A L T E R N A T E E N D I N G
I was woken up by a melodious chorus of nature —waves, rushing in towards the shore. Birds, tweeting outside the window. Wind, softly rustling the leaves of evergreens. Two small hands, cupping my cheeks, accompanied by loud screams of, "Wake up! Wake up!"
That had become natural for me these past few years.
I cracked my eyes open and saw my youngest, still clad in her white overall pajamas.
"Good morning, honey."
"Come on, Mama, wake up! Uncle Noot is here!"
"Okay, okay. Give Mama a hug."
I sat up and she, my precious little demon, immediately jumped onto my lap. Marla —that's her name, had an angelic laugh. When she smiled, it was always wide. Her eyes would form two beautiful crescent moon, and her shoulder-length hair would bounce along to the beat of her hearty laughter.
Nobody would guess that she inherited her father's extreme playfulness. She was always loud, always out for trouble and mischief.
With her in my arm, I did my morning routine: take my crutch, limp towards the tall glass door that led to our humble patio, breath in the fresh air, drink in the gorgeous view, and say grace.
I didn't conform to one particular religious system, but just by looking at the scenery, I knew there had to be a God.
Colorful roses, sunflowers and daisies were blooming in my picket fenced garden. Beyond that were a grassy slope and small clusters of trees, through which I could see the line where the greens met the sand, and the sand meet the sea. The tall stones —Monuments of Remembrance— were still visible, though just as big as Marla's lego bricks.
Beside me were one story houses just like mine, each one decorated with distinctive characteristics that represent its owners.
Marie and Evan's potted Begonia. Her straw hat and his net hammock.
Gally and Sonya's messy table. Their sons Nicholas and Albert's bicycles.
I think if there was no God, there couldn't be a life as perfectly imperfect as this. Not even the best combination of luckiest coincidences could shape me as who I was today. At least, that was my opinion.
Marla began wriggling in my hold, so I put her down and she immediately ran towards the door.
"Hurry, Ma, breakfast!"
"Okay," I chuckled, following after her, "Where's your Papa?"
"Kitchen! He makes pancake!"
"And Reggie?"
My question was answered the second I stepped out of the master bedroom, into the living space. My eldest was occupying the couch on my right, reading an e-book from his new tablet. His glasses slipped down his nosebridge, and he pushed it back up with his finger.
"There you are. Good morning, honey."
"Morning, Ma," he mumbled back without looking up. I rubbed his shoulder and kissed the crown of his head, then looked left.
Marla was already nicely seated on the dining table, facing the kitchen, where my husband and his best friend made an infernal mess with their terrible cooking skill.
"First, for my beautiful princess," he said, pushing a plate of deformed pancakes topped with maple syrup and colorful cereals in front of her. Marla squealed, clapping her hands, and dug in.
"Ah, my queen. Where's your throne?"
"Morning," I pecked his lips, "The wheelchair's in our room. You'll clean this wreck up, right?"
"Of course," Minho said, "And before you say anything, she threatened to frisbee the plate if I add strawberries on her pancake."
"Coconut flakes? Almond?"
"What can I say, babe, our daughter hates nutrition."
"She still needs it! I told you we should just use Frypan's catering service. Good morning, Newt."
"Morning," Newt replied, halfway munching a strawberry. Unlike Minho, who was clad in an old grey tee that had begun losing its color and pink shorts, he was sharply dressed in white shirt and midnight blue tie matching his pants. "Sorry I crash your house this early."
"No, help yourself to some breakfast." I took a strawberry as well and leaned against the counter, "Where's Penny?"
"Denver," he replied, "It's Dad's birthday. I'm planning to stop by before heading to the courthouse."
"Tell Mr. Scott happy birthday from me. Why are you going to the courthouse?"
"He has a trial today," Minho answered. He pushed a plate of pancakes with an assortment of fruits and hollered, "Reggie, breakfast! Put your tablet down! Frankie, I got this. Sit down."
Our son was less rebellious and opinionated than his sister. He immediately complied.
I sat down next to him.
"So have you two decided? Are you going to enroll Marla into a school in Safe Haven or the main land?"
"Marla not go to school!" The girl herself protested. She was nearly done with her food.
"Frankie thinks, since she's the principal and Reggie goes here, Marla should, too," Minho said, "I think the main land offers more suitable environment for Marla's sociable self."
I looked at Newt, "But he works 24/7 at the city's beck and call. I can't leave the school and daycare for too long. Who's going to pick her up everyday?"
"I can," Reggie interjected but I turned him down, "No. You can't travel back to Denver by yourself until you're legal."
He shrugged, "Just saying."
"I can send anyone to pick her up. I'm the Governor."
I sent Minho a sharp look, "You're making strangers pick up our five-year-old daughter from the main land everyday?"
"Not strangers," Minho rolled his eyes and said in a duh tone, "Gally, Stephen, Eric—"
"Stop it."
"Just saying," he shrugged, mimicking Reggie, the two boys exchanged knowing grin.
"Eh. I'm with Frankie on this one," Newt said.
"Shut it. You're with Frankie on anything."
"Fair point."
"Marla don't want to go to school!" Marla exclaimed once more, "Papa, don't want! Don't want!"
"Awh, sweetie, I love you, but you have to go," Minho tried to reason, "You can have new friends... Learn new things... Play with Nick and Alby some more..."
"No!"
"Yes! Trust me, it's for your own good!" He looked at me and winked, "It's tough love."
Twenty-three years after the Maze, my family had chosen to settle here. Minho had gained some weight and belly fat. Newt had become our district's highly respected legal liaison. Clint had moved out to study Medicine in the main land. Thomas and Brenda had left to travel.
A station of Flat Trans had been established to connect whatever's left of our world. Vaccine for the Flare was finally developed. Herd immunity was targeted in a few years. W.I.C.K.E.D. was ancient history. The world was healing. And I...
Well. I was happy.