Hank and Frankie
Barry can hardly believe it. The twins have finally arrived.
“They’re perfect,” Iris coos, gazing adoringly at their newborn babies, one cradled in each of her arms.
“Yeah, they are,” Barry says from his perch next to her, awe in his voice.
He is mesmerized. And happy. And grateful. And a little scared. But mostly mesmerized.
He and Iris made these two beautiful humans— it doesn’t seem real. But here they are, all 11 pounds of them, with dark hair and dark eyes framed by impossibly long lashes.
“I think they have your nose,” Iris says smiling.
Honestly he can’t really tell. Not that it matters. When Iris told him she was pregnant, he said he hoped their baby looked just like her and he meant it.
A couple weeks later, when the doctor informed them that they were expecting not one but two babies, he nearly passed out. Twins were not at all what he anticipated —they didn’t run in his or Iris’s family— but soon he couldn’t imagine life without them.
He greeted them each morning —with a sunny “Hi there! It’s your daddy,” while gently stroking Iris’s belly— and often read to them at night— all kinds of things: traditional children’s stories, holiday tales at Christmastime, scientific articles. The latter earned a quizzical look from Iris.
“The content isn’t as important as the process of prenatal reading,” Barry replied knowingly. “The time spent together and the soothing rhythm of familiar voices.”
He wonders if they recognize his voice outside the womb.
“Hi, there,” he whispers as he lifts their baby girl into his arms. “We’ve waited so long to meet you.”
“She needs a name. And so does he,” Iris says, turning back to the tiny boy in her embrace.
She and Barry have a few names picked out for both, but decided months ago that they’d make their final decisions once the twins were born.
“She looks like a Francine,” he declares, peering at their daughter’s sweet face.
“I agree,” Iris says, running a finger along their son’s silky cheek. “He looks like a Henry, don’t you think?”
“I do,” Barry replies, tearing up a bit as he thinks of his namesake.
“Hank and Frankie.”
“I like the sound of that,” Iris declares with a grin.
So this drabble came about after a chat with @lazyexceptwhencooking. (Hey, dearie!) We were talking about Westallen and the Tornado Twins, and I was saying that Don and Dawn work in print, but wouldn’t really work on TV (too confusing). So I was thinking about name possibilities and came up with Hank and Frankie. They have similar sounds and can be short for Henry and Francine— names that honor Barry and Iris’s parents.