Dairy Queen
The baby had stopped crying an hour ago, but she hadn't sat down. She hovered over the cradle, watching, waiting for the eyes to open and the mouth to open in a violent scream.
Nothing was happening.
Her room was isolated at the end of the hallway; usually empty. She didn't have many visitors, nor did she want them.
Christian remained at home, a bone spurr in his wrist somehow turning him into a complete asshole.
Well, she had earned that sort of appraisal herself, hadn't she? She was the one who had gotten drunk and left him alone at a Dairy Queen to lie in repose. She had earned he breakup, like a good working girl.
Her son had been named Arvel. It was a strange sort of name, and she liked it.
She knew that Chris was the one knocking at her door; two hours late for his first visitation, as usual.
He shoved her aside and walked directly to the crib as she opened the door.
"How's he doing?"
I've seen the sun on a funeral, the full moon in a midday sky
Tactician politician hold his head and wonder why
I'm always struck that much harder by the power of suggestion
By now I know the answer's always in the question
"Talk softly." She warned him. "He wakes up easily."
Chris examined the child from a distance, as though he were an alien spawn of negligible worth. "He looks like you."
"I know."
"I guess you're glad about that."
"We're not going to start the day with a fight, Chris. If you want to scream at someone, go find Edge."
"What's his name?"
"Arvel Stavros Stratus."
Chris rose a brow. "The hell?"
"It's a family name..you wouldn't understand."
"You didn't even ask me what name I want my kid to have?"
"Well, I know plenty about families. Do you?"
He smiled. "You still know how to fight. And how to dress a kid."
Trish shook her head. "What do you think?"
I was either gonna be the prodigal or the banished friend
We were standing against an outside wall, I was afraid of what you'd say
"I think you might be a good mom." He admitted.
"What do you think of him?"
"He's a nice little boy."
Silence passed.
"So...does he play?"
She laughed. "He's two weeks old."
"Hey, I'm new to this father shit." He flopped down on the bed beside her. "I don't have the practice you've got."
She shrugged, "I don't know what I'm doing, anyway."
"Don't be so down on yourself."
She shrugged and turned her head.
"Anyone gotten you something to eat in the past few days?"
"Tyson is busy with Dawn Marie, and Lita's too busy avoiding Kane. So that's a 'no'."
"Get your coat. I'll get you dinner."
"But what about him?"
They both turned their attention to the baby in the cradle.
"Give me that strap-on thingie."
She gave him an odd look as he groped for the baby carrier himself. She assisted him into it, and then he, gingerly, scooped up the baby and strapped him into the carrier.
As they left the hotel room, Trish glared at the child.
The little brat didn't even wake up.
Now that we're done with that why don't you warm the car
All of the fields are filled with fresh boys playing football
More than the weather chills, the bands practicing their drills
I've got to get back to something real with you