Miles swallows. If he were any other boy, I wouldn’t mind watching him squirm. But it’s Miles, so I swing my arm around his waist and stick out my tongue at Tía Camila.

“If Simone likes him, I’m sure he’s a fine young man,” Abuela says, tutting. “Come, come sit down. We’re looking at pictures of Javier.”

“That’s my dad,” I say to Miles, sitting next to Abuela. He sits on the arm of the couch, peering over my shoulder. “Pops is Paul.”

“Mr. Hampton,” Pops says, narrowing his eyes. “That’s still my name.”

Abuela is too caught up in her photo albums to comment. She points at a picture of Dad when he was a baby, drowning in a white baptism gown.

“He was such a cute little thing,” she says, shaking her head. “To think that he could’ve been Valeria.”

I raise a brow. “What?”

“We all thought your dad was going to be a girl,” Tía Camila says, glancing over at Dad. He doesn’t say anything, but takes a sip of his brandy. “I was so excited about having a little sister. Mama had a name picked out and everything.”

“I loved the name Valeria, but your abuelo named Camila,” Abuela says, glaring at him. “And I got the second baby. I thought it would be another girl, but we got Javier.”

“You sound so disappointed,” Dave says, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Well, we love him anyway,” Abuelo says, picking up his own drink. “And not just because we’re obligated to.”

Pops chuckles, flipping to the next page. It’s a picture of my dads, but they look young enough to be around my age. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but they were definitely young. Dad is wearing a blazer, and Pops has a big old Afro. Nicer than mine.

“Look at the Wonder Years,” Tía Camila says, a soft smile on her lips. “I can’t believe you two were that young.”

“Is this when you first met?” I ask. I’ve seen the pictures before, but they sometimes get blurred in my memory. It’s crazy to see how much they’ve grown, how long they’ve known each other. They’re leaning against a wall, just like bros. Not sure how long that period lasted.

“Well, I came up to New York back when Javier was there,” Pops says, stroking his chin. “It was my first time out of North Carolina, and I didn’t know anyone. These folks were my second family during school, and the rest is history.”

“You were already like our son back then,” Abuela says. “I knew that you fit in as soon as you got here.”

“Well, nothing happened at first,” Dad says, seeming almost uncomfortable. “We were friends for a while, and then I met Miriam.”