Chapter 23: Family Photo

The photographer arrived on Christmas Eve with two lights, a gray backdrop and a very low opinion of babies.

"He'll cry," she said, setting up in my living room.

"He doesn't cry much," Maddie said. "He mostly looks at things."

"They all say that."

My son lay in the bassinet in his Christmas sleeper, looking at the photographer's light with deep suspicion.

He was seven weeks old, and he weighed almost ten pounds.

Ben stood by the fireplace in a navy sweater with the sleeves pushed up.

He had been there since eight, because I had asked him to come early.

He had arrived with a bag of cinnamon rolls and a tie he had decided against.

My brother leaned in the doorway with a coffee.

"I'm only here to heckle," he said.

"You're in the picture."

"I'm in the picture to heckle from inside it."

Maddie had chosen the green dress with the white collar a week early.

She had worn it to bed twice.

She stood in the middle of the room, giving orders.

"Mommy in the middle. Ben on the left. Me on the right."

She pointed at my brother.

"Uncle on the end with the baby, because he's the tallest."

"I'm not holding him," my brother said.

"You are."

He held him.

He held him in both hands, rigid, with his chin tucked and a look of terror.

The baby stared up at him, and made a small gurgling noise, and my brother's face changed completely.

"Oh," he said. "Hello."

"That's the one," said the photographer. "Don't move."

The shutter clicked.

It clicked again, and the baby spit up on my brother's sleeve.

Ben laughed so hard he had to turn his face into his shoulder.

"Again," the photographer said, tired, and cheerful for the first time.

We took thirty shots.

In the last one, Maddie held Ben's hand and I held hers.

My son lay on my brother's arm with his fist in his mouth.

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