Chapter 8: The Perfect Life (Part 3)

Pete stands frozen, his mind racing in a storm of disbelief and confusion. His childhood friend—the one he had mourned for years, the one whose memory haunted his every dream—was not only alive and well, but standing before him; as though time had rewritten itself. She wasn't the girl he remembered; she was a grown woman now, her pink hair cascading down her back, her smile warm and familiar but entirely at ease, as if she belonged here. As if they belonged together. She is his wife.

The word "honey" still echoed in his ears, and the light brush of her kiss lingered on his cheek, grounding him in a surreal moment that felt both impossible and inescapable. "How could this be real?" he can't stop asking himself. His heart thudded painfully as he struggled to find words, his lips parting only to close again. Every emotion—shock, joy, guilt—tangled into a knot in his chest, leaving him utterly unsure of how to act or react.

Popuri turned back to the counter, humming softly as she resumed chopping vegetables, her movements fluid and natural, as though this was an ordinary evening in their shared life. "Wash your hands and set the table, honey," she said casually, her tone light and familiar, as if nothing about this moment was strange or out of place. "Dinner's almost ready."

Pete blinked, his body stiff, his mind still grappling with the impossibility of what he was seeing. His mouth opened to respond, but no words came. Instead, his legs moved on autopilot, carrying him to the sink, the routine of washing his hands almost grounding him in this surreal reality. As he reached for a towel, his gaze flickered back to her—alive, grown, here—and his heart clenched. Was this a dream? A trick of Rick's machine? Or had something truly miraculous happened?

After setting the table, Pete sat down, his stomach rumbling faintly in anticipation of food. But as Popuri brought over their plates and placed one in front of him, his appetite hesitated. He stared at the dish before him—two hotdogs nestled in their buns, slathered with a thick, glossy pink jelly that shimmered under the light. The unmistakable scent of strawberries wafted upward, mingling oddly with the savory aroma of the hotdogs. Beside the plate was a small bowl of pickled vegetables, their vibrant colors oddly cheerful.

Popuri dug into her plate with enthusiasm, taking a hearty bite of her strange jellied hot dog and humming with delight. She looked up, noticing his hesitation, and tilted her head. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice warm and teasing. "You haven't touched your strawberry dogs."

Pete glanced between her cheerful expression and the bizarre meal in front of him. He fought the urge to question her taste in food and instead, with a resigned sigh, picked up one of the hotdogs. "Here goes nothing," he thought, bracing himself for the worst as he took a bite.

His eyes widened in surprise as the flavors hit his tongue. The sweetness of the strawberry jam blended seamlessly with the smoky saltiness of the hotdog, creating a harmonious balance of savory and sweet. Underneath it all, a subtle hint of cinnamon and cloves tied the flavors together, elevating the bizarre dish into something unexpectedly delightful. Pete blinked in disbelief as he chewed, glancing at Popuri, who smiled at him knowingly.

Pete stared at his plate in disbelief, then back at Popuri. In a tone laced with genuine shock, he said, "This is actually pretty good!"

Popuri beamed with pride, her cheeks rosy with satisfaction. "Of course it is! It's our favorite after all," she replied, taking another bite of her strawberry dog.

As they continued eating, the oddity of the meal faded into the background. Popuri began chatting about her day, her voice lively and warm. She told him about the morning she'd spent helping her mother in the flower shop, how they'd arranged bouquets for a wedding order that came from another nearby village. She described her leisurely walk around the village afterward, recounting her conversations with Karen and Elli, and how she had stopped by the bakery to try Jeff's newest pastry creation.

Pete listened intently, a soft smile spreading across his face as her words washed over him. There was something so familiar and comforting in her cheerful demeanor, the way she lit up as she talked about even the simplest moments. It was as though no time had passed, and she was still the same bright, spirited girl he'd known as a child. For a brief moment, all the confusion, all the questions, all the strangeness of the day melted away.

He wasn't sure how or why this was happening, but for now, sitting across from Popuri and hearing her happy chatter, Pete couldn't help but feel a flicker of peace.

After dinner, a sudden knock echoed from the front door, breaking the peaceful rhythm of the evening. Popuri and Pete exchanged a glance before walking into the main room. As the door creaked open, Basil stepped inside, his figure illuminated by the warm glow of the house.

"Papa!" Popuri squealed with delight, rushing to her father and wrapping him in a great big hug. Her energy was infectious, and Pete watched as Basil's expression softened with genuine affection for his daughter.

Pete, however, felt his chest tighten with unease. His memories of Basil were anything but warm—strained conversations, curt nods, and lingering tension had defined their interactions in the past. But this Basil was different.

As Basil turned to him, a broad smile lit his face. "How's my favorite son-in-law?" Basil said warmly, his tone full of cheer.

Pete blinked, the nervous weight on his chest dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. He managed a genuine smile. "I'm doing good!" he replied, his voice steady and even a little surprised.

Basil inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of the lingering scent from dinner. "Smells like Popuri made strawberry dogs!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "Got an extra one for me?"

Popuri giggled, giving Pete a knowing glance before replying, "Of course, Papa! I saved one just for you." As Popuri hurried to the kitchen, Pete couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Maybe this new version of reality wasn't so bad after all.

Back at the dinner table, Basil savored his strawberry dogs with gusto, chatting animatedly with Popuri about his recent journey to discover rare plants. His stories were full of colorful details about distant landscapes and strange flora, and Popuri listened with wide-eyed wonder, occasionally chiming in with excited questions. Pete quietly enjoyed the moment, the warmth of the family dynamic washing over him like a soothing tide.

Toward the end of the meal, Basil pulled a small cloth bag from his satchel and handed it to Popuri. "Here, my little flower," he said, his voice filled with fatherly affection. "I brought this back for you."

Popuri opened the bag and gasped with delight as she held up the bag and she knew what was inside, a single Blue Mist Flower seed. "Oh, Papa! It's another Blue Mist Flower! Thank you!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement. She turned to Pete, her expression full of hope. "Can we grow it again, Pete? Please?"

Pete smiled, nodding with reassurance. "Of course we can," he said warmly. Her joy lit up the room, and for the first time in a long while, Pete felt a genuine sense of contentment.

After Basil finished his meal, he stood and stretched. "I should get back to the flower shop before your mother sends out a search party," he joked. With hugs and warm goodbyes, Basil left for the night, leaving Pete and Popuri alone to wind down their evening.

Later, Pete found himself on the bed beside Popuri, watching—or rather, pretending to watch—her favorite soap operas on the TV. She was completely engrossed, her arm looped through his, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. Pete, however, wasn't paying attention to the melodramatic antics on the screen. He was captivated by her happiness, her warmth, the way she squeezed his arm during particularly dramatic moments.

When the final credits rolled, Popuri turned off the TV and hopped into bed wearing her pink nightgown. As she nestled under the covers, she leaned over and kissed Pete softly on the lips, her affection making his cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. "Good night," she whispered. "I love you."

Pete blinked, momentarily stunned, then smiled. "I love you too," he replied, his voice steady and full of sincerity.

As they pulled the covers over themselves and drifted into sleep, Pete felt a peace he hadn't known in years. His dreams were no longer haunted by the sorrow of the past. Instead, he dreamt of the life he had somehow gained—a life filled with laughter, love, and the possibility of rediscovering the moments he never got to experience with Popuri. And as he slept, he silently vowed to cherish every moment of this second chance.