“What do you think of that house on Daniels Street?” Willow asked curiously, sipping her tea.

“I don’t know, Will,” I responded hesitantly, wrinkling my nose. “It seems kind of. . . I don’t know, I just don’t get a good feeling from it. I don’t think we’d be happy there.”

“Well, what about the apartment building that Angel lives in?” she pressed. “The one right above him is empty.”

“I don’t want to raise my child in an apartment building,” I objected. “We have houses available to us, and I want to live in one. We both grew up in houses, and I want the baby to live in one, too. An apartment just screams ‘we’re too busy to have kids, but we have one anyway.’ ”

“You’re right,” she conceded. “Well, do you have any ideas?” she queried.

“Actually, I was sort of thinking of that one on Whedon Avenue,” I admitted. She looked at me in surprise.

“Xander, the *mansion* is on Whedon avenue,” she reminded me. I shrugged.

“I know. But the house isn’t a bad one,” I argued. “It’s a good size, not huge, but not tiny, either. It’s in good shape but not so impeccable that we can’t work on it without messing it up. It’s got a lot of personality. I think it’s worth a second look.”

“If that’s what you want, then I think we should live there,” Willow said firmly. “I liked it, too. We only have another day before the wedding, and I want to make a deal on a house before we leave for Italy. So, I say let’s go for it.”

“Okay, so we know where we’re going to live,” I summed up. I sat back into the couch and Willow snuggled up against me. “I think it’s about time we talked about names for the baby.”

“Before you suggest anything, I want to say something,” Willow interjected. I looked at her and she continued. “I know Buffy and Giles are an important part of our lives, and I know that Bri, Colin, Preston and Patrick are our best friends. But I don’t want to name our child after any of them. Our child is not another Buffy, or Giles, or Bri or Colin. He or she is going to be a unique individual and deserves a name that is his or hers alone.”

“I feel the same,” I assured her. “I know there are lots of people who would name their child after an influencing person in their lives, but it’s not fair to attach a name with personality and meaning to a person who hasn’t yet developed their own. It’s not fair to put all these expectations on our child before he or she has a chance to become what they want to be.”

“So, what do you have in mind?” Willow asked. I thought for a minute.

“I was thinking maybe Jonathan for a boy, or Aspen for a girl,” I decided.

“And I was thinking Adam for a boy or Meredith for a girl,” Willow told me.

“Well, they have to have middle names. We can use both our ideas,” I suggested. “Adam Jonathan or Aspen Meredith. I like both of them.”

“Me too,” Willow decided after a moment’s thought. She nestled her head down against my chest and I picked up the TV remote. I flipped for a few minutes, not really seeing anything interesting. I was more preoccupied with the redhead curled up against me. I leaned over and kissed the top of her head and she sighed. “Xander, did you ever imagine we’d end up like this?” she asked contentedly.

“My image of my future with you was sometimes the only thing that kept me sane,” I admitted. “I always feared that something would take you away from me and I’d have to spend my life alone.”

“Well, maybe something good came from you ignoring me all those years. We never would have known if we could be something apart from each other and that might have caused us to break apart eventually,” she predicted.

“Hey, you finally found something *good* about my ignoring you for so long,” I joked. She stiffened and I glanced down at her, confused in her change of mood.

“There was never anything *good* about you ignoring me,” she spit out testily.

“God, Will, what bee flew into your bonnet?” I teased. Willow pulled away and stared at me disbelievingly.

“What the hell is *your* problem?” Willow asked in anger. I tried to put my arm around her and she threw it off. “Where do you get off criticizing *me* for *your* screw-ups?”

“I didn’t know I was criticizing you,” I returned, baffled at her sudden anger.

“ ‘God, Will, what bee flew into your bonnet?’ ” Willow mimicked me nastily. “Well, when you’re telling me it’s a good thing you ignored me, then get sarcastic when I get upset, then I think that’s criticizing me!” she shouted.

“I didn’t tell you it was a good thing I ignored you,” I protested. “You said it was a good thing, not me, and I was just saying I didn’t think you’d ever say that.”

“I’m through with this argument,” she said suddenly. She stood up and stomped upstairs. “Don’t bother joining me in bed tonight!” she screamed down the stairs. Hurt, I curled up on the couch with a blanket.

“What set her off?” I mumbled to myself. I could hear her stomping around upstairs and slamming doors. “I didn’t say anything. . . at least I don’t *think* I said anything that could have upset her. She made the initial comment.” I wiggled around a little bit, trying to find a comfortable spot on the couch. It was just barely long enough for me to stretch out fully. When I finally got comfortable, my thoughts returned to my fiancee. I didn’t have a clue why she was so upset, but I hoped that I could get her over it before the next day was out, or it might put a bit of a crimp in our wedding. As I drifted off, I imagined a cranky Will at the altar, telling the minister she wouldn’t marry me unless I agreed to shut up for the rest of our natural lives.