It rained the morning of Ramona's wedding. I ran through the church parking lot with my jacket shielding my head from the droplets. The inside of the church was warm and dry, and I sat in the front pew and knelt down.

No one else was praying yet. There was this heavy anticipation in the air—this intangible buzz. I could see it in everyone's eyes; hear it in their whispers.

And I wanted so badly to join in. I wanted to squeal and giggle and stare in awe at Ramona's five-thousand dollar dress with a sweetheart neckline; I wanted to gasp when she slid the ring onto her groom's finger and pick a flower petal off the floor and place it behind my ear.

I sat in the second pew and I wanted to feel the excitement I felt boiling around me but instead I felt empty inside, like I was standing on the rafters and watching from different eyes.

How could I smile at this wedding when my world was falling apart? With Truman gone and Katie on the cusp of death, there were no more Falls siblings in my life. And I hadn't felt this lonely since before I entered grade nine and met Katie for the first time.

So as the priest declared them husband and wife and the church erupted with applause, I knelt on the ground and shut my eyes. I prayed to a god I had stopped believing in that summer night when a boy drank too much and got behind a wheel and hit my best friend; when I watched Truman's knees sink into damp grass when he learned his sister may be dead.

I squeezed my eyes shut and I prayed to any god that these past few weeks had been a horrible dream. That I'd wake up to Katie snoring beside me in a light pink sleeping bag and Truman sitting on the kitchen counter, feet dangling in the air and a bowl of cereal on his lap. I prayed that promises were never broken and neither were hearts.

But then Ramona screamed with happiness, and she descended the alter steps with her husband's hand in hers, smiling brighter than the coloured sun rays streaming in through the stained-glass windows, and I remembered that I didn't have the luxury of dreams.

That promises had been broken.

That hearts had been shattered.

That lies had been told and secrets had been kept. And that I had lost both Falls siblings because I was selfish, horribly selfish, and unable to keep a simple promise I made as a young girl.

Then Ramona's eyes held mine as she walked down the aisle, a married woman. I smiled, brilliant and dazzling until my cheeks ached and my eyes burned.

Ramona smiled back, completely unaware. And that was the scariest part, how unaware we all were.

If I was aware there was a drunk driver on the roads, I wouldn't have let Katie leave the party.

If Katie's parents were aware of how fragile their son was, they wouldn't take their daughter off life support.

If anyone in this church was aware of the pain searing through my heart, I wouldn't be here, completely alone.

But I was. Alone. A broken girl with a broken heart to now accompany her broken promise.

___

I beelined for the bar at Ramona's wedding reception. It was held in this giant hall outside the city, with towering white bricks and a driveway that curved around a fountain. It was extravagant and nothing like Ramona. The bar was in the corner of the hall, behind the tables and next to the DJ. I leaned on the counter, already drunk off heartbreak, and asked for a shot.

The bartender, an older man, smiled and asked for my I.D. I realized then I didn't have one. That I wasn't legally old enough to drink. That Truman was supposed to be the one that snuck me shots all night while I giggled away in any seat. The thought of him was a knife to the heart, and I stumbled back to my assigned table, surrounded with people whose names I didn't know and didn't care to learn.

Ramona and her new husband waltzed in. They danced in the centre of the floor with a smoke machine blasting. It was only another reminder of Truman, and I knew without asking that he had returned to his habit of smoking cigarettes. I couldn't blame him this time. I was searching for a new habit, too. Something to numb the pain.

Course after course was served until, finally, it was time for cake. Dessert was passed around and a huge table was set up in the corner, but I didn't join the line of people waiting to stuff their faces. Instead I rushed outside, looking for fresh air and somewhere to cry without people seeing.

There was a small garden at the back of the banquet hall, with a gazebo and string lights hanging from wooden posts. I walked inside, leaned against the wood and cried. I didn't want to spend another night in a fancy red dress, smiling and laughing and drinking. It felt too much like that first night. Only this time Katie wasn't about to get into an accident. This time, she was staring death in the face.

There were nine days left.

My dress was too red, and I could still picture the way Truman's halo caught the moonlight in that eerie bedroom. I could feel his hands on my thighs and picture the imprint of his knees on the wet grass when he sank to the ground, thinking his sister was dead.

And maybe it was because he was stuck on my mind, but then he appeared in front of me, too. He was caught in the moonlight, looking more like an angel than ever before.

"Eden." His voice caressed my name as he walked towards the gazebo.

I blinked once. Twice. I wiped away my tears with my fingers that wouldn't stop shaking and I reached out to touch him, to make sure he was real. His hand lifted, filled the empty space between us. Then his fingers grazed mine.

I jumped back, pulled my hand away. "What are you doing here?"

Truman looked broken, even worse than he did that first night in the hospital. At least then there was still hope Katie would wake up one day. Now, we had nothing. Only a crushing reality and then a life after her.

"You invited me to the wedding." He spoke so softly. I noticed that look in his eyes, the same one I saw in the mirror. The emptiness.

"Us breaking up was me un-inviting you," I said coldly.

He didn't even wince. Didn't show any type of pain. And why should he? His sister was going to die. A few harsh words from a girl he used to love wouldn't have the same damage. It's hard to split your grief in two like that.

Truman nodded and sat on the bench in the gazebo, his head in his hands. I don't know why I waited for him to comment on my red dress or the way I looked. Or why I waited for that word, devil, to spill from his lips. It never did. Of course it never did. Why would he care now? Everything seemed insignificant in the face of tragedy.

But still I waited. Waited for some glimpse of the boy I used to love. Or still loved. I struggled to read the remnants of my broken heart.

When Truman lifted his head and his eyes met mine, I waited for my heart to skip a beat.

I waited for that familiar feeling of wanting to run into his arms, but all I could think of was the girl that stood between us. The girl who had always stood between us. And I didn't want to despise Katie for keeping me from her brother. I didn't want to blame a girl that lay in a bed, ready to die.

It was easier to blame myself. To blame him.

So I took a step back. I let myself feel empty inside. When Truman stood up and my heart didn't race, I sighed. I was relieved. And I realized it was because the promise, this looming promise that weighed me down everyday, seemed to be intact again. Like I had never really broken it. Like me being broken now was punishment enough for my heart's detour off track.

"Will you come with me?" he asked finally.

"Come where?"

Then Truman held out his hand and said, "To say goodbye."

___________________

we are close to the end now 🌥