She shook her head. “No. I was wrong about you chasing dreams. You just had different ones than mine. You needed to go out there to figure out where you belonged. I never understood that because I always knew where I fit.” Raina’s eyes flicked to Langston, then back to me.
The simple acknowledgment my path had been valid, even if different from hers, loosened something in my chest that had been tight for years. I blinked back tears, cursing the pregnancy hormones that had me crying at commercials, let alone genuine moments of sisterly connection.
“Damn, Rain, you’re going to make me mess up my makeup,” I said, voice thick with emotion.
She laughed. “Please. Like you ever leave the house without waterproof mascara.”
The waiter returned with our order — a decaf latte for me, espressos for the adults, and hot chocolates for the kids. Thanks to Raina, who had already placed the order.
The table was busy with conversation, and Mike inquired about Langston’s expansion of Black Security into Europe, while the children debated the Eiffel Tower versus the Louvre. I found myself admiring our baby’s profile in the ultrasound photo. Her tiny nose, the curve of her forehead, the small fist raised near her face as if already prepared to take on the world.
Langston leaned to look at the picture with me. “She has your nose,” Langston commented.
“And your chin,” I countered, a smile tugging at my lips.
Raina reminded her youngest to use a napkin, as a street violinist’s melody drifted through a cracked window. It was a perfect moment, one I would have once been too restless to appreciate.
“Happy?” Langston asked quietly, his question simple but layered with meaning.
I nodded, looking around at this unlikely family — my Type A sister and her gentle husband, their boisterous children, my security-obsessed husband with his rare public smile, and me, the former rolling stone, now anchored by choice rather than circumstance.
“Terrified, but yeah. Happier than I knew was possible,” I admitted, hand moving to my belly where our daughter had started her afternoon acrobatics.
His hand covered mine as he pressed a kiss to my temple. In the moment, surrounded by family in a Parisian café, I understood what my memoir had really been about, not only finding my way back but finding my way forward… to this.
That evening, I kicked off my heels the moment we entered our hotel room, groaning with relief that only comes from liberating swollen pregnant feet after hours of professional imprisonment. All I wanted was to shed the public persona of Aven Compton-Black, bestselling author, and be Aven, exhausted mama-to-be. It wasn’t until I moved toward the bed that I spotted a folded piece of hotel stationery on the duvet.
I picked up the crane to find a piece of hotel stationery beneath. Langston had created a list.
Baby Girl Black - Name Possibilities
- Paris (the city where we announced her)
- Truth (honoring our story)
- Riley (author you admire)
- Jade (for my grandmother)
- Grace (what you’ve shown me)
- Imani (faith)
- Nyla (champion)
The care he’d put into the list, not only names he liked, but ones which carried meaning for us both, was so quintessentially Langston. He was thorough, thoughtful, leaving nothing to chance.
I sank onto the bed suddenly too tired to remain vertical, the weight of the day and the baby pressing down on me. Langston followed, collapsing beside me with an exaggerated groan, making me laugh. We lay side by side, staring at the ornateceiling of our fancy Parisian hotel room, his hand finding mine between us, fingers interlacing with practiced ease.
“So, did I miss any good ones?” he asked after resting for a moment.
I held up the list, squinting at it in the soft lamplight. “Zora’s a possibility… for Hurston.”
“Add it to the list.” He reached over to retrieve a pen from the nightstand without releasing my hand. “What about Taylor?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Too common. Half the girls in Raina’s kids’ school are named Taylor.”
He took the list, adding Zora beneath his original entries. “What do you think about Paris? Too on the nose?”
