Names By:Iris Rosewater (R.K.)

Opening her window, Laura leaned toward the fresh coastal air as it rushed in, relieving some of the stuffy heat in the bus’ cabin. She shifted the weight of her belly uncomfortably, the baby inside stretching her feet into Laura’s ribs. Melanie, her five-year-old daughter, blew a pink bubble beside her, and they giggled when it popped and pasted itself over her nose and cheeks.
“How long ‘til we get there, Mama?” she asked, swinging her feet.
Laura smiled, watching the little blue jelly sandals bounce, pink nail polish peeping through the open-toes. “We’re getting closer, Mellie,” she replied. “Look! Seagulls!” They counted every one they saw as they drew into the quaint town of Seaside.
It was the last Friday before Mellie’s first day of Kindergarten. The last Summer fling, just the two of them, for a long while. The baby girl would soon be joining them, and Laura found herself torn between the nostalgic ache of losing her singular closeness with Mellie and the thrill of meeting the new person inside her. Anxiousness crept in and clutched at her heart for a moment, and she took a few breaths to compose herself. Today belonged to Mellie, now leaping out of her seat as the bus grinded and whined to a halt. She practically danced down the aisle, her blonde hair flouncing around her ears as she galloped and skipped. Free to pick her own wardrobe, she donned a polka-dotted purple skirt (the kind that flattens out completely when you spin fast enough) and a lime-green top with snaps down the front and over the flowered pockets. Although the muggy heat of Summer still hung in the air, she chose to complete her ensemble with a peach tasseled poncho. Laura thought she was crazy, wiping beads of sweat as they plummeted down the sides of her face, and then reminded herself that she was carrying a little heater. Mellie was thin and willowy and seemed to Laura like a little sparrow as she hopped and sang made-up songs. Her heart caught in her throat.
They decided to eat first. Laura found a hole-in-the-wall fish and chips shop and sat at a yellow booth, their legs sliding over the greasy bench. Mellie wanted to know why French fries were called ‘chips’ when eaten with big fish sticks. And she spent five minutes pulling the pickles out of her tartar sauce before Laura finally asked for some plain mayonnaise.
“We have a problem, miss Mellie,” Laura started as they licked their fingers, “The baby is coming soon and we don’t have a name for her. Do you have any ideas?”
Mellie thought for a moment.
“How about ‘Chip’?” she asked, reflecting, as she held a tepid French fry.
“I think that’s more of a boy’s name,” her mother smiled, “Let’s keep thinking.”
With full tummies, they walked along the main street of the tourist town, looking in windows and people-watching. Mellie happened upon a kite shop. The wind had picked up since their arrival, and the windsocks hanging on display outside bellowed with long, colorful tails dancing behind them. Mellie squealed and pointed. Stuck in a barrel that served as a doorstop was a spiraling kite on a long stick, spinning the rainbow like a fractal in the breeze.
Prize in hand, the couple exited the shop and headed for the beach. Mellie ran circles around Laura with her eyes on the kite above her as they walked barefoot in the sand.
“Rainbow?” suggested Melanie, still working out a name for her sister. Laura hmmmm’d and Melanie recognized it as a ‘no.’
They found a tide pool and watched the microcosm of ocean life stir in the shallow water. Mellie held a starfish, fingering the tiny nubs that dotted its body. Laura crouched gingerly and concentrated on keeping her balance. They saw a couple of crabs chase each other with asymmetrical pinchers drawn menacingly. Mellie touched the rough spikes of an urchin.
“What’s that crusty stuff on the rock?” she asked her mother, “It looks like lots of little volcanoes.”
“Barnacles,” Laura answered.
“I like that word – ‘barnacle’! Let’s name her that!” she offered.
Laura laughed, “She’s a barnacle now, but she won’t be for much longer!”
She chased Melanie and her kite down the beach and they dipped their toes in the frigid water. Giggling, they held hands and leapt over the waves as they lapped up to the beach and then slid, bubbling, back into the vast depths. Laura laid out a blanket to rest while she watched Mellie build sand castles and narrate stories about princesses and dragons. After putting the finishing seashells on her castle, she curled up beside her mother and they listened to the ocean for a while, Laura running her fingers through Mellie’s hair absently. She marveled at the genetic lottery that produced her daughter. Despite her mother’s thick wavy hair – dark as baker’s chocolate – and brown eyes, Melanie somehow inherited her father’s white-blonde tendrils, which were still soft as a baby’s and hung straight to her chin. Her eyes were also her Daddy’s: icy blue. Her lashes were near white fringes that tangled into her thick bangs. Laura pressed her palm gently against her stomach, feeling the baby’s tiny elbow protrude from her warm skin. She wondered what her new girl would look like. A kick made her sit up.
“I think little one is hungry. How about her big sister?”
Mellie rolled over and shouted “Pizza!” over the roar of the ocean.
They wandered back to the main street, the kite’s stick tucked deeply into their beach bag, so that it trailed brightly behind them. They found a pizza parlor and ate their slices of greasy pizza hungrily. Her plate clean, Mellie decided she’d earned some dessert… which led them to an ice cream cart where they both got two scoops of rocky road.
With an hour or so left before the last bus home, they strolled and talked about Melanie’s new teacher and what school would be like. They imagined how big the baby would be and Mellie pledged to fetch diapers and bottles and sing her little sister to sleep. They stopped at a candy store window where a man inside was busy pulling taffy. Mellie gasped in delight and watched quietly for a few minutes before pulling Laura inside. Rows of clear bins lined the store’s striped walls, each filled with a different sugary treat. An entire stretch was devoted to their own house taffy. Mellie counted 25 pieces of taffy, pinching them by their twisted waxed paper ends with tongs and carefully plopping them into a paper bag. By now, the sun had begun its descent over the ocean. With time to spare, they chewed and sucked on their salt-water morsels and moseyed back to the bus stop.
Laura sat down with Melane nestling quickly in her lap. The bus pulled away.
“We never picked a name for your sister,” Laura pointed out.
Melanie yawned an answer.
“What did you say, Mellie?” she asked.
“Taffy,” Melanie replied, with a meaningful pat to Laura’s bump. The baby wiggled and kicked her approval.
“Taffy.” Laura repeated, and watched in the dimming light her oldest daughter slip in to a dream with her little hand still resting on her newly named baby sister.