Page 122 of Beloved Beauty

Violet studies the ivory linen swatch in her hand. “So, we’re doing vintage charm and neutral tones?”

I love how she says we.

I nod. “Yup. No pastels. No circus animals. Only soft colors and old-soul energy.”

Violet grins. “How very Magnolia of you—charming, minimal, and just bougie enough.”

I shrug. “It’s a skill.”

Violet holds up a looped wooden ring threaded with soft, clacking beads. “How about this one? Minimal enough for you, or should I go find something carved by woodland fairies and blessed under a full moon?”

I roll my eyes and walk toward a crib mobile hanging above a vintage rocking chair. It’s soft, hand-stitched white wool lambs. One of them has a crooked ear.

I stop, and my chest goes tight.

“Oh boy,” Violet says, coming up beside me.

“I’m fine,” I say. But I’m blinking a little too fast, my voice a little too thin.

Violet slips a tissue into my hand without looking at me.

I swallow and press the tissue to the corner of one eye. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to do this.”

“Well,” she says, bumping my shoulder, “now you are. So pick a mobile. Or don’t. But I’m not letting you cry in a boutique filled with gender-neutral sheep.”

I laugh. “Fair enough.”

What a difference a year can make. Here we are shopping for a tiny little someone I haven’t met yet but already love more than anything I’ve ever known.

Violet toys with a breast pump, pressing one of the flanges to her chest. “This thing looks like it could suck the soul right out of your body.”

“It does. And then it stores it in four-ounce portions for midnight feedings.”

Violet shudders. “Hard pass.”

She puts the pump back on the shelf and turns to me. “Have you told your mom you’ve created life?”

I pause. Not because I don’t have an answer but because the answer makes my stomach twist.

“I tried,” I say, adjusting a swaddle blanket on a display table. “I called her the day after we got the first ultrasound photo. Left a voicemail. And another one the next day.”

Violet’s brows lift, eyes softening. “She didn’t call back?”

I shake my head. “I assume she’s still furious I wouldn’t give her any money. So no, I don’t think she’s planning to knit booties.”

Violet wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Her loss. This baby’s going to have more love than it knows what to do with.”

I nudge her side with my elbow and keep walking. “It’s fine. I only wanted to tell her because not telling her seems weird. She’s Robin, so I don’t expect a parade. Or even a text.”

We turn into the next aisle, and that’s when I nearly walk straight into Celeste.

She’s holding a small, gift-wrapped box with a satin bow. For a beat, she stares at me like her brain is buffering.

“Magnolia,” she says at last, blinking. “Wow. Hi.”

“Hi, Celeste.” I offer a polite smile. Because what else do I do?

Her eyes drop to my small bump. “You look well. Congratulations.”

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