As soon as Isabelle had left the room Clary pulled out some of the pins in her hair, letting loose a few curls to frame her face. She was thoroughly impressed with Isabelle's self-control as she inspected her make-up; it was beautifully subtle—not exactly Isabelle's expertise—and Clary felt a wave of nervous excitement overwhelm her.
In less than two hours she would be walking down the aisle and marrying the boy—man, as he insisted—of her dreams, and though these past five years had been mostly a blessing, she couldn't erase a dull ache within her. It was her wedding, one of the most important days of her life, and all she could think about was someone she had tried so hard to forget— her Simon.
After they had returned from the pits of Hell years ago her life had been turned upside down. The first month was Hell all over again. She saw his loving smile and heard his geeky retorts everywhere she turned. Each brown-haired boy with his slight build she came across on the street caused her heart to constrict for a moment before she could remind herself that it should not have mattered even it was him. She had tried in vain to contact him for weeks after they returned, eventually resorting to hanging out at his favorite coffee shops in the desperate hope her constant presence (or at least her fiery hair) would trigger any hidden memory. He had been a pillar in her life for over ten years, and it was cruel she now had nothing to show for it.
She felt nauseous from grief, and in one terrible moment she selfishly wished he was dead instead, because watching him be so happy and unburdened was killing her, surely. She was the Clary Fairchild she was today largely because of everything Simon Lewis had done in her life. To acknowledge that she had no impact on the wonderful person he had grown into hurt in a way she did not know was possible.
But she eventually had to let go. No amount of dwelling would change their history. She stopped visiting their favorite haunts, and she trained herself to not even look inside if she ever passed a Midtown Comics. That was her old life—she was full Shadowhunter now. She devoted herself entirely to the studies of the Shadow World, filling all free space in her mind to memorizing better fighting technique or visualizing new runes. Jace had been her rock, solidly guiding her each step of the way, even training her to be actually useful in a fight.
The Institute could have served as the ideal distraction, but there was the matter of Isabelle. Isabelle grieved silently, for perhaps the first time, but her heartbreak was palpable. Unlike Clary, she had made no attempt to contact Simon again—she tried to act as if the memory loss had worked both ways—but there were cracks in the façade. She had become more daring, less careful in her fighting, and she reminded Clary painfully of a Jace from not too long ago. And sometimes, very rarely, when it was just the two of them, Isabelle would quietly bring him up, careful to never say his name.
They were sitting in the kitchen one morning, Clary letting the sweet, black coffee fill her veins (some things never changed) while Isabelle poked her eggs around.
"Do you remember his laugh? I think I do, but then I am not sure..."
Clary almost dropped her cup of coffee. It had been six months since they had come back and Isabelle hadn't mentioned Simon in over a month. "Izzy, I think"
But Izzy continued as if Clary had said nothing—"I remember it being like a dorky snicker—not very vampire-y at all if you ask me. Vampires are supposed to be so smooth, and he, he….Typical." Isabelle shook her head and laughed lightly.
For a moment, Clary was hesitant, unsure if her laughing was a moment of hysteria or not, but then she realized it was genuine, and she could not help but join her. "Oh sure, like the sexy vampire mojo didn't do it for you."
"Could you believe it when he dated Maia and me at the same time—what an idiot. He's lucky I wasn't one of those girls that went crazy obsessive and like slashed his tires or something." She laughingly twisted her wrist and the electrum whip wrapped firmly around it —"It would not have taken me long at all." But then she looked up, and Clary saw her eyes were glazed with tears.
Clary reached her hands out, "He loved you, Izzy." But then Isabelle's hands turned to fists, and Clary knew she had said the wrong thing. She stood up and looked directly at Clary, her eyes a mix of the grief and hurt she constantly kept at bay.
"He loved you, too. For far longer and much more." Then she strode out of the room, and neither girl mentioned Simon to the other again.