"keith laid there, feeling particularly victorious. the girl in front of him was a suitor of many, and who should be so lucky as to land angie dupont?"
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prequel to dead flowers
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full-term angie
Angie laid across the lounge. Her lips were pursed, and faintly she could see a deeper tan line beginning to form around her bikini top. Keith stood above her, absentmindedly swinging back and forward. He was thinking deeply, Angie could always tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed. As if coming to an epiphany, he turned around, grinned widely, and laid a hand on Angie's swollen stomach.
"We should name it Gus! After my pop, y'know?" Keith was proud of the outcome of his thinking, as leant down to kiss Angie's stomach, as if signing a contract, sealing it with a kiss.
"Mm," Angie hummed, containing a laugh, assuming he was joking, "Gus Dupont doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?" Keith's head snapped up immediately, which pulled his hair since Angie had been playing with, but he had quickly misplaced the sharp pain with concern, "Dupont? Really? No, it would be Richards. Gus Richards!"
Worry lines creased the temples of Keith's forehead and Angie frowned, one Keith hated to cause but needed to see. "We hadn't discussed the last names yet." Angie supplied strategically, and although half of Keith wanted to scream, the other wanted to shake his head and laugh. Most women would've given in, not even considered the baby taking her last name, but not Angie.
"What if we name it Gus Dupont Richards? So Dupont's the middle name, huh? Don't go saying I don't take care of my old lady!" Keith, assuming he had solved problem, attempted to kiss her neck, but Angie moved quickly out of the way so he fell rather stupidly onto the chair.
"That doesn't sound very good either, Keith." Angie replied, as the boy now behind her rubbed the side of his head he hit, "Though I applaud your problem-solving attempts." Her belly seemed incredibly heavy at the moment, like the pulls of parenthood were already beginning to strangle the both of them. The sun was hot, and Angie felt even hotter.
Eight months of pregnancy had been scary, to put it lightly. Anita's waist bands no longer fit around her swollen abdomen, but Angie never felt very tempted to wear them. Instead, she spent most of her days in a bra and underwear; Aphrodite, the goddess of fertility, held Angie in the palm of her hand and cradled her tenderly. Still, anxiety eats at her, and Angie fidgets with her lips, "Can you believe we'll have a baby in a month?"
Keith hummed in satisfaction. The long leaves of the trees above swayed in the wind, a soft swish swish swish, and if he closed his eyes hard enough, he could just barely hear the laugh of a child. Little round noses, sprouting tufts of hair. Circle of life, baby; through and through. Instead, he pulled his parched lips apart, "A month is too long to wait, Ang."
An aged wooden crib surveys the back view of Redlands. It is deep brown, ember-like, and it is not the first time a baby will lie in it; Keith and Anita had found it at an estate sale, and although Angie resented not finding it herself, it was too perfect to pass up. Above it hangs a mobile which Mick and Marianne have gifted them; little multi-coloured birds tittered, to match the colours splashed all over the wall. It was ready directly on her due date, and, as that date passed by on a stressful day in December, Angie laid on the floor of the baby's room belly-up and stretched her arms out, as Keith played with his friends on the piano below.
The piano was low, deep, and sorrowful; Angie knew then it wasn't Keith playing it, and was drawn to it. The music spoke to her, and she descended the stairs wordlessly, cradling her belly. Something in her, though she couldn't explain it, knew that the baby felt the music too. A man with full sideburns and long hair danced easily across the piano, with the grace of a lover. Keith looked at his girl and smiled, widely, enjoying the way the music affected her whole body; "This is Nicky Hopkins!" Keith introduced, but it was lost on Angie until he finished, and until she looked up with her clandestine smile, "Let's name the baby Nicky Richards."
It wasn't much of a surprise for Keith, who admired the man greatly. He considered, for a moment, before furrowing his brows, "What if it's a girl?" Nicky, the adult one, still blushing from the honour of Keith Richards' baby being named after himself, shuffled with the papers resting on the piano, "Name it Nicky anyway."
Angie, incredibly pleased, snapped her fingers in the man's direction, "Ah yes! I just met you, but I love you!" Keith just shook his head; his wild, wild woman, with all the love to give.
