Chapter 4 – Kenna-Present #2
I look at both of them. My best friends, my lifelines, the only people outside of my family who really know what I’ve been through. They’re not judging me. Not really. They just want me to stop hiding behind fear.
I feel like the ground beneath me is shifting. The words are simple, but they hit harder than I expect. They make me realize something I’ve been avoiding for far too long—that maybe, just maybe, I still want something with Cole.
But how could that work now? How could I go back to a life where I let myself imagine a future with him when everything’s changed so much?
The days slip by in a blur of shampoo bottles, hair dryers, and the steady hum of the salon. I go through the motions, cutting and styling, my mind constantly drifting back to the conversation with Rina and Natalie. I can’t shake the weight of their words.
It plays on a loop. Rina’s teasing but earnest questions. Natalie’s quiet but cutting truths. The moment I almost said out loud that I still love Cole. That I never really stopped.
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. Not messy 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 with her 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 says we 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’s him I 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 I can’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 na?ve. 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.
I sweep up strands of her hair from the floor, staring at them like they might offer some kind of answer. But they don’t. They never do.
I sit for a while in the silence of the empty salon, surrounded by mirrors that reflect every part of me except the one I’m most afraid to face—the girl who still dreams of Cole, even when she says she doesn’t.
When I get home, I stand in front of my door for a moment, noticing something strange. A bouquet of hibiscus sits on the doorstep, its bright purple and pink petals vivid against the stone steps. My breath catches as I bend down to pick them up.
I know those flowers. Cole’s always known how much I love hibiscus.
He hasn’t forgotten.
I walk to the door, holding the flowers to my chest, my mind spinning. There’s a small note inside the ribbon:
For my Sunshine
With all my love,
Cole
I feel my heart skip, and for a moment, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The flowers feel like a reminder of everything I’ve been trying to avoid, but also a reminder of everything I’ve missed.
Cole hasn’t changed in all these years. He’s still Cole.
The guy I once thought would always be in my life, the guy I thought I would grow old with. But things are different now.
I push the door open and step inside. Cohen is in the living room, his head buried in a comic book, his wild blonde curls bouncing with each excited page turn. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan.
I excuse the sitter and head to the kitchen to grab a vase. Cohen notices me, his eyes lighting up when he sees the flowers.
“Are those for me?” He asks, his voice hopeful as he scrambles to his feet.
I smile, the sudden rush of affection for my son warming me from the inside out. “They’re not for you, honey,” I reply, kneeling to hand one of the hibiscus flowers to him. “But you can have one.”
He grins, holding the flower up to his nose and taking a dramatic sniff. “It smells good. Who sent them?”
I freeze for a moment, feeling the weight of the question. Who sent them? The only person who knows just how much I love hibiscus. Cole is the one who would remember my favorite flower even after all these years. But I can’t tell Cohen that. Not yet, at least.
“I’m not sure,” I say softly, ruffling his hair. “Maybe just a little surprise from someone who wanted to brighten my day.”
Cohen gives me a knowing look, then shrugs. “Okay. They’re pretty, like you Mom. Do you like them?”
I stand up, smiling as I say, “I love them.” I want to say more. If I could, I’d tell him they remind me of when his dad and I were very close.
I set the flowers on the counter and go to the sink to fill the vase with water. Cohen is already back on the couch, completely absorbed in his comic book, so I take a moment to let my thoughts settle.
But he doesn’t stay there long. A few minutes later, I feel a tap on my leg. I turn and there he is, his eyes soft and lips twitching into a shy smile.
“Mom?” he says, voice quiet. “Can we do a movie night? Just us?”
I melt immediately. There’s something about the way he asks, like he’s offering comfort more than requesting it. As if he can sense I’m not okay, even if I haven’t said a word.
“Of course we can,” I say, setting the vase on the counter. “Go pick something, lovebug.”
Cohen’s face lights up as he scrambles toward the TV, flipping through the options with his usual dramatic commentary. “Okay, okay, okay. Hear me out. What if we watch Big Hero 6 again?”
I laugh. “That’s the third time this month.”
He shrugs completely unfazed. “But Baymax is my spirit animal.”