"I Do"

“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health?”

Staring at you, breathless, I wait with my heart in my throat for you to seal this life-long commitment. Tears start welling up in my eyes as I realize what’s about to happen. For a moment I picture you as a child again – my first and longest best friend – and remember when we would put on your parents’ clothes and pretend to be married (I swear I can still hear you saying, “Honey, I’m home!”, as you march through the entrance of our playhouse wearing your father’s church tie and his brown leather shoes). An anxious hush falls over the chapel as everyone anticipates whether or not you’re going to follow through. With a gentle, mature look in your eyes that I’ve never seen before, you take her hand and whisper two little words as I reach over to grab a tissue from my seat in the front row.

*two years earlier*

“I do.”

Words I’ve always wanted to hear from you. But not like this. No, never like this. I take a strained gulp of coffee and try my best to compose myself before replying. “You love her already? I mean, you’ve only been dating for a couple of months. Do you really think she’s the one?” The cup in my hand began to quiver. What a stupid question to ask. I already knew the answer. “We’ve talked about moving in together and everything. I went and bought a ring last week.” His face started to go blurry as the words, “I do,” echoed in my mind like a freight train barrelling right towards me as I stood in the middle of the tracks in disbelief, unable to move. Blinking back the tears, I grip the cup like a lifeline and force my most convincing smile. “Well, then, I’m really happy for you. Congratulations. She’s a lucky girl.”

*present day*

“My, what a lucky girl!” exclaims the older, ostentatiously-dressed lady next to me as cheers erupt from all around the tiny chapel. You take her hand – her shiny diamond ring blinding me as you walk past – down the rose-petaled aisle and into the start of forever, as I grab my second (okay, third) tissue and try my best to look happy for you. God, she’s beautiful, I think, begrudgingly. She’s everything you ever wanted. Another tear falls onto the brightly colored wedding program in my lap (Thank you for celebrating this special day with us!, it mocks in bubblegum pink font) as you dip her romantically in your arms in front of the photographer and more uproar from the crowd ensues. And you were everything I ever prayed for. Once you two finally disappear beyond the wooden doors after what seems like hours and hours of waving and blowing kisses to your adoring fans, I rise with everyone else and slowly make my way to the reception area. Once there, I busy myself by reading the bar menu over and over until someone with heavy footsteps approaches me from behind, exclaiming, “There she is!” I turn toward the strange voice in surprise.

*two years earlier*

“Ah, there she is!” you whisper delightfully as you pull a little black velvet box out of your coat pocket. My breath catches in my throat as you smile in a way I’ve never seen you smile at me before. “I thought you’d want to be the first to see it.” Slowly and carefully – like a curtain being drawn on the beautiful future I had built up in my mind; the kind of future where you come home to me every evening and I nag at you for tracking dirt in the house and you just laugh because you know I could never really be mad at you for anything – you open the box and the glare from the massive diamond nearly blinds me. “Wow,” I mutter breathlessly. “It’s…it’s lovely.” You peer down at me from behind the box expectantly, wanting me to say more. “Think she’ll like it?” I stare at the ring for a while longer, unable to meet your gaze. “She’ll love it,” I finally say in an uncharacteristically strained tone of voice, hoping you won’t notice. But you do. Of course you do. You know everything about me, after all. Your eyes narrow as you look at me with concern.

*present day*

“You okay?” I turn to see a familiar looking bearded man walking toward me, glancing at my hands with an alarmed expression. Following his gaze, I look down to see that I’m crumpling nearly half a box of clearly-used tissues (and by used, I mean totally smeared with mascara) with something akin to a death grip. “Weddings make me pretty emotional, too, but I don’t think I’ve ever used that many tissues at one before,” he sneers. Embarrassed, I stuff the tissues in my purse just as his face finally registers in my brain and I realize who I’m talking to. “Andrew! What are you doing here?” An old high school classmate and friend. We used to have chemistry together (not that kind of chemistry, though. Just the class). He almost got suspended once for cheating off one of my tests. He laughs heartily at my slow recognition and leans in for a hug. “I’m a family-friend of the bride,” he explains as he reaches past me to grab a beer from the cooler. He takes a long swig of the bronze liquid as I rub the back of my aching ankles, briefly remembering why I hate wearing high heels. “What about you?” I sling my purse further back onto my shoulder so the tissues are definitely out of sight. “Oh, um, I’m a childhood friend of the groom.” Andrew nods and then raises an eyebrow. “Wait…is this the same guy I always used to see you with in the hallways? The one you went to Homecoming that one year with? He used to have those thick nerdy glasses. Reminded me a little of that Waldo book character,” he says jokingly. I nod slowly in response and reach for a beer myself. “You know,” he continues between sips, “I really thought you two would end up together. I saw the way he used to look at you.” With a pang of sadness washing over me, I stare at the ground as I try my best not to cry again before responding.

*two years earlier*

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I reply half-heartedly. You continue to examine me with those stupid brown eyes of yours, almost as if you’re trying to telepathically force me to tell you the truth. I sigh. “Look, I’m just feeling a bit emotional today, that’s all. This is all really big news and I just don’t know how to process it.” I can tell by your expression that you still don’t believe me, but you nod anyway…probably to keep me from bawling my eyes out. You always hate it when I cry. “I know it’s a lot to throw at you like this, so I understand if you need some time to come around. But you two are really similar and I know you’d like her a lot. My mom keeps telling me that I’m making a rash decision, that I can’t possibly love someone like that in such a short amount of time, but she doesn’t know how I feel. I came to you because I knew that at least you’d be happy for me. We’ve been best friends since the first grade, so of course you were one of the first people I wanted to share the news with.” I fold my hands under the table so you can’t see them trembling and give another sad smile. “Yes, thank you for coming to me about this. I know how long you’ve waited to find the one. I seriously am really happy for you and I hope you two have a beautiful life together.” You grin as you reach for a second coffee creamer from the bin in the center of the table. “Thanks, Erika. That really means a lot to hear from you. Now we just need to find you someone great. Have you been on any of those dating apps again recently? Find anyone good? I know how picky you are,” you laugh. I clasp my hands even tighter. “Nope, nothing out there for me right now,” I shrug, hoping this conversation will end soon. “Ah, well, keep looking,” you say earnestly. “I know there has to be someone good out there. What about that one super tall guy I saw you talking to a few months ago at the movie theater? Are you guys talking?”

*present day*

“We’re just friends,” I sigh. Before Andrew can answer, exuberant roars and clinking glasses of champagne ensue as you and your wife enter the room, her once flowy gown now a fitted white jumpsuit adorned with a diamond-studded belt and flowy lace sleeves. I tip back what’s left of my beer and momentarily wonder if it’s possible to drown myself in it. Gosh, I can’t believe this is really happening. I stumble toward the exit to take a quick breather away from all the people and the noise and suddenly envision myself opening up my mailbox a few years down the road to a Christmas card. Inside, there’s a man and a woman and two beautiful kids smiling back at me. They look so happy and whole, all dressed in their Sunday best and hands clasped in front of them. A true, picture-perfect family. The kids – one boy and one girl – have your freckled cheeks and blonde locks of wavy hair, but they have her eyes. Deep blue, like the ocean on a rainy day. I’m snapped out of my imagination by the sound of a voice I’ve heard a million times before calling my name with such unshakable familiarity that it feels like being called home. Like being ushered inside for dinner as a child after a long Summer day of playing outside with your friends. Like coming up the wooden steps – something you’d done so many times that you know exactly which stairs creak and where all the weak spots are – and being enveloped in the soft glow of the porchlight. Like someone you love asking, “How was your day?” as the front door clicks gently behind you. Like taking off your shoes and feeling the coolness of the ceramic tile beneath your feet. “Erika!” you call out again. I stop in my tracks just beneath the Exit sign and take a deep breath as I watch you run up to me in what feels like slow motion – your new wife by your side, standing in the space where I used to be, the space where I still want to be – with your arms outstretched for a hug.

*two years earlier*

“You’re not leaving, are you? You just got here.” I loosen my grip on my purse and dare to look directly at you for the first time since you said those two, stupid words. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I have a lot to do today and I just really have to go.” You look at me with a distant, unreadable look in your eyes that I’ve never seen before and sigh. “Okay, it’s cool. I understand. We’ll talk more soon, okay?” I nod and turn to go, hoping that you're watching me leave, hoping that you'll see the back of my head round the corner and think, There she goes. The best thing I never had. The one that got away. Everything I’ve ever wanted. But you won't. I know you too well. You've never thought of me like that. Not once. So I walk out the door with my left hand clenched into a fist in my coat pocket, thinking about the shiny diamond ring sitting idle in yours.

“Wait!” I hear someone shout a few seconds later. I turn around excitedly, only to have my heart sink at the sight of a male worker chasing after me with my wallet in his hand. “You forgot this on the counter, ma’am,” he says breathlessly as he catches up to me. “Thank you,” I reply, embarrassed for thinking it was going to be you running after me in Hallmark-movie fashion, finally confessing your long-overdue, undying love for me. Swearing that you knew it should've been me all along. What a fool I am. We’re just friends, after all. Nothing more. Before I turn to leave again, the boy runs his hand through his hair nervously and looks at me like one might look at a stray cat on the sidewalk. “Hey, I don’t know what all happened back there between you and that guy, but I’m sorry. I saw you trying not to cry back there. Was he your boyfriend?”

*present day*

“No,” I say, a little too quickly. You wrap me up in your arms as I watch her strike up a conversation with the group behind you, laughing and smiling as they ooh and ahh over her outfit. “I’d never leave early on such a big day,” I retort with an awkward tension in my voice that I try to hide by taking frequent sips of beer. Being in your arms like this feels safe, I think to myself. Too safe. Like at any moment something will come and rip you away from me. But time already did that. I watch with sorrow as she sticks out her hand to the admiring guests to show off her ring, thinking about our coffee shop meeting just two years prior. Thinking about how that day changed everything. For both her and for me. Your grip loosens on my black and suddenly you’re staring right at me. “She’s beautiful,” I finally say. “Congratulations.” You grin, causing me do the same. “Thank you. You know,” you say as you point off toward a table at the far end of the room. “There’s a pretty cool guy sitting over there who’s dying to meet you. His name’s Joey. We were old roommates back in college and he’s looking for a bossy, uptight, know-it-all, pain in the butt to go out with. So I told him you were single,” you chuckle. I roll my eyes and give your shoulder a playful but firm punch. “That’s okay,” I reply. “I’m really not looking for anything at the moment.” You give me a look that tells me you know I’m lying. “Come on, Erika. It’s been years since you’ve even so much as looked at a guy. He’d be good for you. Get you to loosen up a little without the need for liquid assistance” you say as you take the beer out of my hands and throw it in the trash before I can even react. “He’d take great care of you. You know I wouldn’t recommend him if I didn’t think he was good enough for you, right?”

There you go again. Caring about me. Being a good guy. I sigh and then glance over at her, watching as she bends down to take a selfie with one of the flower girls. I crack a small smile as I observe the way she holds up her right hand and makes the “peace” symbol with her pointer and middle fingers just before sticking out her tongue. That’s the very same pose you used to always strike in nearly every picture we have together. Maybe she is the one for you, after all. “You can give him my number I guess,” I eventually respond. You smile and put a hand on my shoulder. “There ya go. That’s my girl” Just before I can say anything else, she walks up to your side and extends a thin, delicate hand to me. “Hi, I’m Eden,” she says with a genuine smile. I smile back and accept her greeting. “Erika.” Our eyes lock and for a moment I think she knows. About us. Our story. Our history together. My feelings for you that border on something much more than a friend. She drops my hand and goes in for a hug. “He’s told me all about you,” she whispers. “I’ll take great care of him, I promise.” A tear fills my eyes. “Thank you. He’s a lucky guy for sure. You look stunning, by the way.” Before Eden could answer, someone shouts, “Time to dance!” and whisks you both away from me and onto the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room.

I watch the two of you slow dance as I clutch my handful of used tissues and try to fight off the weird mixture of both happiness and sorrow that’s gnawing deep within my chest. To my right, a tall, slender man with dark hair approaches, stopping to watch the happy couple for a few seconds before finally saying, “Just thought you looked lonely, standing over here all by yourself. Can I get you anything? Wine? Beer? Water? I think I saw coffee somewhere in the kitchen if that’s more your thing,” he winks. Cracking a smile, I glance in his direction and say, “No, thanks. I don’t drink coffee anymore.” Raising an eyebrow, the guy looks at me, clearly confused. “What? Who doesn’t like coffee? And what do you mean by ‘anymore’? When did you stop drinking it?” As the slow song comes to an end, you twirl Eden around in your arms Disney Princess-style as the crowd circled around you chants, “Kiss her, kiss her”...a challenge you gladly accept. I turn back to the guy next to me. “About two years ago.” The guy extends a hand in greeting. “The name’s Joey, by the way.” I grin and extend my own. “Erika.”