“We’re really married.” I look down at the paper that Luka is holding, and my heart is thudding impossibly hard in my chest. I can’t believe I just married Luka Parish.

“We’re really married,” Luka says, raising his head, and when he looks at me, he has the strangest expression on his face.

“What is it?”

“It’s just a little work getting used to your name—Lotus Petal.”

Shame and guilt hit me again. How many times will I experience that? I should have never lied to Luka. I hate that I did, but will I always have to pay for it? I had dreams and hopes about being married to Luka. I had silly fantasies. None of them included getting married at the courthouse wearing a t-shirt and shorts with Luka wearing his uniform.

“I’m sorry, Luka—” I begin to tell him.

“It’s in the past now. We have to forget everything and look ahead now, for the baby. We don’t have a choice.”

His words slice into me as sure as if he was holding a weapon. When we made love in the back of his old truck, looking up at the stars, I felt special. Now I feel like a stone around his neck—a duty. He doesn’t even say our baby; it’s “the” baby. That small difference makes my heart bleed.

“Maybe… do you think you can remember the good things we shared, Luka?” I ask, and I try not to sound like I’m pleading, but I know I am.

“Lotus Petal is a pretty name,” he says instead, and that uneasy feeling inside of me doesn’t go away. If anything, it intensifies.

“I always hated the name. Especially Lotus. Supposedly I was named after my mother—or what she changed her name to when she was younger.”

“Since I don’t really like your mother, I’ll ignore that. Besides, I think Lotus is my favorite part.”

“It is?” I ask, confused.

“That’s what I’ll call you. Lotus.”

“I hate that name, Luka.”

He smiles, and somehow that makes me feel better—at least a little.

“Then I’ll call you Lo’.” He smiles. “Let’s go look at the apartment before I have to go to work.”

“No one has ever called me Lo’ before,” I confess to him, following him out of the small room.

He puts his hand on my back and leads me to his truck. “That’s good. It will be my name for you.” He doesn’t kiss me, but he does kiss the top of my head right before opening the door for me. That’s something, at least. Maybe it will be okay.

There’s no going back now. It has to be okay.

* * *

Present:

“What is this shit?” Luka asks, his eyes going round.

“I think it’s some kind of coconut soup,” I say with hope that I’m right because I’m really not sure.

“This has to be some kind of joke. A prank or something. It has to be.”

“Luka…”

“Swear to God, Petal, it looks like they ran out of food and threw the leftovers in a bowl and said ‘Here you go’!”

“Oh, they did not. Now you’re overreacting!” I laugh. I can’t stop myself.

“I am not! Look at this crap,” he growls. People are starting to look at us, but I don’t care. I can’t stop myself from laughing either.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“There’s fish in it, Petal,” he answers, his eyes glued to his bowl.

“You like fish.”

“It still has eyeballs, woman. In my world, the head does not stay on!” he all but growls loudly. I lose it then, laughing so hard I can’t control myself.

“So if I ever want to torture you, all I have to do is dump fish heads in your fridge. You should never let your enemies know your weaknesses, Luka. I sense a blackmail opportunity coming my way,” I joke.

“Is that what you are now, Petal? An enemy?” he asks as the mood in the room suddenly gets heavy.

“I don’t want to be,” I tell him truthfully. “I’ve never wanted that.”

“Me neither. We sure made a mess out of everything, didn’t we?”

“Not everything. We have a beautiful son,” I point out, emotion and old pain squeezing my heart.

“That we do. Do you ever wish we could go back, Petal? Go back in the past and fix things…”

“I wish I could go back in time and tell you the truth from the beginning. If I had told you up front who I was and my real age… maybe things would have been different.”

“Maybe. Still, if you had done that, River might not be here, and I can’t imagine a world without him in it,” Luka says, and his words are both bitter and sweet. Sweet because I love that he cares for his son so deeply. Luka has always been an amazing father, yet at the same time, the words are bitter. He as much as admitted, yet again, that I wasn’t enough. I’ve always felt like that from the day Luka told me that we were getting married, I was just a necessary evil—nothing of consequence. Our entire adult relationship is based on the sole fact that Luka got me pregnant and wanted his son.

“True,” I tell him, brushing off old hurts, old anger, and old ghosts.

“I’ve missed your laugh,” he says unexpectedly.

I don’t really know how to react. I try to control that wild hope blooming in my chest. Could Black be right? Could I get Luka back? Is there a chance for us?

“We never had much to laugh about. Especially there at the end,” I tell him truthfully, even though—especially in this instance—the truth is painful.

“What is that you’re eating?” he asks, causing me to jerk my head back to my plate.

“Som Tum?” I question.

“What the hell is that?”

“Basically a papaya salad.”

“A salad is not a meal,” he grumbles.

I blush. “I’ve been trying to diet.”

“Lo’,” Luka mutters, and my heart turns over in my chest. It’s been so long since he’s called me Lo’. I can’t even remember the last time, but I know that I’ve missed it. It’s funny how a nickname can make you feel beautiful, but Luka calling me Lo’ can do that every time. Every. Time. “You don’t need to diet. You’re perfect the way you are.” I look at him, confused, when he stands up. He throws some money on the table, definitely more than enough to pay the bill. Then he comes around to where I’m sitting and reaches out his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Um… where are we going?”

“To find a damned hamburger and a milkshake,” he mutters. I put my hand in his and let him lead me away. I’m doing my best to tap down the hope that keeps rising inside of me, because I know if this is nothing or if it falls apart, I’ll never survive the crash.

The problem is I think it’s much too late.