In fact, Claire was actually called Eva for her first four hours of life. But after those four hours, she didn't look like Eva. She looked like Claire. So she was Claire.
I didn't wait till last minute on purpose. I felt the deadline looming at my first hint of morning nausea. And so Brad and I had tossed names around feverishly. We discussed so many that we eventually couldn't remember which ones we liked and which we didn't. We considered everything.
I take that back. We considered almost everything.
One night, a month or so before Claire came, Brad and Grace and my Mom and my Dad and I sat around steaks at a restaurant in Roswell. We had names on the brain, again, and my mom had suggested some ancestral options. She blurted a few names she could remember, and then ended with, "Oh, I know. How about Carrilla?"
I liked it. Loved it.
It felt perfect. It rolled off my tongue:
I couldn't finish. Laughter. Too much laughter.
Great-aunt Carrilla will never have a namesake from me. It would be a playground tragedy.