Page 186 of Stay With Me

Willow wakes up to eat thirty minutes later, and Magnolia breastfeeds like a pro. Well, a pro for as well as she knows how to. From what she’s told me, it hurts like a bitch and feels like Willow has teeth.

She switches Willow to her other side, and we chat until she’s done, then I offer to burp her.

“Remember that gift I mentioned a couple of weeks ago?” I ask Magnolia, and she nods. “I brought it with me.”

“You did?” Her eyes light up. “Do I get to see it now?”

“Yep.”

I put Willow in her bassinet, still wrapped up, and then grab it from my bag.

“I made you something.” I set it in her lap, then sit next to her on the bed.

“Oh my gosh. A scrapbook?”

“Of your pregnancy,” I confirm. “I found this beautiful picture from the ranch and the pink sunset reminded me of you.”

“It did?”

“Every time I’d come across that photo during family scrapbook night, it made me smile. There was just somethin’ about it, the contrast between the greens and pinks, the beauty in that one image just made me happy anytime I saw it. So finally, I took it for myself and decided that’s what I wanted on the cover until we had a family photo to replace it. But yeah, it gives me the same feeling as when I look at you.”

“Tripp Chattanooga Hollis,” she weeps, reaching up to touch my cheek. “I’ve cried enough today. But that’s seriously so sweet. I love it.”

Then her fingers play with the little decorative wheat pieces surrounding the photo, and she smiles when she sees the flower.

“A littlesunflower.” Her eyes gloss over and she sticks out her lower lip. “You thought of every little detail, didn’t you?”

“Noah might’ve helped me a little, but I’m takin’ credit for ninety-eight percent of it.”

As soon as she opens to the first page, her eyes widen and she covers her mouth. “Look at my little belly,” she coos.

“Only ten weeks.”

She touches the image and then reads what I wrote underneath.

“Tripp, this is so freakin’ sweet.”

She flips to the next page and reads it again.

“Eleven weeks.”

Flips again.

“Twelve weeks.” Then she looks at me. “Did you do every single week?”

“Of course. Up until her birth, actually.”

“You’re jokin’.”

She continues to flip through each page, laughing and crying when she reads the notes and reminisces about the size of her bump.

“Oh, my chocolate ice cream and pretzel phase.” She giggleswhen she remembers some of her cravings. “Can’t ever go wrong with a sweet and salty combo.”

“Unless it’s two in the morning and we’re out of ice cream…”

“Whoops.” She smirks. “But you were so nice to get me some.”

When she gets to the thirty-eight-week photo, it’s of her in the nursery for the first time. We’ve busted ass the past two weeks to get it ready. Laundry, organizing the closet and dresser, putting out all the diapers, and decorating it exactly how she wanted—in light pink, yellow, and white. She wanted it bright and homey.