I find myself more distracted than usual. I mixed color wrong and nearly trimmed too much off of a regular client’s ends. Natalie’s words keep echoing in my head, “Are you gonna keep lying to your son?” repeatedly, like a scratch on a record that won’t lift. My sleep has been poor recently.
Later, a woman comes in for a consultation, her hands nervously twisting together as she sits in the chair. She’s getting married in six months and wants something elegant but simple for her wedding.
She’s petite, maybe in her early thirties, with flushed cheeks and a binder clutched to her chest like it holds all the answers. I catch the glimmer of her engagement ring as she fiddles with a page in the planner. Her name is Alina. Her voice trembles a little when she talks—excited, but clearly overwhelmed.
While we discuss styles, part of me listens, while the other part daydreams.
“I don’t want anything too tight,” she says, motioning toward her temples. “My fiancé loves it when my hair is loose and a little messy. Notmessy messy, but like...Pinterest messy.”
I nod, giving her a soft smile. “Effortless but romantic. Got it.”
She relaxes a bit at my tone and pulls out a photo—a glowing bride with a crown braid and loose curls pinned just above the nape. The style is familiar to me. I’ve done it before. Doing it blindfolded wouldn’t be an issue. But as I brush through Alina’s hair, talking through the possibilities, my brain detaches.
I’m shuffling through a few wedding hair ideas withher when my mind wanders to my own future wedding. Or the idea of it, anyway.
I try to picture it. With the fabric of the dress trailing behind me, the soft rustle of it catching in the breeze. I imagine the flowers—white peonies, maybe, or wildflowers wrapped in soft linen. There would be music, something acoustic, and the ceremony would be outside, beneath a canopy of trees. I’d be barefoot. Of course I would. That always felt like me.
But no matter how much I try to build that image, it’s never fully clear. The only detail that comes into sharp focus every time is the groom. His face, his smile, his hand reaching for mine. Cole.
He’s the only one who’s ever there, standing at the altar. Not in a suit, probably—he was always terrible with ties. Maybe in rolled sleeves, suspenders. That crooked grin on his face. A grin that sayswe made it.That we’re not kids anymore, but somehow we found our way back.
The thought strikes me. Even now, even after everything it’shimI imagine.
“Kenna?” The bride’s voice pulls me back to the present, and I force a smile.
“I think I’ll go with something simple, like a loose updo. Nothing too fussy.”
I nod, writing down the details in my notebook.
My pen hovers for a second longer than it should. Not because I’m confused, but because I’m not really here. I’m tangled in a world that doesn’t exist. One I’m afraid to admit I still want.
Alina tilts her head slightly, watching me. “Is that okay? Or is that too boring for a wedding?”
“No, no. It’s perfect,” I reassure her. “Simple is timeless. It lets the real beauty shine through.”
She smiles and looks down, blushing. “I just want to feel like myself, you know?”
Her words catch me off guard. I blink at her. And something tightens in my throat. Because yes. I do know.
I can feel the weight of her words hanging in the air, but Ican’t seem to stop thinking about the one thing I didn’t say to Rina or Natalie—how every part of me still holds on to the idea of a future with Cole, even if it seems impossible.
I glance at Alina again as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She looks so hopeful. Like someone standing on the edge of the biggest leap of her life, trusting that love will catch her. It’s terrifying—and beautiful.
I used to believe in that kind of love. Back when it was just me and Cole in the bleachers at midnight, our fingers laced and hearts naïve. Back when a promise didn’t feel like a burden.
But now? Now there’s Cohen. There’s the lie. There’s everything I never told him. And yet...in the middle of a bridal consultation, I’m daydreaming about marrying the man I never told is a father to my son.
I want to be honest with him. Not just because Cohen deserves to know—but because a part of me wants to see Cole’s face when he meets him. Wants to know if something in his expression will say,I would’ve stayed. I would’ve been there.
Maybe that’s selfish. Maybe it’s too late. But the thought won’t leave me alone.
“Alright,” I say, closing the notebook and giving Alina a bright, practiced smile. “We’ll do a trial run in a few weeks, and I’ll send you some inspiration pictures in the meantime.”
She stands, her planner clutched to her chest again. “Thank you, Kenna. I feel so much better now.”
“You’re going to be a beautiful bride,” I say honestly. But inside, I wonder what kind of bride I would’ve been. If I still could be.
She leaves, the soft bell over the door chiming, and the chair she sat in feels oddly empty—as if she took something with her. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was a mirror I didn’t want to look into.
