you can’t put that kind of thing in writing even though this is fiction

“You’re home early!” She’s at the table, reading the baby names book again.
“I got a phone call from that HR guy -“
“About the interview?” The chair creaks as she turns her body to face me.
“Yeah. I… he…”
“Oh no. But you said it went really well!”
“I thought it did. They went with someone else.”
“Something will come through.” I try not to notice that she puts her hand on her belly when she says this.
“Sure. Anyway. How’s little Bump today?”
She smiles now, “been kicking a lot.” I lean over and kiss her forehead, lean close to her belly.
“Hey Bump! Mama says you kicking a lot today!” The baby kicks. “I love that she kicks when I talk to her. Bump we gotta pick you a name.”
“I wrote some more on our list.”
“Cool. Can we talk about that after dinner?” I don’t want to argue about baby names right now.
“Okay.” She pushes off the table with one arm, stands up out of the chair. “Do you need a hug?”
“I really do.” She hugs me tight. Her hair smells like some kinda flowers.
“You’ll find a job. You really will.”
“You smell good.”
“It’s that leave-in conditioner your mom get me, it’s actually good stuff.”
I step back from her, walk to the fridge. “Tacos okay for dinner?”
“Sure.”
“How was your work today?”
“It was good. The kids were really chilled out. I’m gonna miss them.”
“Yeah. I think we’re out of your wimpy salsa.”
“Oh fuck off.”
“Okay but for real, we only have the good hot stuff.”
“I can live with that.”
I set the bag of tortillas on the counter. “Silver lining, I wrote a short story today. I sent it to that art zine thing that Tim was telling me about.”
“That’s cool. What’s it about?”
“Job hunter guy shoots HR guy after an interview.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“What’s it really about?”
“It’s tasteful! There isn’t even any torture!”
“For real, what’s it about?”
“I was being serious.”
“Please don’t publish that.”
“It’s not my decision, it’s the editor’s.”
“Don’t fuck around, I’m very pregnant. I want you to email them and ask them not to run that story.”
“They haven’t said they will.”
“Look, I get that this is cathartic for you but you can’t put that kind of thing in writing, even in fiction. We have enough problems to worry about.” She puts her hand on Bump again.
“Oh please. You’re being paranoid.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
I realize I am slamming plates down now as I set them on the table.
She crosses her arms. “My back hurts. I’m going to take a bath.”
“Fine.”
I clear the plates then knock on the bathroom door. “I- okay. Alright. I don’t mean to worry you, I’ll email and explain the situation.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Can I write about this conversation?”
“Only if you put in that I’m right.”
“Okay. You are.”
“No, about everything.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“Bump kicked again.”
“Hi Bump! I’ll talk to you in a bit. I’m gonna go send an email.”