His attention is fixed on Halliday, walking toward us in a silver wedding dress. My father composes himself with a slow inhale, a murmured curse of wonder leaving his lips. “I’m so damn blessed.”
“We want you to be happy, Dad.” I pat him on the back as Molly walks up the aisle, scattering her petals.
My throat seizes up and I blink hard.
One day she might be walking up here on my arm. And I’ll be watching my little girl get married herself.
The thought is both overwhelming and bittersweet.
“I know, and I love you even more for it, Son,” my father murmurs, completely transfixed by Halliday.
Vincent’s playing the piano to one side, and the notes of the song drift sweetly on the warm breeze. I allow each one to sink into me as I allow myself another indulgent thought.
Maybe one day I’ll be standing where my father is, watching Tate walk toward me.
Please, God.
I feel her absence today like a hole in my heart, surrounded by family and friends. All the people I love.
She should be here.
But the job she was offered was her dream. I couldn’t let her go back on her word and turn it down. Not for me. Not even for Molly.
“She found the candy before I stopped her,” Sinclair apologizes as she slides into the front row of seats.
My father chuckles as Molly flings petals about with delight from her purple candy-stained fingers. She reaches the top of the aisle after lots of ‘awws’ from the seated guests and holds her arms up to me with a proud grin.
It takes everything in me not to bawl like a baby.
“Good job,” I whisper, scooping her up into my arms.
We watch as my father and Halliday recite their vows, and Molly points to the two pictures set up on a small table at the head of the aisle, positioned so they face the two of them.
“Who dat, Daddy?” she whispers in a sweet voice.
“That’s Halliday’s sister, Jenny,” I whisper back. “She’s in heaven too.”
“Like Grandma?”
“Yes, like Grandma,” I reply. I’ve told Molly about my mother, even though they never met.
My mother would have loved Molly.
“And Uncle Shade,” Molly adds, pointing at the second photograph on the table and mispronouncing his name.
“Yeah. Like Slade,” I answer, staring at the photo that’s like looking into a mirror.
A lump forms in my throat, making it hoarse as I grip her tighter. Just me and her. The two of us. Like it’s always been.
“Daddy sad,” Molly whispers.
“Daddy’s okay,” I reply.
She gazes at me with wide eyes, then pulls me closer by tightening her arms around my neck.
The moment her soft little mouth presses a kiss to my cheek with amwahsound, my heart cracks.
“Love you, Daddy,” she tells me.
