She was not on the spreadsheet.
This became clear on day three, when Sera and Draven were home from the hospital and the apartment had achieved the specific chaos of new parents who had read everything and were discovering that reading and doing were not the same skill.
I came over with food, because that was apparently the family tradition now regardless of who was doing the cooking.
Draven answered the door holding the baby with the careful, slightly stunned expression of a man whose entire operating system had been rewritten in seventy-two hours.
"Forty-three names," I said, walking in. "Have you picked one?"
"None of them," Sera said, from the couch, looking exhausted and radiant in the specific combination only new mothers achieved. "We looked at the list this morning. None of th
