Ava tugs my hand hard enough to pull me off balance. "Mommy, look! Purple ones!"
Sofia trails beside me, oversized sunglasses hiding whatever expression she's making. Probably judgment. Sofia's resting face is judgment.
"Those are asters, baby." I crouch to Ava's level. Her face is flushed from running, blonde curls escaping the ponytail I spent ten minutes perfecting this morning. "They bloom when other flowers are sleeping."
"Why?"
"Because they're patient. They wait for their turn."
Sofia snorts. I shoot her a look. She examines her manicure with exaggerated interest.
Ava considers this with the seriousness of someone who believes flowers have feelings and thoughts. Then she's off again, pink sneakers flashing against gravel paths
Her princess dress—the purple one with too much
