Don't Kiss the Bride

Before things started to fall apart.

As if I’d need something to remind me of her. She’s already embedded in my heart, branded there as the one and only woman I’ve ever had feelings for. And probably ever will.

I snap the lighter open, light it up, then close it—snuffing the flame.

“It’s perfect.” I smile at her, wishing I could show her how perfect it is with kisses instead of words. “This is much better than the ‘I fake married someone and all I got is this T-shirt’ shirt I was expecting at the end of this.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” She pulls the Santa hat off and golden strands of her hair stick up from her head, electrified with static. “The gargoyle reminded me of you. So rough and hard on the outside, but fiercely protective of the heart he’s holding.” She touches the lighter in my hand, then runs her finger slowly over my thumb to the pulse of my wrist. The touch is so simple, and yet the warm, tingling sensation travels all the way up my arm to my chest. “I’m just not sure if he’s protecting his own heart, or someone else’s.”

“Maybe he’s protecting both,” I say.

Her finger instantly halts its subtle caress on my wrist.

She slowly pulls away and gazes across the room, fixating on the Christmas tree. The lights reflect in her eyes like millions of tiny fireflies.

I’m enchanted with her. Always.

“Today was nice. And a little awkward,” she says in a melancholy way. “But I’m glad I went and spent it with your family.”

“I am, too.”

She leans back against the couch and hugs her knees. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I talked to my father.”

My head snaps back with surprise. “Really? When?”

“The night you were out. He sent me a text. It showed up as an unknown number. I thought it was a random wrong number at first.”

“Wow. How’d it go?”

Her chest heaves up with a sigh. “Good and bad, I guess. We talked for a while. It was weird at first, then it got better. We talked about my mom, and me, and him. We talked about you, too. He wants to talk more, maybe see me.” She looks at me and shakes her head. “I’m just not sure how I feel.”

I want to ask her what her father had to say about me, but I have a distinct feeling he’s the one who gave her the advice she mentioned the morning we talked, when she suddenly agreed that we shouldn’t be together.

I refuse to make this conversation about me, though. No matter what, he’s her father and I’m sure whatever advice he gave her was right on point. It’s important to me that she make her own choices. I don’t want to do or say anything to sway her in any direction. I don’t want her—or anyone else—to think I took advantage of her being young, and brainwashed her to marry me or have sex with me. The last thing I want is someone like Rebecca accusing me of grooming a teenager.

“What he did was wrong, but people change,” I say. “He could be a different man today than he was back then. He could be living with a ton of regret. It can’t hurt to hear him out. Lay into him if you want to—you have that right.”

“I did go off on him a little. He took it well and apologized… for leaving me. Do you think I should let him back into my life?”

“I don’t know, Skylar. That’s only for you to decide. You’re older now. You can have a real conversation with him about everything. Make him accountable. I’d hear him out and then decide if you want to tell him to go fuck off, or maybe try to start over. This time, the choice will be yours. At least then you’ll have closure.”

“I don’t know what to do. But, I have to admit, it was nice to talk to him. He sounds much happier. Would you let your father back into your life? Or your sister?”

I rub my face, trying to put myself in that position.

“A few years ago, I wouldn’t even think about talking to my father. But now? Yeah, I’d talk to him again. Everybody makes mistakes and goes through their own shit. As for Erin? That wound’s way too fuckin’ raw. If she ever got her shit together and got clean, I might. And that’s a big fucking might. She’d have to show a massive amount of remorse and do a shit ton of groveling after what she did to you.” I exhale a breath. “Me at eighteen would’ve said fuck everyone, but me now understands life and people a lot better.”

She stares up at the ceiling, chewing on her lip. “I’m going to think about it. I’m feeling a little anxious with the idea of people coming and going from my life again.”