I wrote this sometime ago, and it's still one of my favourites :)
“Aria! Oh, goodness me. Where is Aria?”
“Yeah?” I call back, running (or rather, hobbling at a rapid pace due to the torture contraptions they call heels squeezing my size-8 feet) towards the bride. When the bride sees me, her face breaks into a glowing smile. “Aria! Thank goodness. Get your flowers, now. It’s going to start any minute.”
“You’re kidding,” I gasp, grabbing the simple bouquet of honeysuckle, lilies and white roses wrapped carefully and elaborately in pink and white tissue paper and pink ribbon. The bride looks over at me. We exchange animated grins.
“Make sure you catch the bouquet later,” she teases. “I’d like to be your bridesmaid.”
I roll my eyes but smile anyway. She has been teasing me about getting a husband for, like, ever. Well, for as long as I’ve met her, which is pretty short, but still. I open my mouth to deliver a crushing, witty comment in return, but a sudden movement in my peripheral vision makes my head turn. And suddenly, everything stops. Slows. The voices in the background, which are loud enough to deafen even the sharpest of hearers, fade away to nothing but a constant, low buzz. Everything fades away from my line of sight. Suddenly, all I can see is him.
Wyatt smiles at me, oblivious to the fact that his mere presence makes my whole being go spastic. “How’s the bridesmaid?” he asks, grinning at me, his face, his oh-so-adorable face, lighting up in delight.
“Ready, willing and able,” I manage, refusing to let anything leak into my voice, clutching the flowers in my hand like a life preserver and probably crushing the stalks into half as I grin at my best friend.
“Did Bryce and Eleanor make it?” he asks, referring to our two good friends.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Did you see their baby girl? So cute.”
“Ooh. I love babies,” interjects the bride. I chuckle in agreement, as does Wyatt. My mind immediately grasps his laugh and locks it away. His deep, easy chuckle, sounding exactly the same as it did back when we were fifteen, only now it is just a tad deeper.
Wyatt walks towards the bride. “My lovely,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her. As the bride giggles and tries to dodge him for fear of ruining her makeup so meticulously applied, I look away, my stomach clenching. Tears sting the back of my eyes. Hastily I dab them away, careful not to let the happy couple see.
Yes, yes, I know what you must be thinking of me. The words home-wrecker, wedding crasher, and some other lovely expletives must be going through your brain right now as you read this. Look, I can’t help myself, okay? It’s not my fault I’m helplessly in love with my best friend and have been since I was fifteen years of age. You can’t choose who you love, can you?
So now I’m standing here, with a garland of white roses in my hair, playing bridesmaid to his oh-so-wonderful bride. Oh, how ironic it is that I should be giving away the man I love to someone else.
The couple continues to giggle behind me, the way people in love do. Something gnaws at my heart. Jealousy? Probably. Envy? Most likely. Covetousness? Could be. A mixture of all three, throw in two cups of wistfulness, a quarter pound of yearning, four spoonfuls of heartbreak and a litre of tears? Oh, yes, definitely. Oh, don’t forget my love for Wyatt. Incorporate it in. Ah. A perfect recipe.
“Aria?”
Jolted out of my thoughts, I spin around, my simple gown of white chiffon brushing against my shins. “Yeah.”
