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“No, it’s not a spell; it’s just us,” I tell her.
“Nothing is happening, Bran. We had a Christmas fling—that’s all. We both knew that going in, and we both knew it was going to end,” she protests.
“You’re so cynical,” I say.
She walks over and snatches a few sweaters off the hangers in the closet and tosses them in her suitcase:
“Cynical? No. I’m a realist,” she insists.
“Okay, so tell me what’s real.”
“I’ll tell you what isn’t real. Happily ever after. It’s an illusion sold to us from birth by movies and made-up fairy tales,” she bellows.
“Says the woman who plans fairy-tale weddings for a living,” I point out.
She scoffs. “That’s right. The wedding. The one perfect day. I do everything in my power to make it unforgettable for the bride. To make sure all her dreams come true. Dreams she has dreamed since she was a little girl. I create that day for her, and hopefully, that memory will get the poor, unsuspecting soul through the next twenty years of shit.”
“You don’t believe that,” I say.
“Oh, yes, I do. All you can truly expect ishappy right now. That’s it. That’s all my parents got. That’s all fifty percent of marriages get.”
“What about Bob and Trixie? Norah and Sammy? Willa and Keller?” I ask.
“They’re the exceptions.”
“All of them?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Uncle Bob and Aunt Trixie are. It’s yet to be seen for the others.”
I blow out a long whistle.
Her eyes cut to me.
“Wow, that ex of yours really did a number on you, didn’t he?” I ask.
“No, he did me a favor actually. He left me standing in my fantasy wedding gown in the middle of a beautiful chapel with all my friends and family present, and if he hadn’t done that, then I’d probably be a divorced single mother of three kids with emotional damage, driving a minivan,” she retorts.
I take slow, measured steps toward her.
“I agree. He did do you a favor because you deserve to have a man standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for you, who loves you with everything he has inside of him. You deserve to be treasured.”
When I make it to her, she looks up, and I wipe the tear from her cheek.
“I’m sorry that dumbass was reckless with your heart.”
“I’m sorry I was reckless with yours,” she whispers.
“So, that’s it?”
“That’s it. That’s all I have,” she replies.
I give her one final kiss and reach up and pluck the last berry from the mistletoe in her doorway.
“I guess the legend is true after all. It was a good-bye kiss,” I say as I place it in my pocket.
Then, I turn and walk out.
Willa, Keller, and Trudy are coming in as I walk out the front door.
