"What about... John? Yeah, I don't like that name too much either, bean," she said, patting her stomach. "How 'bout Kenneth? Yeah, you're right. That's a lame name too."

Spinelli rented a book of names from the library and she was currently reading a list of the names out loud to her stomach. If the baby kicked, she took it to mean it liked the name. He was usually restless around this time of day, but the baby refused to budge.

"Okay, here's one I think you might like. Louis." The baby did not kick, but she contemplated the name. "Louie Spinelli-Detweiler." Still, the baby did not budge. "Eh—maybe you're right. Too European."

She heard voices approaching and soon the basement door swung open, and in came Finster descending the stairs. She looked shocked to see Spinelli there in bed, but her facial expression quickly changed into a warm greeting.

"I'm sorry, Spinelli. I would've knocked if I knew you were down here."

"My shift at Geo's doesn't start for another hour. Just trying to kill time 'til then."

"Well, Hank and I were planning to move the boxes today. Is that okay?"

Spinelli shrugged. "Hey, it's your basement. I'm just living in it."

Hank appeared at the doorway, looking older than Spinelli remembered him being. She and T.J. saw him last Friday—but only for a quick moment; Gretchen called to ask them where they were, and when they were walking out, Hank was walking in with a plate of green Jell-O in his hands. They exchanged quick hellos before getting back into T.J.'s car. Hank's hair and mustache had since turned pure white since their old Third Street days and he now wore circular glasses.

"Hey there, Spinelli," greeted Hank. "What keeps you out of school on this fine Wednesday morning?"

"Didn't Finster catch you up?" said Spinelli. "I dropped out—at least, I will officially when I turn eighteen."

He looked shocked for a moment, before coughing the judgement away. "Oh, that's a shame. You were always such a smart kid."

She instinctively rubbed her stomach. "Yeah, well, I've been dealing with more important things lately."

"Hey, you can always get your GED," offered Finster. "I've heard the program at the high school is great."

Spinelli frowned, looking down at the book of names in her hand. She found the name Lincoln—she hated it on sight. And thankfully, the baby didn't stir either when she spoke the name in her head.

"What do you have there," asked Hank, gesturing to the book. He moved to the stacks of boxes and grabbed one from the top.

"It's a book of names," she said. "You know... for the baby."

Part of her waited for the judgement to come—even if it was Hank, the judgement always came eventually. Last week, a lady at the baby story was shocked when she found out they weren't putting it up for adoption.

But all Hank did was smile. "So, what're you having?"

"It's a boy," she said awkwardly.

"Find a name you like yet?" he asked.

"No, not really," said Spinelli. "They're all a bunch of lame names, anyway. T.J. wants to name it T.J. Jr. and call it T.J.J. for short."

Hank laughed right as Finster put another box into his arms. He slumped further to the ground, then adjusted himself to the new weight.

"Move that into the living room, Hank," said Finster, eying the boxes in his hand. "I'm not paying you to chit chat with my tenant."

"You're not paying me at all, Muriel."

Finster smirked to herself as Hank obeyed her order and headed up the stairs. "Yeah, that's what you think, mister," she said, snickering to herself. She grabbed a box for herself and began rummaging through it.

Spinelli resisted the urge to gag. There should be a law that people over forty shouldn't be allowed to be affectionate, she told T.J. once after she caught her parents making out on their living room couch. Instead, she quietly observed the old woman, who seemed to be searching for something.

"Hey, take a look at this," she said, tossing a photo album onto the bed beside Spinelli. "That was me and Aggie's first week in Guam." Spinelli opened the album; the first picture was of Finster and her grandma posing with a group of soldiers out on the beach. They all looked so happy—especially the men who surrounded them. "Your grandpa's somewhere in that crowd—I think he's the one gawking at Aggie on the far left."

Finster went upstairs while Spinelli observed the image closely. Finster was right—that was her grandpa. Spinelli recognized him in an old photograph shown to her some years ago. Finster and her grandma looked to be in their prime, dressed in nothing but bras and hula skirts. Finally, she tossed the photo album aside and went back to her book of names.

"Michael," she said to her stomach. No kick. "No, you don't want to be named after your Uncle Mikey? He's not going to be too happy about that."

As she flipped the page, she saw Hank coming down the basement again. On his way down, he spotted the record player and quickly dashed to it.

"Well, this thing's a beaut," he said, running his fingers across the dusty top of it. He quickly wiped his hands on his pants and began examining the records in the bag beside it.

"Does it still work?" Spinelli asked.

Hank smiled. "Let's find out." He pulled out a record from the bag, blew the dust away and examined it. "Buddy Love and the Diamondettes. Ever heard of them?" Spinelli shook her head. "Eh, before your time. Before your parents' time, even." He carefully opened the record player and set the record inside. Carefully, he turned it on, and music began playing:

Hank mimicked the guitar solo at the start of the song with his hands and fingers, pretending he had a nifty guitar in his hands.

Oh, Candy girl

(Candy girl!)

You make my heart soar

(My heart soar!)

Oh, caaaandy girl

(Candy girl!)

You are my world

(My whole world!)

The baby began to kick frantically almost as if it was dancing to the music, and Spinelli instinctively began rubbing her stomach. "Hey, I think he likes it."

"Hank, would you stop playing that garbage and get back to moving some boxes!" yelled Finster from above.

Hank turned it off and Spinelli felt the baby stop its kicking.

"Guess we're the only ones who appreciate Buddy Love's talent, eh Spinelli?" He grabbed the player and the bag full of records and headed up the stairs again.

When she was sure he was gone, Spinelli turned back to her stomach again. "Buddy," she said to it, and she felt a kick. "Buddy Spinelli-Detweiler." She thought about it for a moment before checking the time on her phone; she needed to start getting ready for work, if she wanted to make it there on time. She tossed the book aside, next to the photo album, and got out of bed. "Eh, we'll talk it over with Teej and the gang."

Hey, I'm really out of ideas for this fic, so if you've got a plot in mind, feel free to share it. Thanks for reading!