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Lillian Marie Du Maurier comes into the world on April 14th, 3:46 P.M. Her shrill cries pierce through the air, heavy with exhaustion and tension, and fill it with a new emotion, one that feels closely like overwhelming jubilance.
Alana cries.
Bedelia cries.
For all her screaming and sobbing, Alana Bloom can't bring herself to focus on anything else but the tiny, wriggling girl in her arms, all rosy cheeked with a coral mouth that falls open into a perfect "o".
They name her after Bedelia's love of lilies, the calla ones that can be found in almost every room of their French home. Her middle name was chosen to match Alana's, leaving them with a perfect combination of both women.
Lillian like the hurricane.
Lillian like the flower, symbol of innocence, purity, and beauty.
Yes, Alana thinks it fits nicely for their little girl, who's eyes finally flutter open, revealing a glistening shade of cerulean.
Alana lets out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding.
Out of the corner of her eye Alana see's a figure move, bringing her back to the small detail that she isn't alone, so she shuffles over in her hospital bed, leaving room to accommodate the blonde woman.
"Wanna say hello to your other mommy?" Coos the brunette softly, as if she were talking to a fawn. She bounces the little girl in her arms before nestling her between her and the older woman's body.
"Say hello," Alana sings.
Lily makes a small noise at Bedelia, causing Alana to look up. What expression graces Bedelia's face can only be described as somewhere between marvel and saccharine.
"Hello little flower," Bedelia says gently, smoothing a hand over the wisps of blonde that cover her daughters head.
Lily makes what can only be described as a pleased sound, and Bedelia leans down to kiss the crown of her head before returning her lips to Alana's.
"You did it," she murmurs into the brunette's mouth.
"We did it, but I did all the heavy lifting," pronounces Alana with a giggle.
Bedelia ignores the comment, instead showering Alana's face with kisses, leaving her laughing breathlessly.
"I'm all sweaty," Alana tries to argue.
"You just went through 8 hours of labor, a little perspiration is to be expected from these situations."
Alana just laughs and goes back to cooing to their daughter, and as Bedelia watches them together, she can't imagine a time when she ever thought she'd be better off alone.
-
Lily's nursery is a pale yellow with a peacock on one wall. Her tiny fingers wrap around one of Alana's as her mother sings Moon River to her until she falls asleep in front of the tall window overlooking the quiet night life of Paris. The visible stars in the sky are far and few between, but every night Alana points them out, telling stories of brave heroes and mythical creatures.You're too small to understand, little flower, but one day, you'll be your own hero.
As she blossoms, her blonde hair begins to curl, she stands on wobbly legs and pads her way across the tiled kitchen floor to Bedelia's outstretched arms, and when collapses into them her mother picks her up and swings her around, with the other one clapping gleefully as she finishes the crepes.
She sits next to her mother at their grand piano, Bedelia's slender fingers flitting over the key's, as Lily determinedly tries to repeat the action with her plump tongue sticking out of the corner of her coral mouth. Later in the evening Alana plays Chopsticks and Bedelia rolls hers eyes.
On the nights Lily has nightmares, she bashfully slides into her mothers bed, where they tell her that while monsters can be real, there aren't any here. She wants to inquire as to what kind of monsters her mothers saw, but she says nothing and falls asleep between the women's steady heartbeats.
Bedelia smooths her curls with a brush, pinning them back with rubies and sapphires, and Alana garnishes her with lovely dresses. They call her their little flower, or their little princess, and when she walks out onto the balcony, clasping one of her mothers hands, peering out into the bustle of the city, sometimes she likes to pretend thats exactly what she is.
"If I'm a princess does that make you a queen?" A 4-year old Lily asks from her seat at the kitchen table, her chubby star shaped hands held steadily between Alana's as she gets her nail's painted lilac.
"I guess it does,"
Lily beams.
"Where's your crown?"
"I don't have one,"
"Every queen should have one," Lily protests, brows furrowed in confusion.
"Well maybe we can make one,"
And with that, Alana leads Lily onto the balcony where the flower beds rest. She places both hands on either side of Lilly's ribcage, lifting her up, allowing her to pick a few flowers from the small garden.
"Mommy might not be too happy that we picked from her garden, but I'm sure she won't be too mad, seeing that we're making her a crown." Alana reassures.
When Bedelia finally arrives home, Alana proves right as Lily presents her queen with a floral crown woven with love.