The news that we were having two girls spread through the ranch faster than wildfire. By the day after the ultrasound, it seemed everyone already knew—and everyone had an opinion about how the babies' room should look.
Rosa, naturally, took the lead.
"Pink," she announced on Monday morning, hands on her hips, a general's smile on her face. "It's the official color. Period."
I looked at the mountain of bags she'd brought from town. Pillows, curtains, rugs, sheets—all in the most vibrant shade of pink I'd ever seen in my life.
"Rosa, this is… a lot of pink," I tried, carefully.
"A lot of pink isn't enough pink, my dear. They're girls. Girls deserve pink."
"What if they hate pink?"
Rosa looked at me as if I'd suggested Fiona was an ordinary chicken.
"Hate pink? That doesn't exist. Pin
