DECEMBER 7th, 1991, RENNES, FRANCE

        OF COURSE SHE WAS running late. Reagan shouldn't have expected any less from the mishap that had befallen her on that crisp December day as she hustled through the Rennes airport alone, her suitcase practically flying up off the ground behind her.

She swore to herself that it wasn't her fault. She couldn't control the airlines and nothing could have stopped her layover flight from Paris into Rennes from being delayed by several hours. Reagan had first heard the announcement blared over an intercom situated at her gate in the Charles de Gaulle airport. It had been spoken in rapid-fire French, though she'd understood the series of numbers and letters that had identified her plane. When she had asked for further information from a flight attendant and learned about the delay, her heart had sank to her toes.

Nirvana's show was due to start in the early evening at the Salle Omnisports venue. After learning of the flight delay, Reagan had come to understand that she was likely going to miss the show, which in turn had foiled all of her plans.

She had envisioned herself arriving early in Rennes, where she would meet up with the helpful roadie Dave had promised would be waiting to accompany her to the show. She would have gotten to the venue and gone straight to Dave, pulling him aside and telling him the news he had desperately been waiting for — the gender of their baby.

Reagan realized after much consideration that that particular dream had been too perfect. Nothing could have ever gone that swimmingly, especially for a girl who was on her first trans-Atlantic flight to France. She'd been trembling with nerves from the moment Kate had first dropped her off at the SeaTac airport.

Now, many hours later, she was moving at light speed through Rennes airport's lounge , having just fumbled her way through baggage claim. Her eyes were peeled for the guitar technician, Nic, that Dave had sworn to send for her. She had only met Nic once or twice and could hardly remember what he looked like, nor did she believe that he would still be waiting for her by that time. Nirvana's show must have already been at least halfway over.

Reagan weaved through a gathering of travelers near the arrivals exit and shot out into the cool nighttime breeze, her hair blowing wildly across her face and into her eyes. She swiveled her head back and forth, trying to search for the man whose face was a blur in her mind.

Maybe her worst fears were indeed true. Nic had probably left before her flight had even touched down, his responsibilities at the show outweighing his duty to pick up Reagan. She hadn't even be able to let anyone know that her flight had been delayed — the confusion of being in a different country with no sense of direction and no knowledge of French had left her helpless.

"Reagan! Hey, Reagan!"

She turned automatically in the direction of where her name had been called and saw a man with his head sticking out of backseat window of a car. He was waving frantically at her, beckoning her forward. Reagan felt a burst of relief. This had to be Nic, who in a surprise turn of events, had actually waited for her.

Reagan ran for the car, jerking her suitcase recklessly over the sidewalk curb as did so. She was finally starting to notice that it was cold out and that she had stupidly not dressed in preparation for Rennes's weather forecast. Her one coat could barely shield her from brisk air that nipped at her nose and cheeks.

The friendly driver of the car opened his door to step out and aid Reagan with her baggage, but Nic snapped at him from the backseat.

"No! Don't worry about it! She can throw it in herself!"

When the man looked back at him in bewilderment and spoke a flurry of French words, Nic groaned and threw his hands up.

"Conduisez, conduisez!" he demanded, slapping the passenger seat headrest to accentuate his commands. Reagan noticed that his attempt at speaking French had sounded more like a drowning gurgle.

She threw her heavy suitcase in the backseat, not even minding if it knocked into Nic's lap on the way in. She jumped into the seat beside him and slammed the door shut, feeling her body jerk backwards as the driver hit the accelerator.

"You speak French?" she asked breathlessly, prying stray pieces of hair from her mouth and eyes.

"Barely," Nic grimaced. "I just try to know the basics of whatever language according to country that we're in."

"Right," Reagan nodded, still trying to catch her breath and gather that she had amazingly made it safely into Nic's hands. It was odd to think that only twenty minutes earlier, she'd been filing off of the plane.

"Listen, I don't mean to sound like a dick, but where the hell were you?" Nic inquired exasperatedly. "The show started thirty minutes ago. I almost left you here."

"I know," Reagan said, wincing in apology. "My flight got delayed and I couldn't find a pay phone in the airport in Paris without getting lost. I'm sorry."

"You ever use a map before?"

Reagan frowned at Nic's sarcasm. She was fully prepared to insult him right back, having been pushed far past her limits of stress that day. The last thing that she needed was for one of the Nirvana roadies to undeservedly bite her head off.

"I'm sorry," Nic said, offering his apology when he saw the intimidating look on Reagan's face. "I'm just wondering how the hell they're getting on without me right now. You know that they throw those guitars around like confetti, right?"

"You're not the only guitar tech that they have."

"They've got Earnie, but you never know with those guys. Hey, let's just hope that Dave didn't have a pre-show seizure thinking your plane blew up or something."

"You didn't call him to tell him what was going on?" Reagan abruptly demanded, widening her eyes at the thought of Dave having waited for her with no answer as to why she never showed up.

"I forgot the number to the venue."

"You ever use a phone book before?"

"Funny. Now can you please put on your seat belt? I don't want Dave to come for my neck if we crash and you fly out the window."

Reagan rolled her eyes but did as she was told, strapping the seat belt across her chest as the car navigated through the narrow French streets. She wasn't in the least bit jittery to see Dave, mostly because all her anxiety had been spent on actually arriving to Rennes. Nonetheless, she still envisioned his smiling face while looking out of the car's window into the dimly lit night. The image was enough to make her heart bound restlessly in her chest, pulling her like the magnetism of a compass to where they would reunite once more.

She supposed that as she stared out the window, she should have been reveling in the fact that she was in a whole different country. It was hardly possible when Dave occupied a bigger space in her mind than sightseeing did.

When they finally pulled up to the backside of the venue, Nic waved Reagan off and grabbed the handle of her suitcase.

"Go on inside," he instructed. "I'll grab this and meet you in there."

She pulled her coat tighter around her chest and hurried from the car to the venue's backdoor, relieved when a security guard pulled it open readily for her.

"Thanks," she said. As soon as Reagan was inside the shadowy backstage area, her ears were met with a familiar barrage of guitars and drums. Directly ahead of her was the opening to the stage, spilling bright white light that shone on the faces of the crowd. She could see Krist's willowy frame, his back to her as he played in his usual stage right position. They were thrashing out the heavy culmination of 'Blew.'

"That better not be a replacement drummer I hear," Nic shouted, appearing behind Reagan with a smirk on his face. He still hadn't put off the possibility of Dave bailing out of the performance due to Reagan's absence; as if that would even be an option for him.

"It's not," Reagan replied loudly over the sound of the low tom being hammered into repeatedly. "I can promise you that that's all Dave."

Suddenly, the show was over and the stage lights were cut. There was a screech of guitar feedback and Krist's voice booming into the microphone. Surely he and Kurt were up to their usual antics, preparing to destroy the contents of the stage before they actually left it. Reagan began to question whether or not Dave would join them in their instrument-smashing tomfoolery, but she didn't have time to finish the thought before she saw him.

He exited the stage quickly, wiping away the mess of tangled hair that obscured his face. His chest was heaving up and down and sheen with sweat — all signs of a good performance. A stage hand held out a water bottle for him, but he shook his head at it. There was only one thing on his mind and even from a distance, Reagan telepathically knew what it was.

"Dave!" she called out. His name was nearly drowned out by the vibrations of a stage speaker being pushed over, but he heard her calling and his head whipped in her direction. She stood on the tips of her toes and raised her hand in the air, beaming.

Dave charged purposefully through the forming clusters of roadies and towards Reagan, ignoring anyone who attempted to stop him on his way. Once he was close enough, he scooped her into his arms, lifting her feet entirely off of the ground as he held her in a tight hug.

For Reagan, this reunion was even greater than the first. There was something special about holding him in the midst of the world that he thrived in, surrounded by people who threw smiles their way and chuckled knowingly.

That's Dave's wife, they must have been thinking. It made Reagan feel good and stable to be with him in that place, the place where their lives were no longer separate but conjoined. She surprised herself in being pleased that she was someone's wife, but then again, she was Dave's wife and that made all the difference.

She felt the smear of sweat on his face when he kissed her, clasping his hands eagerly around her neck as he gathered her into his embrace. She opened her mouth to tease him about it, but he didn't allow her to speak before he got the first word in.

"What is it?" he asked, his eyes round and wondering. His hands were still gentle around her neck, holding her close so that he could hear her answer. "Is it a boy or a girl, Reags?"

She had almost entirely forgotten about the news she had come to bear. For a second, Reagan had been too wrapped up in merely being with Dave to remember how long he had waited for the answer that only she could give. She smiled, feeling sentimental when a faint sting of tears pricked her eyes. With the tips of her fingers, she brushed his lips and pressed her forehead to his.

"It's a girl Dave," she said softly, her words somehow ringing clearly above the ruckus around them. "We're having a girl."

_______

"The thought of a female Dave being birthed into existence is a little bit frightening to me," Krist announced as he and the rest of Nirvana walked into the lobby of their hotel, fresh from their performance at the Salle Omnisports venue.

Dave, whose arm was thrown around Reagan's shoulders, threw his head back and laughed. Reagan shot Krist a questioning look.

"It does?" she asked, surprised that Krist would think that the idea of Dave's daughter would be anything less than lovely. Yet then again, she was in a position of bias. And besides that, she could smell the alcohol on Krist's breath that evening, which served as an indicator to his playful comments.

"Well, I'm mostly picturing Dave's face on a female body, and let me tell you, it's not pleasant."

"I think Dave would make for a pretty girl," Kurt chimed in, smiling wryly as the group piled into the hotel elevator, nodding goodbyes towards the roadies who strayed behind for smoke breaks.

"I'm going to keep that in mind," Dave said, aiming a grin over Reagan's head that was intended for Kurt. Kurt grinned back at him as if they had suddenly formed the greatest scheme of all time.

"Can we not insult the fetus in the room, please?" Reagan sighed as she lightly touched her hand to her stomach.

"Elevator, Reagan. We're in an elevator," Krist said, enunciating his words and wagging a finger at Reagan. "An elevator thankfully, and not a god damn fucking escalator."

"You know what I mean Krist," she groaned back.

"So you admit that the idea of Dave's face on a girl is horrifying?" he pressed, fighting back laughter.

"Shut up already!"

Krist held his hands up in surrender and inclined his head respectfully, still snickering under his breath as the elevator doors opened. He waltzed out first and gave a flourished bow.

"Alright, alright," he said. "I'm off to my room, since none of you are interested in sharing one last drink with me. Keep Dave in check, Reags."

Krist flashed them a two-fingered salute, swaying on his feet as he parted down the opposite hall, leaving Dave, Reagan and Kurt alone. Or rather, Dave and Reagan alone — when both of them turned to bid their goodnights to Kurt, they noticed that he was already gone.

"Where did he go?" Reagan said. She glanced down either hallway, searching for a glimpse of Kurt's scraggly blonde hair, but Dave caught her by the arm.

"Don't worry about it," he suggested. The look in his eyes told Reagan everything she needed to know. She smiled softly and took his hand, following him down the next hallway over and into their hotel room. Dave had specifically asked to be roomed alone knowing Reagan would eventually be joining him.

He flipped on the lights and threw down his things as Reagan shrugged out of her coat. She spotted her suitcase sitting by the room's writing desk.

"Nic is a magician," she announced, pointing to it.

Dave chuckled. "Amongst other things."

Reagan moved towards her belongings but paused when she saw a telephone that was conveniently placed on the desk. She should have been at least bothered to call someone, someone like Kate, to let her loved ones in Washington state know that she'd survived her plane ride.

"I've got to call my sister and tell her that I'm alive," Reagan said, turning to face Dave. He had taken his shirt off and was lying on his side across the burgundy comforter of the bed, staring at Reagan intently. Telling by his expression, a slew of thoughts were churning through his mind and although Reagan could not directly read them, she sensed that they were happy ones.

"I'll help you with placing the international call," he offered, hopping off of the bed.

Kate answered the corded telephone that she kept in her dorm room insta roundly. She scolded Reagan lightly for having not called sooner, but softened once Reagan regaled her with Dave's reaction to hearing that their baby was a girl. In her way of celebrating, Kate began to babble conversationally about baby names again, but Reagan cleared her throat in an attempt to curb the discussion to an end.

"Oh, right," Kate said. "Almost forgot. You're with Dave. Okay, well, call me again before you board any more planes, got it?"

"Will do," Reagan agreed before hanging up. She looked over her shoulder at Dave, who was wearing an amused, close-lipped smile.

"She misses you already," he asserted, leaning back once more onto the bed.

"I don't doubt it. We've never been this far apart from each other."

"I guess that means you won't ever be able to tour with me."

"I've got a job, remember? That's the real reason I can't tour with you."

Dave held out his hand and Reagan took it, smoothing her fingers across his calloused palms and allowing him to pull her to the edge of the bed. She stood while he sat, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"What was she saying about baby names?" he asked, swiftly moving from one subject to the next.

"She's mad that we haven't picked any yet," Reagan explained with a roll of her eyes. "She acts like I'm a criminal for having not planned this out years ago."

"We have a lot of time to think about them now," Dave insisted. He was right; after rejoicing in the baby's gender reveal, Dave had told Reagan about the discussion she'd missed prior to the show that night. The band had decided to cancel the remaining European tour dates in order to catch up on their rest, leaving Dave in Reagan's company for nearly the rest of December.

"True," Reagan said. "I'm starting to feel like a slacker parent for having not come up with anything yet."

"I agree that we better decide on something soon. Once we tell my mom that it's a girl, she's going to ask about potential names."

"So we have until Christmas then?"

If Dave was betting on having the baby named by the time they saw Ginny, Reagan knew she would have to shoot for a sooner date than the twenty-fifth. They had agreed awhile back to spend the holidays with Dave's family in Virginia. Soon enough, they'd be traveling to the east coast again.

"Technically speaking," Dave began lightly, "I've already thought of some."

Reagan raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You did? Why haven't you said anything about it?"

"I was waiting for you to get here. That way I'd know whether to ex out the boy or girl names."

"You thought of both?" Reagan wished that she could have wiped the gawking look off of her face, but she couldn't help it. Suddenly she had realized just how big of a slacker she truly was.

"Yep. But all that matters now are the girl ones."

His eyes skimmed downwards from Reagan's face to her stomach, lingering there momentarily. He looked back up at her and smiled, appearing younger than he really was.

"Do I get to hear them tonight?" Reagan pressed. She felt an unexpected eruption of butterflies burst throughout her body. There was something about the idea of Dave having already picked out names that excited her and made her love him even more than she already did.

"Sure you do. I don't have a lot, though."

"It doesn't matter. Shoot," she insisted as she sat down beside him, intertwining their locked fingers more tightly together.

Dave reached into the pocket of the baggy shorts he wore over his usual long-johns, digging around until he produced a folded piece of paper. As he smoothed out the wrinkled sheet, Reagan chuckled.

"You wrote them down on a set list?" she said, biting her lip around a budding smile.

"Kurt's journal was full, so I couldn't steal a page out of there," Dave replied with a grin.

He flipped the paper and laid it flat in his lap. Scattered from top to bottom in Dave's spiky, all-capitals penmanship was a collection of names. They were all sized differently, some big, some small, some clearly having been written down more hastily than others. Reagan could tell that they had not all been thought up in one sitting.

"Forget about those," Dave said, pointing to the smattering of boy names on the paper. "They're kind of moot, unless, you know, you wanna' get busy again after this first one."

Reagan laughed and leaned into Dave's side so that they knocked gently into each other. He looked bashful, an emotion that Reagan had come to learn was almost rare for him, usually because he chose to disguise it under most circumstances. Tenderly, she took the paper into her hands from his lap.

Amelia . . . Sarah . . . Ophelia . . . Arabella . . . Violet . . .

"Your grandma's name," Reagan remarked, her finger resting on the name 'Violet.' She recalled Ginny having told her stories that past summer involving Dave's maternal grandmother. The name, she remembered, had been beautiful to her.

"Violet?" Dave asked, peering at the sheet. "Yeah, I've always kept her name in mind for this occasion."

Reagan was nearly close to telling Dave that she liked the name very much, until her eyes fell upon a different one that he had inscribed near the bottom right corner of the paper.

"Grace . . ." she murmured, her fingers gliding down to hover delicately over the name.

"Grace?" Dave repeated, squinting as he tried to find the spot where Reagan's eyes had fallen.

"Yes, Grace. But what about . . . Grace . . . ee."

"Gracie?" Dave said, parroting Reagan once more. She looked up at him.

"Gracie," she said again. They smiled at each other in sync, aware that they had repeated the name several times.

"You like that one." It wasn't a question, but rather a statement that Dave made as he stared knowingly at his wife. She had a look in her eyes, one that he had seen the day they had gotten married. It was a look of absolutely certainty.

"I do," Reagan admitted. "But your grandmother's name . . ."

"It can wait," Dave assured her promptly. He raised a hand to caress Reagan's cheek, sliding it down from her neck to her waist. "So do we have a name?"

Reagan pressed her lips together, but could not hide the telltale smile on her face as she lowered the paper.

"I think we do. Do you like it?"

"I love it," Dave said. He paused, then let out a barking laugh. "But Gracie Grohl? Is that one too many 'G's' for a single name?"

Reagan shook her head, already leaning forward ecstatically to kiss him as she repeated their baby's name over and over in her head, knowing that it could then never be changed.

"No. It's absolutely perfect."