“Do you have any photo albums?” I asked.
“Not with recent photos.”
“Do you have any of you as a boy?”
“I do, actually. When I moved down to Florida, my mother made me an album of old family photos. I found it with a letter when I was unpacking. She wrote that she wanted me to remember how much I was loved and asked me to look at the album at least twice a year—on my birthday and hers.”
“That’s so sweet.”
He handed me the almost empty container, and I declined my turn at stuffing my face. “I’m full. You can finish it.”
“I like eating with you. You only eat half, and I get to finish off the rest.”
“Better watch it. Might wind up with a pot belly eating two dinners all the time.”
“We’ll work it off and then some.”
I had no doubt we would. Carter handed me the water bottle we were sharing and I took a sip. “Do you do what your mom asked in her letter? Look at the album twice a year?”
“I do.”
“When is your birthday, anyway?”
“July Fourth.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No. Why?”
“That’s my birthday, too.”
Carter mumbled. “And eventually the pieces fall into place.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. It’s something my mother always said.”
“What did you do on your birthdays growing up?”
Carter finished off the last of the noodles in the Tupperware and stood from the bed. “I’ll show you.”
He came back a minute later with a thick photo album and sat with his back to the headboard. Adjusting me so I was positioned next to him, he opened the album on his lap. The first page had two pictures of a chubby naked baby that was probably about three or four months old.
“Is that you?”
“Yep. Look at the size of my balls. Why are they so big? Are all baby’s balls that size, or did I just have to grow into mine?”
I laughed. “I don’t know. But you were so cute! And chubby, too.”
The next page had pictures of two girls who were probably about six or seven and a boy of maybe four who was most definitely Carter. The chin dimple was a dead giveaway even if it hadn’t looked exactly like him. “Are those your sisters?”
He nodded. “Catherine and Camille.”
They looked about the same age. “Are they twins?”
“They are. Fraternal. My mother is a twin, too.”
Carter, Catherine, Camille. “What are your parents’ names?”
“Mom is Calliope and dad is Carter.”
“So you’re one of those families, huh?” I bumped shoulders with him. “All your names begin with the same letter?”
“Five people, all our initials are double C. Hated it when I was a kid for some reason.”
He flipped a few more pages, and I watched Carter grow up before my eyes. He was a cute baby and an even cuter little boy, but God, did he grow into his looks in his teens. We laughed at the progression of his hairstyles over the years. The last few pages of photos looked like they were recent, in the last few years. I slipped a photo of Carter holding a little girl who was probably about two out of the slot. They were sitting in front of a Christmas tree. “Who’s this? She’s adorable.” She had platinum blonde pigtails, and Carter’s captain’s hat was covering half her eyes. Her toothy smile was outlined in chocolate and she held a squished chocolate covered éclair in one fist.
“That’s Corinne, Camille’s daughter. Don’t let the face fool you. She’s a holy terror.”
“I bet she’s sweet. Wait…Another C name?”
“Yep. Catherine has a son. Wanna take a guess?”
“Charlie? Chance? Cash? Christopher?”
He pointed at me. “Christopher.”
“Will you keep up the tradition someday? Maybe a little Carter or Claire?”
His entire demeanor changed. Carter’s eyes held a seriousness that I hadn’t previously seen from him. “I don’t know. I never really gave it any thought before.” He seemed to be contemplating something for the longest time. Eventually, he said, “Wasn’t even sure I wanted kids. I’m gone twelve days out of the month. But now, I’m starting to wonder if maybe that is something I want. I think the right woman can change what a man thinks he wants out of life. I guess it depends on her. On us.”
I swallowed. “That makes sense.”
He looked down at the photo album. The last picture was of him, his parents, and his two sisters. They were all smiling broadly and had their arms around each other’s shoulders. He brushed his fingers over the page. “My sisters like to bust my balls about having kids. They act like I’m pushing fifty instead of thirty. For years, my mother has been saying this thing that I thought was just something she read on a Hallmark card somewhere.”