I sit on a chair, arms crossed as I watch him pace back and forth, fumbling with his tie. His hands are shaking; he must be incredibly nervous. I imagine I would be too, if it were my wedding.
I haven't heard from him in years. He called about a month ago, begging me to be the best man at his wedding. He said it would mean the world to him.
I was a fool, and I said yes.
So here I sit, watching him.
He turns toward me, spreading his arms.
"How do I look?"
He's wearing a black silk shirt and black trousers, his black jacket neatly buttoned. The only splashes of color are his red tie and the purple rose in his lapel. It matches his eyes. His hair, of course, is perfectly braided, not a strand out of place, tied off with a red ribbon.
Beautiful.
I hope she knows how lucky she is.
"Nice."
He puts his hands on his hips and smirks. "Gee, aren't we the talkative one?" He chuckles and turns away, looking back into the mirror and primping. "Thanks again. It means a ton that you're my best man. Hey . . . " He pauses and looks at me in the mirror. "Are you plannin' on getting hitched?"
I shrug. Right now, life is too full to consider a wife, a family. Plus, it's difficult enough to keep myself alive on my income, much less two, three other people.
Also, the only person I would really love to spend my life with is getting married.
"Later, maybe."
He claps his hands. "All right! We are getting polysyllabic answers!"
I glare at the back of his head.
He keeps rambling, and I tune him out. It's my fault, really, that he's getting married today. If I had told him how I felt, maybe it'd be me in the other room, preparing myself to exchange vows. If I had told him how I felt, maybe it'd be my eyes into which he stares, into my ears that he whispers his love.
It's too late to think on that now. I had forever to tell him.
And I let forever pass me by.