Grief crashed over me like a wave, and in the middle of it, my mind latched onto something absurd.
What if Ferris's phone had a virus?
What if the three of them were just messing with me?
What if, any second now, Ferris would open his eyes, pull me into his arms, and laugh as he tapped my nose：“Got you! You didn't actually believe that, did you?”
“How could I possibly propose to someone else and have a kid? It's all fake. We were just messing around, and you fell for it!”
Then he'd spread his hands in that helpless, “what am I going to do with you” way of his：“Mel, you're so gullible. I can't leave you on your own for a second.”
I'd curl into his chest, crying and hitting him at the same time：“Don't ever joke about this again. When you proposed, you promised it would only ever be me.”
Looking back, he always made me cry.
When he confessed his feelings. When he proposed. When we got married.
When he got hurt, I cried then too.
In the early days of his start-up, he got caught in a downpour one night. He and his scooter went straight into a ditch, and a gash tore open along his arm, long and deep.
He came home covered in blood. I was out of my mind with panic, but the first thing he asked was whether I'd eaten.
“I got you those little cakes you love. Didn't crush them, didn't get them wet.”
I cleaned his wound and cried the whole time.
He smiled like he wasn't the one in pain, wiped my tears with his good hand, told me there was nothing to cry about, and nagged me to eat the cakes.
My name has "snow" in it, and I've always loved watching it fall, but it hardly ever snowed where we lived.
Once, he went up north on a business trip. Three days later, he came home with a glass jar.
The lid was sealed tight with plastic wrap, and the jar sat nestled in a bag packed solid with ice packs.
Inside was snow. White, fluffy, perfectly clean.
His eyes were bright, his face lit up like a kid showing off a prize：“You wanted to see snow, right? I'm too busy to take you right now, but it happened to snow while I was there, so I packed a jar and brought it back.”
The jar was ice-cold against my palms, but my face burned.
“I wrapped it in layers of clothes and packed a dozen ice packs around it. I was so nervous going through security, terrified they'd confiscate it.”
I held that jar and cried like an idiot, my heart aching with how much I loved him.
Ferris pulled me into his arms：“What are you crying for? Someday I'll take you to Mount Fuji to see the snow.”
When he proposed, he had nothing.
He folded me a ring out of paper in our basement apartment. He'd done it so carefully, every corner lined up, every crease sharp.
Kneeling on one knee, holding it out to me, his palms were slick with sweat and his voice shook.
“Mel, I can't give you a real ring right now, and I can't afford a wedding, but I swear, one day I'll throw you the wedding you've always wanted at Mount Fuji and put a real diamond on your finger.”
I was shaking so hard I could barely nod. I said yes.
Not because of Mount Fuji. Not because of the diamond ring.
Just because, back then, I was the only person in his eyes.
That paper ring yellowed and went soft over the years, but I could never bring myself to throw it away.
In the end, I never got my snow at Mount Fuji.
What I got instead was the news that he was taking another woman there to see the snow and propose.
He hadn't forgotten the promise.
The plane tickets, the hotel, the diamond ring, the twenty-thousand-dollar-a-night hot spring resort at the foot of Mount Fuji.
He could afford all of it now.
He just forgot who he'd made the promise to.
The next day, Ferris pressed a lip balm into my palm.
Strawberry. New release for the season.
“Babe, your skin always dries out in summer. Once things slow down at work, let's take a trip down to Savannah.”
I looked at him. What I really wanted to ask was whether he'd cheated because Hannah was younger and prettier than me.
