· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

THREE MONTHS LATER

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

    I turn the TV on and put the news channel on. "This is it."

Cameron brings the coffees through to our new lounge and puts them on the coffee table. "Your dad said it'd probably be soon. I bet he knew, just couldn't say anything."

"Probably. We get used to being given vague answers because he just can't tell us," I answer.

We moved in three weeks ago to this new flat overlooking the marina in Southampton. It's got two bedrooms, modern and completely gorgeous. Our relationship has flourished, and he's even taken well to help owning the business, as well as doing a lot of the baking for it. I'm getting more and more tempted by his restaurant idea, and have my eyes on this space down the road from the new shop, but I need to focus on the new shop for now. Maybe next year.

The prime minister comes up to the podium on the TV and starts his speech outside Downing Street. I sip my coffee as he says stuff about it being time, and that he's enjoyed leading the country through tough times. I have to roll my eyes: the number of times Dad's written these kinds of things and told me they were just buzzwords and flowery language is insane.

Cameron finishes eating his cereal bar and drinking his coffee while I grab my phone, awaiting the inevitable message from my dad.

Then the Prime Minister announces the general election for four weeks. Though he doesn't say it, a lot of people and the media have been theorising it would be a short campaign because the country is in desperation for change.

My dad even said the other day to us all when they came to see the shop that he was certain it would be a short time between the announcement and polling day. He's not saying it so as not to jinx it, but he's quietly confident he'll be prime minister soon. I know people are already talking like he is in the media.

"Well, shit," Cameron says. "Your dad called it."

I nod as the message comes in. 'Knew it! They told us yesterday, but couldn't say anything until now. I'm starting the campaign tomorrow. I'll try to be there for the shop opening for you, already asked the campaign manager to schedule something around it. Dad x.'

"He's trying to schedule something so he can be at the opening next week of the shop," I tell Cameron.

"Hopefully he can be there," he says.

I shrug. "Hopefully. I mean, it's just a cake shop opening, it's nothing major. If he can't, he can't. It'll be worth it if he becomes Prime Minister. It just sucks."

"Hey," Cameron says. He rests his hands on my shoulders and gives me a small smile. "You're allowed to be sad about it. Don't forget, today is the day we're finalising the drop-in dates and doing the interview with the local paper. It's going to be amazing, okay?"

I nod and finish my coffee. The shop is all ready to be opened next week. I just have to bake the first lot of cakes the day before for sale. But this week is about finalising our initiative here. We've got charities from the local area for supporting victims of sexual assault and depression as well as a suicide awareness charity that supports not only people feeling suicidal but surviving families and also people who have survived an attempt, all of who are willing to help our cause. We're setting up drop-ins for each charity so they can come in and anyone who needs support can come in, get a coffee and cake and get help. It's a subtle place where no one will see what they're doing, so there's no judgement.

We've also still got the Elliott's special cake to raise money, along with a few other cakes with a portion of sales going to each charity we're affiliated with. Our location is right next to the high street as well, so it's perfect.

"Okay, we got this," I tell myself. Every time I think about this new shop opening, I get butterflies in my stomach. The store in London is still booming, even more, so it seems now the new one has gained a lot more interest. I'm hopeful, and optimistic at least.

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

    Both Cameron and I walk into the restaurant to find my mum and Luke sitting there, waiting for us with drinks.

"Sorry we're late. We were running late with a meeting," I explain as we all hug.

"Don't worry, we got drinks," Mum says, showing us the wine and beer she ordered. "Thought you might with the charities."

"Dad couldn't make it. You know, obvious reasons," Luke says.

I wave it off. "I think we can forgive him with the election coming up."

We all laugh as we sit down. The plan was to have a family dinner, but with Dad already off on the campaign trail and Lily not speaking to anyone anymore, it's just the four of us. To be honest, I don't miss Lily's presence with the way she's been acting on social media, but it is what it is.

"We're thinking of staging an intervention on Lily," Mum says. "Have you seen the latest?"

"They're engaged and starting... a photo service thing," I answer for her. She can't seem to say an adult-only-streaming-page for raunchy photos as well, and to be honest, the thought of seeing more photos of my ex-girlfriend and sister makes me feel sick, especially if my dad is going to be the prime minister soon, but she's a fully functioning grown adult.

"Yeah, that." Mum nods and looks at her menu.

I shrug. "There's not much you can do. She's a grown adult. It'll get out in the press, sure, but there's nothing you can do. It's all legal and to be fair to them, if people pay for that kinda thing, then it's more fool the paying people, you know?"

"She's going to be heartbroken and lonely soon," Mum comments.

The waiter comes over so we all order before continuing the conversation.

"It's her choice. I know what I did was... not good to Lily, but it's her decision to alienate herself and be with who she wants," I say. "She'll either come around eventually or decide to live her new life."

"You're right. It just... I don't know." Mum groans and sips her wine.

"You're her mother, Sarah. You will feel awful about it," Cameron says.

She sighs. "Moving onto better things... Patty and Leo phoned; they said you invited them down for the opening."

I smile. "Yeah. Spoke to them earlier and they'll be here for it. They never came to the London branch, so they're excited to see the shop. They don't know about the special either, so they'll see what I've done. Excited for them to see it."

"They'll love it," Luke says.

On one side of the café, we've done a little stand for each charity we're working with. Along with the suicide charity, we've put a bit about Elliott and introducing him, the cake special and why I started the brand. I've not mentioned why he really killed himself, but I don't know if people will make the link. Maybe they will, maybe they won't. My family hasn't yet, or if they have, they haven't mentioned it.

I just hope Patty and Leo will like what I've done. They know now I'm with Cameron, and I just hope they never think I've forgotten about Elliott because I never will.

"I just can't wait for it to open," I say. "It's getting nerve-wracking, but exciting now. So many months of work."

"You've both done amazing, Kenna," Mum says. "You've really proved this new side of you, and it's honestly amazing to see the positive change in you from the Kenna before the wedding."

I glance down, a blush forming over my face. "Thanks."

"Your mum's right," Cameron says, squeezing my thigh under the table. "You've turned the shit into something positive. I think Elliott would be damn proud of you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, he would. Because we all are," Mum says.

I wipe a tear from my eye, threatening to ruin my makeup. Wherever he is right now, if he is looking down, I know deep down he'd be proud. Though I have embraced this new Kenna Taylor and worked hard, though I've moved forward with my new life and with Cameron, it doesn't go unnoticed that everything I've done I've done in his name and for him. 

He lives on in the small things; the cakes, the name he thought up, the brand he came up with, and the memory. Before I told Cameron the truth, the cake shop was out of grief and was hard work I did to try and keep him alive, but now it's not that anymore. It's done in his memory, something positive he left behind and something good out of the shit he went through. All of this has changed me as well as my outlook, and I'm embracing every moment of not grieving, but remembering. 

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·