The tips of her fingers were pink. Like little gumdrops atop pale nimble stalks. Her cheeks were also pink, but of the rosier variety. With her patch of hair, she looked like she was blossoming into a tomato. The mother and father looked at each other with love and pride and slight alarm to what they had managed to create. She was perfect. And when she sucked on her mother’s finger, grasping with her pink hands, her parents knew what to name her. “Let’s call her Suri.”
And as if to seal the fact, Suri smiled with her pink cheeks.
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