Page 58 of Worth the Fight

When I get the courage to look back into the camera, she’s still smiling, albeit a little softer now. But she’s quiet, too quiet, and my stomach starts to flutter, nerves squeezing tight. I’m about to crack a joke, to find some way to make this moment less uncomfortable, when the corner of her mouth twitches, then widens, and soon, she’s fighting a full-fledged smile.

“It’s gorgeous, Lukas, and I can’t wait to see it in person.”

CHAPTER 28

Lukas

OCTOBER

The living room is packed with guests. Coworkers of both Raymond and Ronaldo have joined together to celebrate the arrival of their little girl.

The champagne has been poured, appetizers have been demolished, and I’ve made enough small talk with people I don’t know to last me the next twenty years.

Magnolia has stuck tight by my side throughout the entire evening. A comforting hand on my back as she flawlessly guides the conversation back and forth. I felt her muscles stiffen, just a hair, when one of Ronaldo’s coworkers innocently offered me a glass of champagne.

I took one look at the bottle, really studied it from top to bottom, and a new sense of pride filled my chest when I realized there isn’t one part of me that misses that.

Not when I have Mags on my arm. Not when there is a baby girl at home waiting for me.

Mags whispers into my ear that she needs to use the restroom, and she tries to slip away, but not before I grab her by the waist, pulling her to me for an actual kiss.

Once she’s out of the room, I step away from the circle, opting to turn and study a series of photos that line the mantel. I take a step in, squinting beneath the dim light as I admire them one by one.

There’s one of Raymond and Ronaldo together at what looks like a beach wedding. They’re wearing matching linen pants and white button-up shirts. Raymond is kissing Ronaldo, his hands holding his face, and Ronaldo has his fist held high in the air. Even through the kiss, I can see the smile on both of their faces.

The next is an ultrasound photo in a small white frame with the phrase “Love at first sight” along the bottom. Staring at the faint, fuzzy outline of a baby brings back all those feelings. Standing in the dark room with Candi, watching the screen as the sonographer waved the wand over her belly. Watching not so patiently as all the teeny body parts came into view. They seem so lifelike on the screen at the time, but in reality, they are so tiny. The little head, counting ten fingers and ten toes, and that moment when they turned up the volume and we got to hear Ivy’s heartbeat for the first time? Nothing could ever compare.

Next to that is a singular photo, not yet framed, of the day their daughter, Sylvia, was born. Raymond and Ronaldo are dressed in blue disposable scrubs with matching puffy scrub hats. The surrogate they worked with, Louise, is lying in the bed between them. The three of them are glowing, smiling brightly, each with a hand on the tiny little bundle of joy that’s held in Louise’s arms.

It’s the next picture that has me stalling. It’s Raymond and Mags, what looks like backstage after a performance. He has on silver tights and a white top with ruffled sleeves. She’s in a sparkling white tutu, with fake snow falling around them. Her hair is pulled back, and her makeup is perfect. She has her palm out in front of her face, as if she’s blowing a kiss to whoever is behind the camera, but something about it doesn’t seem right.

She looks like herself but thinner. Tired. Magnolia has always prided herself on staying healthy, which can be difficult in a career like hers.

Magnolia’s parents have instilled in her from a young age that food is fuel, and in order to be the best at what she does, she’s taken their advice to heart.

But the woman in this photo doesn’t look like the healthy woman I know. The one that ran through the airport yesterday to jump into my arms. The one that nearly knocked me to the floor with how hard she was kissing me. The one that I got to sleep next to last night curled up beside me like I had been wishing I could have her for years.

Even with her layers of stage makeup, her eyes still look dark and heavy. Her legs, which normally hold the most muscle, seem thinner, her arms weak. Even though she’s blowing a kiss to the camera and the moment seems happy, the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The telltale crinkle she gets in the corners when she’s truly happy isn’t there.

“There are a lot of memories between those two,” Ronaldo says, coming up next to me. He hands me a steaming cup of cider, and I nod my thanks.

“When was this photo taken?” I gesture to the frame in front of me.

He pauses, taking a sip of his red wine before pursing his lips together. “A year or so ago, maybe? After one of their Sugar Plum Fairy performances, judging by the outfits. So, it was December, I think. December, likely two years ago, actually.”

I swallow thickly, my mouth suddenly dry, and I bring the cup to my lips for a slow sip, downing the hot liquid even though I risk burning my throat. December two years ago, I was piss drunk, freshly discharged home from the military. And Mags? She had spent months suffering in silence, trying to reach me despite the breakup. Calling, leaving voicemails, begging me to talk to her, to get help. And all I did was ignore her.

It should have been one of the happier times in our lives. I should have been on a plane to Paris to see her in person. I should have been at this performance, watching in awe from the crowd as she did what she does best. I should have held her that night and talked to her, really talked to her, telling her all the awful things that had caused me to change.

But instead, I suffered in silence. And it looks like through all of my suffering, even though I didn’t realize it at the time, I had made her suffer along with me.

I clear my throat roughly, needing to turn away from the frame. “Congrats again on your baby, and thanks for letting me tag along.”

“I wouldn’t have had it any other way. It’s good to see you, Lukas.” Ronaldo turns to the sound of Mags and Raymond coming into the room, her infectious giggle drifting over to us. When I turn, she’s already stepping out of Raymond’s grasp and heading toward me.

I open my arm, pulling her to me the moment she’s within reach and squeezing her tightly. I run my hand up her back, her shoulders, feeling the shape that I’m used to touching, the only one I’ve known. She peers up at me through dark lashes, brows twisting together with a confused smile on her face.