It was an average day in the Evans household. It was the 30th of January 1960, and two – year – old Petunia Evans was wailing to her nine-month pregnant mother about something or another. Mr. Evans was in his study quietly going through the taxes, counting the high numbers and hoping that they wouldn't amount to the same high number as last month. He rubbed his temples with his forefingers, and sighed.
"Jack? Could you give Petunia her lunch?" Mrs. Evans called, and Mr. Evans hopped up and went to grab Petunia. He whirled her around and placed her on his hip. His daughter smiled up at him, showing off her pearly white baby teeth. The front two were slightly too big, taking after him. Her blue eyes were those of her mother, and so was the blonde hair that made her look like an angel – which was deceiving. Petunia Evans was one of the most demanding toddlers Jack Evans had ever had the pleasure to meet. Of course, he hadn't met that many toddlers, so perhaps there were more demanding ones.
He doubted it.
'Jack? Oh my gosh, Jack!" He heard his wife's voice and her laboured breathing. He put down the tuna he had been beginning to prepare and rushed into the bathroom, Petunia still on his hip.
"What is it Helen?" He asked frantically, "What's wrong? Is it the baby? Oh my god!" Helen Evans pushed her way out of the bathroom and out the front door calmly into the car. Mr. Evans rushed out behind her, Petunia wailing away on his hip. He quickly strapped Petunia into her car seat and then practically threw himself into the drivers seat. Mrs. Evans had taken out a book from her handbag and was reading it.
"How the hell can you be reading right now?" Mr. Evans asked incredulously as he backed out of the small driveway and drove down the road much faster than what was considered legal.
"I am trying to concentrate on my reading, dear, so would you kindly shut up!" Mrs. Evans said, gritting her teeth.
The Evans family pulled up to the emergency door at the local hospital and rushed into the hospital. As he was seating Mrs. Evans in a wheelchair, he realised that he had left Petunia in the car, and had to leave his wife in the hands of what he was sure was a very capable nurse. He hurriedly took Petunia out of the car and then jogged back into the waiting room.
He walked up to the receptionist and asked her where his wife had gone.
"She was being wheeled to room 134, sir," She said back in a monotonous voice. He thanked her and walked briskly down the halls until he found room 134. He could hear her screaming and the nurses telling her that it would all be okay.
"I'm here!" He yelled, bursting into the room.
"Sir, I'm afraid your daughter isn't allowed to be here." Mr. Evans looked down at Petunia, happily sucking on her thumb. A nurse came and took her from him, and he went to his wife's bedside. He grabbed her hand and held it tightly.
"About bloody time you showed up, you tosser!" He smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze.
An hour and twenty minutes later, Jack Evans was holding his new baby girl. Helen Evans was sleeping – after all, giving birth wasn't an easy feat. He was seated in the chair next to her bed, cradling his daughter in his arms, gently rocking her back and forth. He looked down at her all wrapped up in a yellow blanket. She had a thin layer of red hair (wherever had she gotten that from? His hair was a dull brown) and a small button nose. Her tiny body was warm and he could feel her breathing. A tiny sigh escaped from her mouth. Mr. Evans looked down at his new daughter. Slowly, she opened her eyes. They were the brightest green; almost mirroring his own eyes that had been dulled by the years. Emeralds couldn't shine any brighter. He smiled softly at her.
"Hey baby," He said softly. "I'm your dad. And that lady sleeping over there is your mum. She can be a nag sometimes, but I think you'll get along with her. You also have a sister. Her name is Petunia. She yells a lot, and sometimes she trips and falls, but she's an alright kid." His baby gurgled and made a small squeaking noise. He laughed. She tried to copy the sound, but instead it came out sounding like a drawn out yawn.
"Jack?" He looked away from the baby. His wife was sitting up in bed, looking at him though misty eyes. "What do you want to name her?" He smiled at his wife, and felt a small tear build up in the corner of his eye. He looked back down at the small bundle with the bright green eyes and the red hair. He smiled as she began gurgling up at him. A small dribble of spit was making its way down her chin. He used his sleeve to wipe it off her.
"Lily," he said, "She's my little Lily." Lily smiled up at her father. He smiled back, and the one tear in the corner of his eye rolled down his cheek.
Well, the first author's not was embarrassing. I guess I should double check my crap more often. AHEM. I used to be leprechaunsarekronos'sservants. Now I am breezered.
I own nothing. Not even my soul.