boy.”
Photo from Wikimedia Commons by: Rose hybrid by Aftabbanoori