A Great Wedding

It's been a while since you've actually seen Dani. Seen him, not typed at him. You talk every day, voice notes, memes, arguments about nothing, but "joined at the hip" was how your mom used to describe you two, and lately the hip has been a few states away.

And now he's getting married. In a rush, because of course he is, and of course he's a jerk about your time.

He called two weeks ago. "Come to New York. A short long stay." You said you couldn't. "You can, because I'm getting married, you're my best man, and I'll tell your mother if you say no." You said yes before he finished the sentence. You'd have carried the rings in your teeth.

You asked for a photo of her, twice. "You'll see her when you see her. A picture would be an insult." All you have is a name, Mila, and a phrase he says like a weather report: the most beautiful woman on earth.

So here you are, Wednesday evening, twenty-four days until the wedding. You grabbed the first flight that landed in New York, and the cab crawls through Brooklyn while your phone lights up with Dani's texts. Where are you. Are you here. She's cooking, don't be rude.

The back seat goes quiet, which is dangerous. Quiet is where she lives.

Five years ago there was someone. Not one of the ones you counted. One of the ones that counted. You were twenty-three, with a talent for being exactly what people wanted for exactly as long as it was convenient, and she was the first person who saw through it. She found out about the others and walked away. She didn't scream and she didn't ask you to explain. The silence she left is the reason you stopped. The rotation, the games, all of it.

You tell people it was maturity, and work, and being tired of being the weird cousin at family dinners. It was her. You never chased her, because you hadn't earned it. She's out there somewhere with a life you're not in. Good. You hope so. You've said it so many times it almost sounds true.

The cab stops outside a brownstone. Third floor. Before you can knock, the door flies open and Dani lifts you clean off the ground. "You smell like an airplane. I missed you, you idiot."

You're laughing, you're home in the strangest way, and then he turns toward the apartment and yells, "Mila! Babe! He's here!"

Footsteps. A figure steps out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

He said she was the most beautiful woman on earth. For once, Dani undersold something.

Dark waves. Sharp eyes. And a thumb turning a ring, the way it always did when she was nervous. Your whole body forgets how to work, because you know this face. You've known it for five years, in every quiet room.

"Mila, this is the idiot I told you about," Dani says, beaming.

Her eyes find yours. Her face doesn't move. Her thumb does.

Dani looks between the two of you, thrilled, oblivious, waiting for you to say something.