Page 53 of Scars of Anatomy

A couple of months ago I started the process of legally changing my last name, wanting it to finally have some meaning. So what better than Finch?

I laugh, unable to suppress it any longer. “No. It’s my name.”

She looks at me, more confused than before, and I can’t help but smile.

“I changed my last name,” I explain.

“You what?” she breathes in disbelief, looking at me as if I’m playing some kind of weird prank on her.

My grin deepens. “Open it,” I instruct, nodding to the envelope.

Slowly, almost cautiously, she peels open the envelope and plucks out my new driver’s license, gawking at it.

A dozen emotions scroll across her face, and I lean over the table, taking the plastic card from her and setting it off to the side. I lace our fingers together before speaking. “Don’t be mad,” I say, suddenly feeling nervous.

I remember when I came home with a tattoo of a finch.

I had the little bird permanently perched on top of the last N in the UNKNOWN tattoo splayed across my back, making the word less significant by proclaiming my love for the girl who changed my life and helped erase the meaning of that tattoo.

But I’d be lying if I said that Olivia didn’t have a mild freak-out over it, claiming tattoos are an automatic curse for disaster in relationships.

It’s grown on her though, thank god, and after the freak-out stage she found it sweet.

“Why would you change your name?” she asks, her head adorably tilting to the side in confusion.

I shrug, playing with her fingers. “I want a last name that means something. I’ve wanted to change it for a while now, but I never knew what to change it to,” I admit softly, glancing up to catch her staring at me with understanding.

“I know finches are sort of our thing, and they symbolize joy and better days ahead, and that’s what I want,” I explain.

“A fresh start.” Without the weight of my last name—which is connected to the person I used to be—dragging me down.

She gives me a thoughtful smile, her eyes glossy as she stands up from her chair and rounds the table to take a seat on my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. I gladly accept her, holding her tight and kissing her lips.

“I love it,” she whispers against my mouth, approving my new, legal last name.

“Good,” I whisper back.

We finish dinner and begin to clean up.

“Let me get it,” I insist, taking her plate from her hands with a kiss. “Go relax. Maybe run a bath and I’ll meet you in a bit.”

She gives me another soft, appreciative smile before retreating to the bedroom. I clean up everything as fast as I can to meet her in our attached bathroom, finding her standing in the middle of it in her robe, staring down at her phone, probably checking emails.

I sneak up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “None of that,” I lightly scold, kissing the side of her head and taking her phone from her hands, setting it on the counter.

She spins around in my arms, a guilty, sheepish smile adorning her face, telling me she was, in fact, reading hospital emails.

The tub is full of water, and a generous number of bubbles float on the surface while a few scented candles litter the counter. I reach between our bodies to toy with the silk tie of her robe.

“I think this is the part where we strip,” I whisper.

A small blush rushes to her cheeks. After all these years, I find it adorable that I still have this kind of effect on her.

Shyly, she reaches for the hem of my shirt, her fingers slipping up and under the fabric, touching my naked skin.

My eyes flutter shut as I let out a groan, loving the feeling of her hands on me.

Impatient, I reach behind me to grab the collar, pulling my shirt up and off.

I tug at the tie of her robe and it comes undone, the fabric now limply hanging on her body.

Gently, I push the silk off her shoulders, peppering the newly exposed skin with kisses.

She sighs in contentment and reaches for the waistband of my sweats.

When all our clothes are discarded on the floor, I grab her face, kissing her softly before dipping my head farther and kissing just between her collarbones, pressing my lips to the tip of the light-pink scar running down the center of her chest.

I hold out my hand and help her step into the tub first, watching her sink into the warm water.

Once she’s settled, I slip into the tub behind her, pulling her back against my chest. She relaxes, her body melting against mine.

Her eyes flutter closed as she tilts her head back onto my shoulder, letting out a contented sigh.

My lips find her neck as my hands massage her sides. She giggles and I think I’ve accidentally hit one of her ticklish spots.

She laughs quietly again, and I pull back to see a large smile on her face. “I can’t believe you changed your last name to Finch,” she says, more to herself, giggling happily.

I smile into her shoulder, my eyes drifting to look through the door frame of the bathroom and into our bedroom.

My eyes land on the bottom left drawer of the dresser and my stomach flutters.

There, at the very bottom of the drawer, deep inside the pocket of a random pair of pants, is a ring.

After Olivia is done with med school and things slow down a little, I plan on proposing.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have her in mind when picking out the last name.

Not only is it her nickname but I think it represents us well; just two finches who found each other and became one, sticking close to the other finches around us.

Our family. I did some light research and found out that finches symbolize diversity, happiness, vulnerability, and family, among other things, and I think it’s perfect.

“Believe it, baby.” I grin.

“Bronx Finch.” She pauses, mulling over the name, testing it out. “I like it,” she declares, smiling.

“I’m glad you approve,” I tease. Because it’s going to become her last name soon too.

Visit this link to discover what Olivia is feeling right now.