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It’s misery served straight up, without a chaser. And it’s as if the universe is saying “Fuck you, Milo” for being such a bastard. Between not telling Evan what was really going on between Maybe and me and handling that night at her apartment all wrong, I can’t deny I deserve it.
Of course, the stunning woman beside me continues to ignore my existence, staring down at her shoes as if they have the power to teleport her somewhere far away from me.
Margo starts pacing, and the sounds of soft, rhythmic, and very familiar wedding music starts to seep out through the closed doors. “Okay! Okay!” she exclaims and waves her clipboard in the air. “It’s time, people! I repeat, it’s time!”
I’m starting to fear that the wedding planner might not make it through the evening without succumbing to a mental breakdown.
The doors open, and two-by-two, each pair of the wedding party begins their walk down the aisle.
Of course, Margo is there, giving each member of the wedding party one last once-over before she lets them go through the doors. She is the mother hen of weddings, adjusting ties, fixing bouquets, doing anything and everything she can to make sure the event is perfection.
When there’s only one couple ahead of us, I don’t hesitate to reach out and gently lock Maybe’s arm within mine.
She startles at first, but I don’t miss the way her eyes glance down at where we’re connected. A little crinkle forms between her brows, and it takes everything inside me not to tell her everything that’s on my mind.
I miss you, kid. Goddammit, I miss you.
Her big brown eyes look up at me, and my heart migrates into my throat.
She doesn’t say anything, but I get the sense she wants to.
You can tell me anything. Say anything. For fuck’s sake, just tell me something.
Her mouth opens and closes once, twice, and a third time, but before words ever come out, crazy Margo gives us the cue to start walking.
We make it halfway down the aisle, and I can’t stop myself from telling Maybe the one thing I’ve wanted to say since I saw her in the lobby. “You look beautiful, kid. So damn beautiful.”
To anyone else, my words can’t be heard over the music, but I know she heard them.
Maybe doesn’t respond, but out of the corner of my eye, I don’t miss the way her throat bobs as she swallows hard against whatever emotion is inside her throat.
When we reach the end of the aisle, I have to let her go.
Without looking back, she moves away from me to stand near the other bridesmaids.
It stings like a bitch.
But I force a smile to my lips as I stand beside Evan and the rest of the groomsmen.
When the “Bridal Chorus” begins to play and everyone rises to their feet, all eyes move to the beautiful bride walking down the aisle.
All eyes except for mine.
Mine stay on Maybe the entire time.
Fuck. I wish I could know what she was thinking.
I wish I could take back that night and have a do-over.
But mostly, I just wish she were mine.
Maybe
My favorite David Gray song, “Sail Away,” plays from the speakers inside the ballroom. I stand a few feet from the dance floor, a barely touched glass of wine in my hand, and watch as my brother smiles down at his wife, swaying gently with her to the music.
That’s right. Evan is officially married.
And damn, I’ve never seen my brother look so happy. So in love.
My heart is confused as I watch them. It wants to soar, but at the same time, it twists and turns inside my chest. Discomfort still there. A stark, unavoidable reminder of him.
I can’t stop my eyes from searching the room, taking inventory of all the familiar faces.
Until they stop on the one person they were looking for the entire time.
Milo.
He is on the other side of the dance floor, a gorgeous woman standing beside him. Together, they watch the happy couple enjoy their first dance as husband and wife.
He brought a fucking date.
He brought a beautiful woman to my brother’s wedding, and I get to play the part of the solo bridesmaid with a broken heart.
Thanks a lot, you asshole.
The pain in my chest moves to my stomach and seems to set up shop on the right side of my abdomen again, throbbing and aching and annoying the hell out of me.
I attempt to wash it away with a drink of wine, but when I lift the glass to my lips and the first tiny drop hits my tongue, nausea decides to join the party.
I roll my eyes and set my glass of wine down on an empty table.
Jesus. Can’t anything go right tonight?
The DJ encourages everyone to join the bride and groom on the dance floor, to share in the end of their first dance, and just before I can go back to my seat, a hand gently touches my shoulder.
