A name is both a weapon and a balm.

“Emma?”

“Emma has been given to every other baby girl born since 1993.”

“I’m not referring to Emma like Rachel. I mean, like Emma in Jane Austen.”

“Austin?”

“Ben—Austen. Jane Austen.”

“Oh. A literature name. Too college-y for me.”

“Is there a more appropriate trade-union name?”

“Lis, don’t be a jerk. Rebecca, what do you think?”

“Rebecca… not at all literary.”

“It’s the name of my mother’s sister.”

“That’s right—Auntie Bec. And no, we are not doing Rebecca. Too outdated. Plus, I went to high school with a Becky who was a complete jerk.”

“Becky is different from Rebecca. It wouldn’t have to be shortened.”

“When was the last time you were called Benjamin?”

“You clearly have an issue with Auntie Bec. I don’t know why—she gave us an air fryer for our wedding. She doesn’t even have kids or a husband. I know, I was there.”

“Just because your aunt found an air fryer at the dump doesn’t mean I’m naming our daughter something I don’t like. Danielle?”

“No. Same name as that fantasy romance author my mother adores. Every breakfast visit she’d just show me photoshopped abs.”

“Jenna?”

“Cute, but no. Do you remember the name of my ‘best friend’—the one who stole my boyfriend?”

“Yes. Tenth grade.”

“Right. So no Jenna. Kaycee?”

“Yes, because your high-school best friend and my cheating ex are the same person.”

“Okay, Jenna and Kaycee are out. How about Beatrix? Beatrix Potter—British illustrator. We could call her Bea.”

“Is she going to come out with wrinkles and gray hair? Should we also try Gladys?”

“Ben, I’m just thinking out loud. Are there any female icons in your life we could use? And don’t say your mother.”

“Veronica might be cute. Ronnie?”

“Ew. No. That’s your mother’s name—after your father. Too weird.”

“Angelina?”

“When did Lisa become my name? That just makes me think of an Italian supermodel.”

“So you’re saying she needs a boring name like yours?”

“Victoria was supposed to be mine, but—”

“I know. For some insane reason your mother rejected it. We might’ve gone with Angelina if your dad had his way. Angie.”

“Okay. So: not too pretty, not too literary, not old-lady-ish, and not named after mothers, aunts, or exes.”

“Beth.”

“Veto.”

“I like Beth. Like Little Women’s quiet sister.”

“The one who dies?”

“And isn’t that also your mom’s sister? The one who had an affair with your dad?”

“True. But I’ve always liked the name.”

“That’s a terrible idea, Lis. There’s too much emotional baggage. You’d just make your mother’s relationship with her only grandchild more complicated.”

“Maybe it would help her move on.”

“It wouldn’t. She’d never say anything, but it would hurt her.”

“Our daughter is here. Even if Aunt Beth was a liar, no one in this family gets to be called Beth again.”

“That sounds like hormones talking. Or revenge. Your mom has really tried these past few years. Ve-to.”

“Carla?”

“My sibling?”

“Yes.”

“But Carla was a miscarriage.”

“I know. I thought it could be a tribute—to the sister who never was.”

“That’s not healing old wounds.”

“It could be. At least for me.”

“I think it’s ominous. And if our daughter’s name can’t be a weapon—your words—it can’t be a balm either.”

“Fine. Fair.”

“So what about a name we don’t associate with anyone? No actors, no authors.”

“Rose?”

“Titanic? No. No flower names. No seasons—June, April, Summer. And nothing that labels her a tomboy, girly-girl, or free spirit.”

“So not Rain, Harmony, or Willow?”

“Exactly. Is there a name that says ‘I want the best for my daughter’ and ‘she can be anything she wants to be’—as long as she’s not a starving artist or a stripper?”

“You’re overthinking. Pick a name you like and stop projecting. I regret suggesting Kaycee. And Beth.”

“I don’t think any name can define what she will or won’t be. She’ll be who she is.”

“Let’s take Carla.”

“Are you sure? I thought you meant ‘too morbid.’”

“No. You’re right. It’s a fitting tribute to your sister.”

“Carla.”

“If that’s really what you want.”

“Not unlucky?”

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“No…”

“What were you saying?”

“Nothing.”

“You still want Carla?”

“Yes. Yes.”