Chapter Text
On the coffee table spread before them were dozens of parenting books, all bought by Ilya’s neurotic (and he meant that lovingly) husband. Ilya’s finger stopped on a name.
“Rose,” suggested Ilya slyly.
Shane turned and looked at him with narrowed eyes.
“You’re such an asshole,” said Shane, batting his hand away and closing the book.
“Is good name!”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Imagine that.”
Shane turned to speak to his imaginary child, taking on a lighter, sing-songy voice that delighted Ilya. “Hey sweetie, so actually, you were named after Daddy’s ex-girlfriend.”
Ilya laughed. Shane turned back to his husband.
“By your own rules: Svetlana,” countered Shane.
“Wonderful! Is another good name! Good, strong, Russian name.”
“You are so fucking annoying,” said Shane playfully, grabbing Ilya’s shirt and pulling him closer.
The books were swiftly abandoned.
–
The name suggestions were endless. They had six more months before their baby girl would arrive, and they were no closer to an answer. Every woman’s name, every flower, every word that sounded nice now became fair game.
“Daphne?” suggested Ilya, reading the newscaster’s name from the TV.
Shane shook his head. “Too… Mystery Gang,” he said.
Ilya looked over from his treadmill at Shane with an expression of pure confusion.
“What is ‘Mystery Gang’? That is English nonsense, no?”
Shane laughed and refused to explain, soaking up Ilya’s bewilderment.
–
“Ah. I see. So Velma. Would be ‘too Mystery Gang’?”
“Exactly,” said Shane. “You’re learning!”
–
“Emma?”
“No. Sophia?”
“Nah. Charlotte? Or Lily? Jane?”
It was Ilya’s turn to roll his eyes.
–
“Irina?” Shane suggested.
They were at the kitchen island, reading through stories of the latest draft, when the thought had popped into Shane’s head. It seemed such an obvious choice now that he’d thought of it.
Ilya glanced down at the ground with that faraway look. He shook his head. In his mind, Russian words swimming in his head with no English counterpart.
“We don’t have to—”
“No, it is just…” began Ilya. “The Irina Foundation. That was our first baby.”
Shane smiled softly. “Yeah, well, I think this baby might be a bit different.”
“My mother, she—she was her own person. I could not—” Ilya began, his voice unsteady.
“Have your daughter carry that legacy?” Shane finished.
Ilya looked up slowly, meeting Shane’s eyes with a sad smile.
“Yes,” he agreed. And then again, quieter, more distant: “Yes. I could not.”
–
“We’re five days out and we don’t have a name,” said Shane, looking up from his book. In bed next to him, Ilya seemed very interested in watching Shane read his book than reading the one on his own bedside table.
“Inspiration will strike,” Ilya said, seemingly unconcerned.
“She’ll need a name!”
“I have it. Unnamed Child. Nice ring to it, no?”
Shane buried his face in his book and sighed heavily.
“No. I finally have it.”
Shane knew not to take this too seriously, but maybe, he thought, just maybe—
“Ilya Jr.”
Shane threw his book at Ilya.
—
Despite the years of red tape, of the millions of documents they had signed and the hours of interviews they’d done, the first time Shane and Ilya had held their little girl it felt like an accident.
The new fathers were in their mid-thirties and still had the impression they shouldn’t be trusted with a newborn. And yet, still she was here, with black hair and chubby cheeks, and Shane felt so suddenly the feeling he would do anything for her he needed to sit down.
“Mariya,” said Ilya softly, his hands gripping Shane’s arms lightly, looking at his daughter from over his husband’s shoulder. “Mari. Nickname.”
That name…Shane remembered that name. Mari.
“That was my—”
“Grandmother’s name, yes?” said Ilya with a crooked smile. “I asked Yuna for advice. We were… getting desperate.”
Shane smiled, looking up for just a moment from his new child to look at Ilya. Just perfect, all around.
“Mari. Is Japanese. But also, Mariya—Russian. It is perfect.”
The baby stirred for a moment before relaxing, and Ilya felt his heart melt. This little girl was clearly learning very quickly she was safe in her Daddy’s arms.
Shane looked back at the child in his hands and had to agree: her name was Mariya. Mari.
“Yeah,” Shane said, softly. “It’s perfect.”