Page 38 of The Holiday Fakers
Fuck!An ocean of grief I’ve ignored for over a decade is crashing through me.
Piper takes my hand and squeezes almost as hard as Hudson did earlier, making it even more difficult to hold it together.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Through the blurred edges of my vision, I see Martha stretching her arms toward her father, and a lump rises in my throat.
The silence around the table is deafening, broken only by the screech of chair legs on the wooden floor and the patter of tiny feet.
Piper lets go of my hand as Martha pushes between us and throws her arms around me.
I lift her up and bury my face against her small chest while she strokes my hair.
“It’s all right, Uncle Brody. Daddy says it’s good to cry because you’re …”
There’s a low murmur from across the table.
“Acknolging your feelings.”
I hear the pride in her voice as she says such a big word, and the pain of her mom not being here hits me even harder.
I didn’t cry when Olivia died. It was too much of a shock. Too unreal to accept. The logical part of my mind accepted the truth, but the rest of me refused to believe it. And if I never went back to Hideaway …then maybe it didn’t happen. She, Ethan, and their baby girl were still one happy family.
But now the tears won’t fucking stop. I haven’t cried since my mom died, not even for a role.
Piper’s arms are around my back, helping hold me together, but her kindness is only breaking me further apart. I don’t deserve it.
I hear more chairs moving, feel more hands being placed on me, their warmth telling me I’m not alone.
“We love you, Uncle Brody!” Martha says brightly. “Everything’s going to be okay!”
I huff out a laugh even as the tears keep falling.
I see now why people want children. Why they adore them. Hell, I love Martha enough to lay down my life for her, and we’ve only known each other for fifteen minutes.
Little hands pull my hair, and I raise my head.
Martha’s lips are pressed together as she assesses me, her expression so strikingly like Ethan’s.
“You need to blow your nose now,” she says authoritatively. “Then eat your lobster roll.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Being hungry makes you cry,” she continues. “Because the gurgle monster pinches your tummy.”
I nod, aware of people around me. Erica is wiping her eyes and gazing at me and Martha with so much love that I have to look away.
“You can put me down now,” Martha says.
I gently lower her to the floor, and she skips back around the table to Ethan. I can’t look at him.
Piper hands me a wad of tissues, and I make for the hall outside the dining room. She follows me, closing the door behind us.
We both blow our noses, then face each other.
Tears make her eyes sparkle brighter, and the Christmas lights catch her hair, giving it a soft, golden glow.
“I’m so proud of you.”
