AN: Please read and review! :)

January 7, 1919

"Dammit." Rose cursed as her fingers fiddled with the match. Each time she dragged the stick across the spark-making surface it wouldn't light.

"Here, let me help with that," Petra said as she entered the kitchen, escaping the craziness of the apartment's dining area where a gang of young children was gathered around the table, anxious for cake.

With stubborn reluctance, Rose handed over the pack and the stick. With one flick, Petra lit the match. She handed the flame to Rose. "Thank you. I thought I mastered lighting a match months ago," she said as she lit the six candles on the chocolate cake. "I think I'm just nervous and emotional."

Petra placed a hand on Rose's shoulder. "I know what you mean. I cry a little inside every time Martina has her birthday."

"I can't believe where the time has gone. Jake is already six." A few tears streamed down Rose's cheek as she lit the final candle and smudged the match.

Petra quickly grabbed a handkerchief from the counter and dabbed Rose's eyes and cheek. "Don't cry. Today is a happy day."

"You're right, it is." She smiled at Petra and then hugged her. "I'm so glad we met; I don't know what I would have done without your support. Martina too, she and Jake are like siblings."

Rose met Petra in May of 1912. After docking, Rose hid in the depths of New York City. Using the money from Cal's coat, she paid for a room in a temporary boarding house. Once she secured employment at a diner in Brooklyn, she vowed to only use the money for emergencies.

The manager of the diner asked Petra to show Rose the ins and outs of being a waitress; during her training is when they became friends. Rose instantly gravitated toward Petra's calm demeanor, though she was stoic at times, she was unlike Rose's former circle in the way that she was honest. Brutally honest. In July, their friendship grew when Rose realized she was pregnant with the product of her and Jack's time in the back of the Renault. Rose then told Petra about Titanic and meeting Jack—she was the only person she told the entire story to. Petra couldn't help but lend support to Rose since she was a single mother to her two-year-old daughter Martina. And her child had been born out of wedlock too.

At age seventeen, Petra immigrated to the States with her family from the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and three years later she fell in love with an Italian who lived in the second block over. Both of their parents wouldn't support the union simply because she was Czech and he was her unplanned pregnancy didn't convince their parents to accept the union and neither of them was willing to marry without their approval. The Italian decided to be present in their daughter's life as her father, but nothing more.

Petra's heart broke for Rose since she had experienced two tragedies: the sinking and the death of the love of her life. She offered her the second bedroom of the apartment she'd moved into months prior with her child. The place was more spacious and private than the boarding house, so Rose said yes.

Over the years, the women and their children formed an unconventional family. They ate dinners together, sent their children to the same school, and explored the city on their non-working days. Every Sunday, Petra and Martina went to church and on a few occasions, Rose had joined, bringing Jake along with her. Rose was raised as a Protestant but had no qualms going to Catholic service. Dogma and rules never appealed to her when it came to worship. She didn't think one had to go to service once a week to be a good person, nor did she think there was one single way to be a follower of God.

Six years later, the two still lived in the same apartment with their kids. Rose wanted to move one day to a place where Jake could have a room of his own, but for the time being, he was so young that it wasn't a bother, and splitting rent had allowed her to save a significant amount of money.

"You would have managed without us," Petra said in her collected fashion. "But it wouldn't have been as chaotic."

The two laughed together before collecting themselves. Rose picked up the cake and walked into the dining room. Jake sat at the head of the table and was the first one to see Rose, he smiled at his mother and his friends around him quieted down once they saw her.

"Happy birthday to you," Rose began and the children joined in on the song. The grin on his face made her smile grow wider. She set the cake before him as the song continued.

"Happy birthday dear Jake, happy birthday to you."

"Make a wish my darling," Rose whispered to Jake.

Jake closed his eyes and made a silent wish before blowing out all six candles.

The party surrounding him cheered and clapped. Rose kissed his cheek before cutting the cake into modest slices.

After Jake took his slice, Rose and Petra distributed the plates to the rest of the party. The children were composed of four friends from Jake's kindergarten class, two friends from Martina's class that Jake knew, and the twins who lived next door and were Jake's playmates. The few adults present were the parents of the children and Petra's aunt, who lived on the first floor and babysat Jake and Martina often.

Rose couldn't believe the community that she had gained, composed of people who helped her and Jake. Seven years ago, she had dreamed of a life like this: where she was an independent woman who had genuine connections with the people around her, not fake ones simply crafted to get ahead in society. She was no longer a poor little rich girl. She didn't regret abandoning first class all those years ago. Staying there would have meant marrying Cal and being forced to give up her son.

Her gaze landed on Jake at the table. He was doing more talking than eating. His friends were laughing around him.

She couldn't imagine life without him. Life wouldn't be liveable without him.

...

Rose was exhausted from the day's excitement, and Jake was tired too. Although, he tried to deny it during dinner while simultaneously yawning throughout the meal. After bathing and dressing, Rose entered the room she shared with Jake.

There were two twin beds with matching pale yellow comforters. Between the beds was a small table with a lamp and two stacks of books—one for Jake, the other for Rose. Lavender curtains hung over the single window that stayed locked throughout the year unless it was unbearably hot. Against the wall was a large wooden dresser, Jake's clothes were in the bottom two drawers for his access and Rose's were in the top three. On the dresser was a small bouquet of wildflowers that Jake had collected at a park nearby. Next to the vase was a framed picture of Rose and Jake sitting in the sand at Brighton Beach from the previous November. They had gone there to celebrate the end of the war.

Rose saw Jake freshly bathed in his pajamas on his bed. He gave her a small smile when he looked up at her.

"Did you have a good birthday Jake?"

"Yes, mama."

"Did you enjoy seeing your friends?" She pulled the evergreen-colored comforter up to his shoulders.

Jake nodded.

She looked over at his stack of books. "Which story do you want me to read, Jake? Jack and the Beanstalk again? Or something new?" she asked with a teasing smile. He didn't like hearing anything besides Jack and the Beanstalk before bed.

"I don't want a story," he said.

Rose observed her son with surprise. He was being too quiet. She could tell by how he pursed his lips and furrowed his blond brows that something was bothering him. In those moments of inner frustration, he looked so much like Jack that it startled her. It was true that she saw Jack in him all the time— the blue eyes, blond hair, and complexion were all his father. But at that moment, she could truly see him.

"What's wrong? I can tell that something is troubling you." She reached for his hand and he grasped hers. His tiny hand in hers reminded her of just how small he was and how young she was. Only twenty-three; her birthday wasn't till March. It'd been nearly seven years since Titanic yet that precious moment in the cargo hold with Jack was still fresh in her memory. The smell of him, his taste, how his fingers felt, how he felt inside her. It made her skin light on fire to think of their lovemaking.

She shook her head, trying to not think of it. Sometimes it was too much for her mind to linger on those memories. They were mainly positive ones, but then she would think of how he was no longer alive and all the sorrow she felt after losing him.

"When I made a wish," he began, "I wished that daddy would come back from Heaven. But when I told Martina what I wished for, she said that people don't come back from Heaven. Was Martina right, mama?"

"He can't come back from Heaven, I'm sorry Jake," Rose said in a voice so fragile she thought it would crack. She saw his tears appear and sat on the edge of his bed so that she could hold him close. "Your father would have loved you so much," Rose said and let his tears wet her nightgown. "And I know he's watching over you and is so proud of you, so proud of us for holding on and continuing to live even though it hurts that he's not with us."

Jake pulled away from Rose's chest, laying back on his pillow. He was silent for a few minutes, before he asked, "Mama, can you tell me how you and daddy met, but don't go on to the sinking part."

"Sure," she smiled, "scoot over darling."

He scooted over and she laid her back against the bedframe as her arms remained wrapped around him. "It was April 1912, I was heading home from traveling across Europe and was boarding the Titanic in first class. Your dad also was heading home—he'd spent time in France and Italy, in Italy is where he met Fabrizio—"

"That's where my middle name comes from right?"

"Yes my love," she said and kissed his hair, his head smelled like the peppermint soap from his bath. "Your dad and Fabrizio were playing poker in a club, they bet on everything they had and their counterparts were betting on their tickets for Titanic. He played a risky game, but he won the tickets. They both boarded the ship, but in third class. On the first night of the voyage, I couldn't sleep so I went to the stern of the ship to think and look out at the water. Your dad saw me and could tell I was upset, then he talked to me like no one had ever talked to me before. His forwardness surprised me actually, but it was what I needed. The next day, I sought him out and we spent the whole day talking to one another, before I knew it I'd fallen in love with him. We both shared a passion for art and I enjoyed listening to stories from his travels. After going to a boring dinner in first class with me, which he made lively with his tales of traveling from Monterey to Sicily, he took me to a party in third class. I had the most fun in my entire life. For the rest of the journey, your dad and I stayed close though it was hard since society told us we couldn't be together."

She heard soft snores that made her pause the story. She looked down and smiled when she saw that his eyes were closed and that he was fast asleep.

"Good night Jake," she whispered and placed his stuffed animal rabbit underneath the covers with him.

...

January 13, 1919

Rose hummed a tune to herself as she chopped onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers at the kitchen counter. She looked over at Petra who was reading the paper she'd bought on her way back from walking the children to school that morning. "Anything of interest in the paper today?"

"Not yet, most of the paper is reporting on Roosevelt's death from last week." She took a sip from her coffee and read an article on the next page.

For as long as Rose had known her, Petra read the paper every week. Though she disliked reading books in the way that Rose did, she liked the newspaper since the writing was understandable to someone whose mother tongue wasn't English. She originally started reading the paper in her spare time to improve her English literacy, but it had become a part of her routine.

Rose added the chopped vegetables to a large bowl, before adding kalamata olives and crumbling feta cheese and putting the pieces inside. She grabbed the olive oil from the cabinet and unscrewed the cap. Petra had taught her this recipe for Greek salad, and Petra herself had learned it from her Italian former flame.

"Oh my God," Petra exclaimed and got out of her chair with haste.

Her outburst made Rose jump and spill the olive oil onto the counter.

"Rose, you need to read this." She came into the kitchen clutching onto the paper.

"I will but let me clean this up first—"

"That can wait," Petra urged her.

Rose looked at her with bewilderment before gently taking the paper from her hands and reading the article.

Great War Veteran's First Art Exhibit

Twenty-six-year-old Jack Dawson Dawson is a rising star in the art world. The Santa Monica Contemporary Art Gallery is introducing a new exhibition in the coming weeks entitled "The Great War: Art from the Warfront and Homefront." Amongst well-known artists and photographers, Jack Dawson will have multiple paintings and charcoal drawings on display at the gallery that will be for sale. Dawson's pieces are inspired by the horrors and brutality he witnessed while he was stationed in the trenches of France during the war. Dawson was in Europe from the summer of 1917 until the autumn of 1918 when he was sent to a hospital to recover from an injury. Dawson says, "What helped me maintain my sanity was drawing what I saw, and if I didn't feel like drawing I'd write it down, describe it so that I could come back to it later." Despite this coping mechanism, the war affected Dawson mentally and emotionally, like many other young brave men. He said having support from newfound friends saved him from succumbing to the sadness he felt.

Dawson though is no stranger to tragedy. At the age of 20, Dawson was a passenger on the RMS Titanic and survived. On the Carpathia, he was bedridden from the freezing temperatures he was exposed to in the North Atlantic. Dawson said, "It's a wonder that I survived the sinking since I was in the ocean for quite some time. But the fact that I recovered from my bout of hypothermia was a miracle."

Dawson has been doing art for as long as he can remember and looks forward to seeing how his style and subject evolve. He has high hopes for the exhibition but is simultaneously ready to move on to the next phase of his art: "I'd love to have my old drawings from before the war hung up, but for now I have to wait for what the audience demands. Right now they want to see the brutality."

A former wanderer, when asked if he planned on staying in the Santa Monica area, he said, "I'll be here for a few months, probably till the end of my exhibition if nothing is tying me down. Los Angeles has always felt like a second home so I don't mind pressing on the brake pedal for the time being." Dawson's exhibit will open on January 18, on the artist's birthday by coincidence, and will be there until the end of May.

Below the text was a landscape picture of Jack standing beside a painting of his. He wore a closed-lip smile and his blond hair was the same length as it was when Rose saw him last. His white shirt was rolled up to his sleeves and his hands rested in his pockets. He looked confident and serene.

"It's him isn't it?" Petra asked as Rose's skin paled and her eyes widened in pure shock. "It's your Jack, right?"

Rose blinked and looked at the photo. She blinked again. The picture was still there. "It's him," she said and her fingers traced over his face "I can't believe it, he's—he's—" She sounded like she was gasping for air before finally breaking down. The article fell from her grip. A sob escaped her and her knees gave out. She landed on the floor and cried, while Petra sat beside her and hugged her. "He's alive, Petra. Jack is alive."

When Rose's breathing returned to normal, Petra let go of her and grabbed the article from the floor. She took a few moments to look at Jack's face. "He's handsome," Petra said with a smile and Rose nodded. "I can see where Jake gets his face from."

Rose laughed through the tears. "He still looks the same after all these years."

"What are you going to do, Rose?"

"I don't know," she said and kept her gaze on the article.

"You don't know? Rose, you find out that the man you love is alive and you don't know what you're gonna do? You need to go to him. Jake needs to meet his father, you need to be with the love of your life."

"But what about New York? Our home—"

"You can make a home anywhere," Petra said, "it's about the people right? Not the place. This is important and you have talked about Santa Monica before haven't you?"

Rose nodded. "It's a place Jack and I wanted to go to."

"And he's there, waiting for you, he just doesn't know it yet. Don't you still love him?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then go to Santa Monica."

Rose bit her lip. Worry and doubt took over and all she could think about was how impossible it seemed. There was a voice within her that said it was a disastrous idea. Silly, stupid, and naive. "Jake and I can't just move across the country."

Her friend looked at her with skepticism. "Rose what's scaring you from going after what you want?"

"Because this is crazy," Rose said and her voice trailed off as she said the word "crazy." The word brought her back to the last night on the ship when Jack said those exact words. This is crazy. And her response. That's why I trust it. Suddenly, the fear and doubt clouding over her evaporated. The exact thing that had scared her was the thing she needed to trust.

Rose looked at Petra with an unmatched fire and determination. She said, "We're moving to California."