“I mean,” Lincoln says, “I guess that’s fair. But you should at least know that, whatever mess there was, you and Maggieweregood together, you know? And I’m sure you’re gonna find that again with other people.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
“We can’t always avoid the mess, CT.”
“Right.” I finally get into my car. “I guess not.”
December.
Carter
“You were right,” Bodhi says to me. “Those chocolate chip pancakes were next level.”
“I do what I can,” Dad says, clearing our plates.
It’s the night before my birthday, and, for the first time ever (so I’m told), I decided I want to actually celebrate this year. Before it all goes away. So we’re having a party, the four of us and Bodhi. Per my request, Dad made breakfast for dinner: eggs, bacon, potatoes, and, of course, his famous pancakes.
“Look how proud you are, Dad.” Lincoln stands to help clear the table. “It’s so cute.”
“I think I’m being pretty chill about it!” Dad says, putting the plates into the kitchen sink.
“You aren’t, honey,” Mom says. “But I agree it’s cute.”
It’s 6:47, and it’s hard not to feel the minutes slipping away. I’m trying to just be here with everybody. To enjoy the right now.
“If you think this is a lot,” Dad says, “just wait till I bring out my cake.”
“Mom and Dad,” I say, “can I ask you guys something?”
Everyone stops what they’re doing. One of the about-to-loop perks.
“Of course,” Mom says.
“How come you gave me the name of a president who didn’t do much, and then gave Lincoln the name of a total legend?”
Mom and Dad laugh. “I was expecting a way more serious question,” Dad says.
“It is serious!” Lincoln says. “I’ve always thought that was a weird move.”
“I never even realized you’re both named after presidents,” Bodhi says.
“Well, they aren’t,” Mom says. “Not entirely. We liked the name Carter,independent of any associations. And then we thought Carter and Lincolnsounded good together.”
“And also,”Dad says, “Jimmy Carter was an incredibly underrated president! And an underrated person! He was still volunteering to build houses for people in need when he was in his nineties. Did you know that?”
“I did not,” I say.
“It’s true,” Mom says. “Jimmy Carter was loved by many. And so are you, Carter.”
“Damn right he is!” Bodhi shouts, putting an arm around me.
Dad gets the cake ready—it’s his chocolate peanut butter one, which he has every right to feel cocky about—and soon it’s in front of me, an aspirational eighteen candles (seventeen and one extra for much-needed good luck) flickering as everyone sings.
I’ve traditionally found this moment of being sung to incredibly awkward, but now I just feel grateful. Even with all the shitty parts, this was a great year. My throat clenches, and my eyes get wet. I smile through it.
“Make your wish,” Dad says, once the song is done.
“What ever will you wish for?” Lincoln asks, with a hefty dose of irony.
