“I thought of a name.” “A name?” He wrings his hands, and that pink dotting his cheeks? It runs rampant, the tips of his ears dipped in ruby red. “For our rainbow, if they’re a girl.” My heart patters. “A girl?” “I was thinking … Lana. For your—” “Mémère,” I whisper, and he takes my hands in his, sweeping his thumbs across my knuckles. “She’s special to you, and to me too. She’s strong, brave, and funny, just like you.”
