The Duval Estate, Savannah, Georgia — Two Months Before Baby

It had rained that morning, the kind of southern drizzle that misted the windows and perfumed the garden like magnolia water and memory. But by mid-afternoon, the skies cleared just enough to let the sun halo through the weeping willow branches. The wisteria hung heavy, lavender blossoms dripping from trellises like gossip.

The baby shower began exactly on time, which meant Magnolia was still upstairs, adding another pin to her braid and reapplying her lipstick like it was armor.

By the time she descended the grand staircase, all eyes turned—as they always had. Even now, softened by pregnancy and barely keeping her feet from swelling in her kitten heels, she carried herself like Savannah royalty.

Because she was. Even if the crown she wore now was a little off-center and shaped like a breast pump.

🌸 The Garden Setup

Tables curved in long arcs beneath stretched white linen canopies. Each one was dressed in lace runners and set with delicate china Magnolia had personally pulled from the estate cabinets. No two teacups matched. That was on purpose.

Every place card was hand-labeled in her script. Roz’s cup said poet. Delilah’s said chaos in pearls. Dustin’s said southernish. Aunt Delphine’s just said Delphine—because she needed no modifiers.

In the center of each table sat shallow crystal bowls filled with water and floating magnolia petals. Lanterns hung from the willow branches, flickering already even though the sun hadn’t set.

And, at the head table, nestled among embroidered napkins and silk peonies, a hand-woven Moses basket cradled the Duval family cat.

🐈 Stewie: Magnolia’s First Baby

Stewie had been dressed (without his consent) in a blue velvet bow tie and introduced to every guest like he was heir to a foreign throne.

“He’s old,” Magnolia announced. “But emotionally invested.”

When he promptly curled up and began snoring next to the punch bowl, nobody questioned it.

🎸 The Hawkins Arrival

Magnolia wasn’t sure what she expected when Eddie’s people arrived—but what she got was oddly perfect.

Dustin, buttoned into a polo she’d picked out herself, brought a gift wrapped in sheet music and declared he’d cry before the hour was up. (He did.)

Steve looked like he’d been briefed for a wedding. He held the gift basket with both hands like it might explode.

Robin immediately fell in love with Roz, who was wearing vintage lilac chiffon and taking notes on everything for a future poem. “This is so queer,” Robin whispered. “God, I want to live here.”

Magnolia raised her glass. “That can be arranged.”

🍼 The Games (She Allowed)

Midwives’ tales, old Southern superstitions, and a few odd traditions from the Munson playbook became a single, bizarre guessing game. • If the baby kicked during the ring test, it meant girl. (It did. Twice.) • Magnolia’s cravings had been sweet. (Robin said that was “scientific.”) • Steve guessed boy. Dustin guessed “a dragon.” Delilah guessed “twins and one of them’s possessed.”

Someone started a betting pool on hair color.

Eddie just grinned and said, “Whatever they are, they’re already weird. Look who’s making ‘em.”

🎁 The Portrait Surprise

Magnolia was only halfway through a lemon tart when the wheels of a cart squeaked behind her.

A server appeared with a large cloth-draped canvas and a sealed envelope.

From your father, the woman said. He said to open it when you felt brave.

Magnolia felt her throat tighten.

Eddie rose instinctively, fingertips brushing hers.

The wax seal broke under her nail. Her father’s letter was short—formal, measured.

“I thought you might like something that tells the truth. About what this child is born from. So I asked the wrong artist to step aside… and let the right one paint instead.”

Her hands didn’t shake as she pulled the cloth back.

The guests gasped. Then laughed. Then someone—Delilah—teared up.

The portrait was bold and messy and them. A pink-scaled baby dragon, yawning beneath a wing-shaped blanket. Above it, in Eddie’s scrawl:

BABY BAT OUTTA HELL