Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
We celebrate with hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, me standing behind Beatrice at the kitchen island, holding up her belly so she can have a few moments of relief from the weight of the increasingly gigantic Charlie.
She’s a week overdue, with no sign of labor in sight, but was already in remarkably good spirits for a woman this pregnant, even before we got the good news. The number one has her positively glowing as Clover emerges from her bedroom an hour later, leaning on her cane, but getting around well for a girl who had two giant glasses of port while watching Pitch Perfect with us last night.
Beatrice tells her the news, and she explodes with happiness, hugging Bea so hard that they both tumble onto the couch, laughing their heads off.
Next, we call Nix, Charlotte, and Bea’s mom and dad, who are staying in Char’s guest room, awaiting the birth of their first grandbaby.
Nix insists on throwing a party to celebrate on Sunday.
Charlotte insists we should do it tomorrow, instead, since Beatrice is already overdue, and might not make it to Sunday.
Nix sees the wisdom in this call, and they dive into last-minute party prep mode. Meanwhile, Beatrice’s mom takes her shopping for something festive to wear, seeing as she’s outgrown everything but her stretchiest maternity pants and my sweaters.
I take advantage of the brief time apart to swing by Lost Magnolia Jewelry, now doing a brisk business in the retail space beneath my old apartment. I rented both spaces to Charlotte’s friend, Veronica, when I moved in with Beatrice in November. Veronica was looking for a combo live-and-work situation in my part of the French Quarter, and the pieces fell seamlessly into place.
And when I saw the witchy kind of jewelry she makes…
Well, it’s hard not to see the hand of Fate in all of this.
I collect the custom pendant Veronica and I designed for Bea’s “new mama” present, then head home to pick up my girlfriend, who’s looking even more striking than usual in a long, dark blue spandex dress with tiny sparkles all over it.
Bea looks like she’s wearing the night sky.
I tell her as much, and she sighs, “Thank you, but this look is not complete. I had to wear tennis shoes. I’m too enormous for cute shoes now, even my ballet slippers.” She glances down, trying and failing to see her feet past her belly. “Can you see them at the bottom of the dress?”
I shake my head. “Nope. You look foxy and magical.”
She glances back up at me with a grin. “Magical enough for you to stand behind me and hold up my belly all night?”
I take her hand, promising, “They won’t be able to get a shot of you without some weirdo in the background, dead-lifting your guts.”
She giggles. “That’s okay, I like that weirdo. He’s pretty great. My back really appreciates his service. I’m eventually going to go into labor, right? No woman has ever been pregnant forever.”
“Never, not in the history of the world,” I assure her.
But honestly, I’m starting to wonder what her doctor is thinking.
My girl is very, very pregnant.
And I can testify to how heavy Charlie is getting. I’m a pro athlete, and even my shoulders start to burn ten minutes into holding Beatrice’s belly in the air. I can’t imagine how her tiny body is going to be able to bear up under the strain much longer.
At Nix’s, the party is already in full swing by the time Beatrice and I head up the front walk.
Clover, who caught a ride with Bea’s mom earlier, after their shopping trip, is already ensconced on the front porch, jamming with a few of our musician friends. Her leg is taking longer to heal than her doctor hoped, but her arm is much better, and she can finally play again. She’s still building up her stamina, but her fretwork is as on-point as ever, with an added layer of soul that wasn’t there before.
As we cross the porch, her bass sings a smoky bayou song, setting the tone for the party inside.
Somehow, with just a day’s notice, Charlotte has transformed her bungalow into a witchy refuge from the world, complete with thick ropes of Spanish moss dripping from the rafters and enough candles to make the house feel like it’s vibrating with spells about to be cast. The corners are full of midnight-and-black flowers and jars of dark river stones, and the air smells like cedar incense and woodsmoke from the bonfire in the backyard.
It isn’t just a party; it’s a place where magic feels real.
Just like the album Beatrice gave the world.
We toast her number one with our friends—Beatrice nursing a half-glass of champagne, even though her doctor said a full glass would be fine—and head out to dance around the bonfire in the backyard. It’s a warm night for mid-January, and the flames make it even warmer. Bea and I don’t need our coats as we sway to the music blasting from speakers, me cradling her belly while she swirls her arms through the air, and our friends bounce and spin around us.