No Hope of Parole

"We're going to be embarrassing parents," whispered June into his shoulder. Oh no, thought Nate. Not this again. He adjusted the pillow so he could face her without her hair tickling his nose. He wanted to suggest that she cut her hair - it was annoying him - but he also knew that she thought of it as an extension of her soul, just as much a part of her body as a liver or heart.

"Every parent is embarrasing. The kids suck it up. And eventually they..." reasoned Nate. She put a finger to his lips. It was the silent signal of an incoming monlogue, which he was expected to listen to and understand. He didn't really mind this tirades, but what he did mind was the lasting effect which took days to wear off. He didn't mind talking about the baby, but this was a conversation they'd had more than once. Several times in fact.

"Nate, they do not always eventually see it from the parents' point of view. Don't you think that sometimes parents can be as bad as the kids say? There was an article in the paper. It said that the reason teenagers complain so much about not being listened to wasn't because of some sociological or cultural mumbo-jumbo that everyone has been coming up with - it's because parents really don't listen! What if we're like that, huh? Sure, a baby is cute and a toddler is sweet too, but teenagers are practically adults and what if..." June's voice was getting faster now, each word tumbling over the next in a pointless race to get out of her plump mouth.

"Shush," said Nate, stroking her too-long hair. The Sunday morning was lethargic, lazy and far too relaxing to be thinking of teenage temper tantrums. Deal with it as it comes, was Nate's philosophy. He lived for the present and didn't believe in insurance - didn't he project himself as that kind of a man? June's philosophy was different. Do your worst, world, and I'll do mine. It was a challenge; a threat. It wasn't empty - June did, indeed, take on the world on a daily basis. But in Nate's opinion (not that he'd be asked) that philosophy as circular. Round and round, few changes ever made.

"But..." June's voice trailed off. Her husband had blocked his ears and was evidently not listening to a word she was saying. "Are you even listening to me?" she accused him, in a harsh and hurt tone which cut through the fog. To a lot of men, it would sound like a question, albeit a pissed off one. Nate knew differently. It was a statement. And if looks could kill, June would be put in prison without hope of parole.

"The baby isn't even born yet. We don't have a name. All we have is a lump and a worry," replied Nate. His arm around her shoulder was growing stiffer. He wanted a name. It made it complete, official.