Page 67 of Merry Fake Bride

“Two years ago, almost three now this year, I came home to find my dad had taken his own life and no one had found him for three days. I walked into my old apartment after being out of the city on business for a week. My mother was busy with her dinners and her banquets and charity auctions and she didn’t notice his absence. No one did. I came home, and he was just in the chair like he was asleep. I started talking to him but he never said a word. Until I tried to wake him up and I realized he was stone cold.”

Utter sadness fills Devon’s eyes as she intently listens to me.

“He was a cruel man. I won’t hide that fact. He didn’t care about anyone or anything other than money and sometimes, my mother. Sometimes, I think he chose my apartment to do it because he wanted to remind me that I’m a disappointment one last time.”

The words pour out of me with depth I’ve never managed in front of my therapist before.

It’s like the rising blizzard and Devon’s presence have created this soft, safe bubble where I can say absolutely anything and it won’t matter.

“I stood there and I stared at him for ages. I was so angry that he sent me away on some long trip to fix one of his messes, and then he chose to ruin my favorite chair. But what hurt the most, once I’d had a chance to process everything, was that no one noticed. For three days, he was there and no one came looking for him. Not even Mom. He was this great tyrant of a man but in the end, there was no one who cared about him enough to check onhim during any of those days. He never left a reason, just a note saying that he had done all he wanted to do. And I—” The words catch in my throat and I have to look away from Devon.

“I’mterrifiedof having a life as empty as his, to end up in a place where no one will notice if I leave. So I threw myself into honoring his memory to try and impress people, doing everything I could to make sure everyone saw me as great as they saw him butbetterthan they saw him. And somehow, I’ve ended up in a life as empty as his and it took a trip to your bakery to make me realize it.”

Suddenly, Devon reaches forward and places her hand on top of mine. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Kairo,” she says with more gentleness than I could ever deserve. “I’m sorry you lost your father, but more than that, I’m sorry he did it in such a cruel way. There’s no world in which you deserve to be treated like that. And you have time. There’s more to life than money and business, I promise you. You’ll see.”

I’m frozen, not from the cold, but from the very brief contact Devon grants me with her hand atop mine.

“You’re saying I should stop and look at more bridges?”

She gently removes her hand and steps closer to me, smiling despite the sorrow in her eyes. “I’m saying it sounds like you’ve spent the last two years punishing yourself when you should be caring for yourself. Honoring your father’s memory is a decent thing to do to an extent, but not at the loss of yourself or the pain he left you. You’re not his disappointment or your mother’s scolding bag. You are your own person and you deserve to care for and nurture that person. And…”

Her smile brightens softly and she briefly touches my forearm. “If it warms you any, I would definitely notice if you vanished. Two days, max.”

A soft, unexpected laugh bubbles up inside me and gets carried in the wind as swiftly as the snow. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I am sorry, though. I can’t imagine going through what you went through.”

“Sometimes, I feel guilty that I wasn’t sad at his passing, but yet I work so hard for his memory.”

“I won’t pretend to understand your relationship, but I know we get implanted with a strange instinct to protect those who hurt us.”

I get the strangest impression that Devon understands me more than she’s letting on.

We remain together on the bridge for a few long minutes with her standing close enough to me that her floral scent warms my soul with each breath I take.

Never in my life have I felt as safe as I do in this moment.

We linger until the blizzard turns fierce, and after one last look at the beautiful river that will forever hold my secret like a lingering snow globe, we return to the car.

Martin drives us home while Devon and I sit in an amicable silence, which is broken when she explains to me that candy cane catching is when several candy canes are attached to a string and held aloft for people with bound hands to catch with their mouths while the string wobbles—a sticky yet hilarious endeavor, by her description.

By the time we pull up to her house, the snow is falling so thickly that I can’t see beyond my own nose and my umbrella does little to protect Devon from the pelting flakes.

“You should stay,” Devon says as we huddle under my umbrella and make it two steps toward her door. “There’s no way it’s safe for you and Martin to drive back in this in the dark!”

“Are you sure?”

I ask but end up laughing as Martin, who overheard, is already hurrying past us toward her home.

“I’m sure!” he calls in between mouthfuls of snow.

“Yes.” Devon laughs. “I refuse to let you drive back to the city in this!” The wind almost steals her words from her, and as I fight to keep the umbrella over her, I nod.

“Okay. That would be lovely, thank you.”

17

DEVON