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June 10, 1994 - Rose Larkin is born
At 2 pounds and 4 ounces, she was not given the best odds to begin with. Doctors were worried about her being able to breathe on her own, pump blood, and live in general. Her body was weak. She was born premature due to a complication in the pregnancy. Here she was, this tiny perfect little thing, surrounded by tubes and wires, beeping machines that anchored her to this world. What a horrible start to life. Emma couldn't believe that she was related to this tiny fighter, that the first moments of her life were spent actively working for it. She could stay here forever and watch her breathe. All she could do was watch.
In school, she had learned about something called the APGAR score. It stood for Activity (muscle tone), Pulse (if there was one), Grimace (reflexes), Appearance (color), and respiration. On a scale of 1 to 10, 0 to 3 required immediate resuscitation, 4-6 was mildly depressed, and 7 to 10 was great.
Her niece had gotten an APGAR score of 2. And then tested again for 4. She was immediately taken to the NICU, and Emma didn't stray from her bedside.
Her sister, on the other hand, couldn't be bothered to look at her perfect daughter. She fucked off as soon as the doctors gave her the go ahead. She didn't care whether her daughter, her own flesh and blood, survived. She just cared about herself. It was typical.
Emma knew that if this baby survived, her life wouldn't be a bed of roses, especially with a mother like that. But she had a feeling that she was a fighter. The paper on her plastic bassinet read "BabyGirl Larkin," and when they asked her sister if she had a name, she just scoffed.
"I don't know. She's just a blob," her sister said bitingly, full of resentment for someone just born. To her, the baby had forced her to quit all the things she enjoyed for what turned out to be six months and ruined her body.
But looking at this little bundle of joy, even with the oxygen mask covering most of her beautiful face, Emma knew she was much more than a blob. She didn't want kids, didn't have the maternal instinct or desire to dedicate herself to raising new life. Yet this child was nothing less than a blessing. She would raise her in a heartbeat. How anyone could just see a blob was beyond her. It broke her heart that her job would never allow her to be a constant presence in this child's life. But seeing her chest rise and fall gave her the realization that she'd be fine either way.
This baby was a fighter.
Emma decided to stay in the NICU for a little while longer. Henry wouldn't be back for a bit, he was out getting coffee and some newborn things. Because Mother of the Year had fuck all. Like always.
But there were better things to do than harp on how awful her sister was. Like name this baby. She never kept lists of baby names or felt attached to anything, but looking at this child, she knew she had to dig deep to find something beautiful and powerful, just like her.
She remembers a photo she had seen. Some road with a crack that allowed a flower to bloom. A rose. Arguably the most famous flower, roses were known as symbols of love and romance. But they had thorns, they were sharp if not handled correctly. These pretty things had a bite.
And it clicked.
Rose Larkin.
"Hi there baby girl," she whispered, sticking her hand through the hole to touch her tiny fingers, "do you like the name Rose?"
The baby didn't respond, but Emma felt the tiniest squeeze against her fingers.
She's not her mom, she'd never be her mom. But for the first time, Emma laid eyes on a baby and wished that she was hers.
June 10, 2001
Rosie hated school. She had no friends. And every time it would always end before her birthday. She never got a party like the other kids did. Summer started, and she was alone again. No Emma, no Henry.
Just like now. They were on another roadtrip, another new town, new apartment, new school. This time to Las Vegas, which was all the way in Nevada. Her mom had met a guy. She promised this time would be different, that it would last.
She just stared out the window.
They pulled into a diner when her mom got hungry. Rosie's tummy had been growling at her for hours. But they didn't have the money to stop every time they wanted.
"Remember Rosie," her mom told her as she tugged her through the parking lot, "nothing above ten dollars."
"I know." Her mom's hand was always cold in hers, not warm like Emma and Henry's. It was always tight, and sometimes it hurt so bad it would leave an ugly purple bruise. Aunt Emma always kissed her bruises. Her mom would just tell her to suck it up.
The bell dinged, and Rosie looked around in awe. It looked like she stepped into a movie. The waitresses were all so pretty and happy. It smelled like fries. And on the board she could make out a special written in bright chalk.
Chicken n' Waffles - $8.
She tugged on her mom's sleeve. "I didn't know you could have chicken AND waffles!"
"Only if you want to get fat," her mom responded, "just get a sandwich."
"But it's only eight dollars! That's two less than ten!"
"Fine!" Mom rolled her eyes. "But don't cry when you get a tummy ache!"
They had sat up on the big table with the tall stools. Rosie kicked her feet, excited for her treat. It was probably better than birthday cake. "Mommy, do you know what today is?"
"Monday, I think," her mom responded absentmindedly, too busy filing her nails.
Rosie looked down at her lap. Her legs stopped swinging, and she could feel her eyes stinging. She didn't want to cry. Her mom hated when she cried. And it was her birthday. Birthday girls don't cry.
It was when her mom went to go potty that her food came and instead of being sad, Rosie decided to celebrate it for herself. But before she could, one of the pretty waitresses saw her eating alone and came over. "Everything ok here, Sugar?" She asked.
"I'm Rosie," she replied, wiping her eyes, "I'm turning seven today."
"Wow! And you got all this for yourself?" The waitress exclaimed.
Rosie nodded. "I've never had chicken with waffles before. Is it yummy?"
"The yummiest."
"Ok."
The waitress had snuck a candle and a lighter. Her mom was still in the bathroom, but Rosie didn't mind. The pretty waitress was ok. "Happy Birthday to you," she sung, "happy birthday to you. Happy birthday Dear Rosie. Happy Birthday to you. Make a wish!"
Rosie closed her eyes and blew out the candle.
I wish I could have Chicken and Waffles for every birthday.
June 10, 2012
Note for future reference: never EVER get crossfaded. Rose was having a hard time focusing as her aunt drove her home at 2 AM, firmly talking to her about substance abuse.
"I've seen people go down this rabbit hole, Rose. It never ends well. You have a good head on your shoulders, you don't need to fuck it all up for a night of fun." It wasn't like she was an addict. It was one graduation party. She just had a few shots and a few bong rips. That's it. But she didn't want to argue with that. It was a bad point.
"But...there's not expectations! I'm not the smart girl or the new girl or the weird girl with ugly clothes. I'm just Rose," she responded, a bit disoriented.
Emma rolled her eyes. "You're not weird and your clothes aren't ugly. You're a great girl, Rose. You don't need alcohol and drugs to diminish that. And there's water in the door. Please hydrate. You'll thank me in the morning."
Rose nodded but immediately regretted the action, closing her eyes as nausea bubbled in her throat. She blindly reached for the bottle, uncapping it. But she didn't drink. She had to take a few deep breaths first. "Did you...did my mom call?"
"Sorry, Honey."
"Typical," Rose muttered bitterly. The cool water was helping clear her head, and she could feel herself coming back down into her senses. And instead of a burning rage, she just felt...empty.
"You hungry?" Emma asked, pulling over to a McDonald's drive-thru. "I know it's not chicken and waffles, but you can get anything you want...besides chicken and waffles."
"Really?" Rose asked, taken aback, "you're mad at me but you'll get me McDonald's?"
"I'm not mad at you, Sweetheart. You're growing up, mistakes like these are bound to happen. They're how we grow and learn."
Rose couldn't help the tears that welled in her eyes. Emma and Henry were the only people who ever made her feel like she mattered on this Earth. They saw her being a teenager and told her it was normal. They weren't happy with her behavior as of late, skipping school and partying, but they loved her despite her imperfections. They loved her unconditionally, something she ever only felt with them. "I love you, Aunt Emma."
"I love you too, Rose." Emma reached over to wipe Rose's tears, smearing her makeup even more. "Now what do you want to eat?"
Rose laughed. "Chicken nuggets and fries, please."
"Coming right up."
A few minutes later, Rose felt more sober. She could appreciate the silence in the car with her aunt. It wasn't tense or uncomfortable, it was warm. Her aunt always felt like home. The food helped too.
"Ugh...McDonald's always hits the spot," Rose laughed.
"I'm glad you like it. But hopefully you like lasagna more."
"Of course!"
Emma beamed at her. "Happy birthday, Rose."
Smiling back, Rose took a fry and held it straight up. She closed her eyes and blew dramatically.
I wish I could spend every birthday with the people who love me.
June 10, 2023
Rose got back to her building tired out of her mind. It didn't even compute what today was until she was taking notes for the meeting Artoun held. In the top right corner of her computer screen, in taunting letters and numbers. Happy 29th, you're all alone, sucker.
It wasn't easy starting from scratch. Her life was all boxed up. She was surrounded by cardboard. A brown, 2D reminder that she was by herself.
Ok, so she had a boyfriend. But he was off saving the world. She had expected that contact would be few and far between. But not even a message on her birthday? She had told him when it was.
Typical. Everyone always leaves her. Now she only had the cardboard boxes.
She wasn't in the mood to cook. Every time she had lasagna it tasted like sand because Emma always knew how to make it just right. And so she got out her phone to order. It was late, but the 24 hour diner nearby delivered, and so she got chicken and waffles.
But she stopped in her tracks when she got to her door. A bouquet of pink peonies rested there, along with a note. It was long, more like a letter, and a fluttering feeling entered her stomach. Butterflies. The kind she only felt with him.
Kneeling down, Rose took the flowers and note and got into her apartment. She opened the paper. It was handwritten, in the messy chicken scratch she had become able to decipher.
Dear Rose,
Happy Birthday! I'm writing this the week before I leave for training because I don't know if I'll be able to surprise you from wherever I am. You're currently snoring right beside me, and I don't want to wake you. You're so grumpy in the morning. Waking up to the sight of your face everyday, your body curled into mine, holding you close, is something I'm going to miss. And if we're being honest, I miss you already. The fact that we're on borrowed time isn't lost on either of us, but with that being said, I hope you don't miss me.
I hope you don't miss me so much that you have the best 29th birthday ever. I hope that you don't miss me so much but you don't find someone else. You're way hotter than me, we both know that you could, but please don't. I'm not going to find anyone better.
Rose let out a watery laugh, tears flowing down her face. She missed him so damn much. And even though her vision was blurring, she kept on reading.
You've taught me so much. How to not take shit, how to rob a liquor store, how chicken and waffles are the best food hands down, but the best thing I learned was all about you. I can't sit here and list all the things I love enjoy about you, because then this letter will never end. But the best thing about you is how good of a person you are. Despite everything that you've been through, you've come out stronger. And I know you hate jokes and such related to your name, but here's a poem that reminded me of you. Because you are the Rose that grew from concrete.
Happy Birthday,
Peter
Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong it
learned to walk with out having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams,
it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else ever cared.
- Tupac Shakur
Rose wiped her eyes. She knew the poem he put, she did a whole assignment about it in high school. But the fact that he saw it and thought of her...God, she missed him even more. He saw her for who she was, accepted where she's been. He was with her not despite everything she's been through, but because she survived. It made her realize that she wasn't alone, not really.
Getting a candle from her drawer, Rose took a match and lit it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, only letting go when the oxygen filled to her shoulders.
I wish for Peter to know that I miss him, and he's the only one for me.
June 10, 2034
The first thing she registered when she woke up was the absence of a warm body touching her in some way. Peter usually was behind her, beneath her, or in rare cases, resting on top of her. The house was eerily quiet. No footsteps, barking, meowing, or laughter.
Something was up.
Rose opened her eyes. Her suspicions were confirmed when she turned around and his side of the bed was empty. Weird.
Getting out of bed was hard right now, he was usually there to help her. But oh well, she could be independent, large bump be damned. She hadn't meant to get pregnant. She happily thought she was done with two, but the universe decided that she needed to give birth at 40 years old on top of everything else it had put her through in life. Figures.
"Hello?" She called out, grunting a bit as she stood. "Peter?"
When no one answered, she sighed and put her slid into her slippers. She didn't know why, but this pregnancy was bigger than the last two. With Emmy, it was barely noticeable until the third trimester. Harry was a bit bigger. But the third one? Katie, they had named her after Catherine, made her humongous.
Peter had left Night Action a few years ago, and had found her in California. She had been hesitant to let him back into her life, but he worked hard, and chipped down her walls. And she couldn't be happier that he did. She wouldn't have this life if he hadn't come back.
It was a slow journey to trust him with herself again, but once she did, everything clicked into place. The engagement, getting married, becoming a CEO again, becoming a mother, getting pets. She still had a hole in her heart from Emma and Henry's deaths, but being a mom was the most healing experience.
She was scared at first. But Peter had told her that even though she didn't have a good mom, didn't mean that she didn't have a good mother figure. It just made sense to name her daughter after the people who truly raised and celebrated her.
When Rose made her way to the kitchen, she smiled. On the counter was a plate of chicken and waffles, surrounded by balloons and decorations. Her eyes then met a very chaotic poster that read Happy Birthday, Mommy! in big colorful letters.
"Surprise!" Her husband and their two Earthside children exclaimed.
"Wow!" She beamed, tears welling into her eyes. The good kind. The kind that she got from this pregnancy. The kind that she got whenever it hit her how perfect her family was. "Oh my goodness!"
"Do you like it, Mommy?" Harry asked.
"I love it! How long did it take you to do this?" Rose came over to where they stood, taking joining their little group hug.
"We woke up Daddy early to make the food. But we did everything else!" Emmy exclaimed happily. Peter nodded along.
"That they did do."
"Thank you," she whispered earnestly, "I love it so much. And I love you guys even more!" She pressed a kiss to each kids' nose before going for Peter's lips.
"EW!" Two voices exclaimed in unison, making her laugh against his lips. She disconnected from him with a wink.
Later, she mouthed. He nodded with a smirk.
"Alright, my party planners, what's next on the agenda?" She asked, letting her hands rest on her kids' backs.
"Cake!" Harry exclaimed, clapping his hands.
"For breakfast?" She wasn't surprised. Harry loved any kind of cake.
"Before chicken and waffles," Peter added, "they insisted."
"I like the way you think, guys." Rose clapped her hands. "Ok then, cake time!"
Peter set the kids down, allowing him the ability to get Rose's cake out of the fridge. She knew he made it last night. He was the better baker of the two, anyway.
She let the kids lead her to the counter, parking herself in the middle seat so both of them could sit next to her. They immediately cuddled into her sides, and she found herself wanting them to stay this small and adorable forever.
Her husband then set the cake down, two candles making the number 40 in the middle. "Ok kids, ready? Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, Dear Mommy. Happy Birthday to you!"
They clapped when she blew out the candles, and it was the best birthday she ever had. When Emmy asked what she wished for, Rose replied that if she told her, then it wouldn't come true.
However, that wasn't really the case. The truth was, Rose didn't have any wishes for her birthday. Because she already had everything she had ever wished for.