[ WP ] at wedding of the woman you love , and you 're the best man .

( ( I do n't know if it's allowed, but I wrote from the perspective of the bride, sort of tangential to the prompt. It got a bit long, but fuck it. ) ) 
 
 I dip my head, my cheeks flaming beneath wings of drab brown hair that fall forward as I hunch my shoulders to hide my embarrassment. Behind us, Kevin Schuster- how is it possible I still remember his name? - Kevin's mocking laughter plays a cruel dance along my spine. He asks us if we're going to kiss. Jason clears his throat, desperate to ignore the taunts, and tugs at the Spanish worksheet between us, suggesting biblioteca in place of libreria. I concur and make the change. His face is sweaty; Jason's always sweaty, in that nervous half-grown way of thirteen-year-olds. The look in his eyes discomfits me though it will be years before I understand it. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 At my parents' insistence, I'm sitting in a chemistry classroom after hours listening to an upperclassman wax enthusiastic about the school science club. I've always liked science. I wanted to be a herpetologist for most of my childhood, a word frequently outside the vocabulary of my peers, and now I want to be an astronomer. My father is an engineer; he wanted to be a rocket scientist, but he grew up with a space race that dissolved by the time he reached college. I do n't want that. He's been laid off too many times in accordance with the currents of government contracts. 
 
 Across the aisle sits Jason, two years older, an eternity in the eyes of children. His dirty blonde hair still falls across his sweaty, swarthy forehead in the most unattractive way imaginable. I do n't know if his presence is coincidence or design, and I'm not experienced enough to fear the latter. His friend is with him, taller, with a flop of curly hair and a beak-like nose. They lean towards each other and share a muted joke I ca n't quite overhear. 
 
 While the sign-up sheet is making the rounds, Jason leans over, and tells me his friend is Luke. I shrug and put down my name. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 Jason's face shatters in the crowded hallway as I issue my conditions. He's invited me to prom, as I knew he would - forewarned and forearmed. I'm antisocial and, as proved by this encounter, a bit of a bitch, but an honest bitch. I want this one last experience with my friends before the winds of higher education sunder our carefully tended bonds, and I know it is likely Jason is my only shot. So I agree to go- as friends. 
 
 I did n't expect the impact to be quite so visible. I consider it my first lesson in feminine power. The twinge of guilt is not enough to make me recant. 
 
 When he invites me to his sister's wedding a few months later, I decline. I discover that crushed has not only an expression, but a voice, as he quietly accepts my response and hangs up the phone. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 We're in a dormitory basement, sitting around a plastic coffee table wedged in beside the washing machines, arousing curious stares from passing students. Dice are scattered among pencils, sourcebooks, and crumpled bits of paper. It's the first time we've all played together. The GM invited me after hearing how I love computer RPGs, and while it's only my second try at D & D, I'm already enjoying it more than my first. Around the table everyone is joking, excited, as I look from one face to the next- Jason, Luke, Patrick, and two others whose names already escape me despite our recent introduction. I'm the only woman, but I learned how to be the only woman at anything a long time ago. 
 
 Afterwards, Jason asks to walk me to my car. I agree because I ca n't immediately concoct a polite refusal. Luke tags along and I am grateful to have him spare me an awkward goodbye. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 The winter I turned twenty-two, Luke asks me to dinner. To celebrate my birthday, he says. I am excited. Stranded in the bleak corridor between Christmas and New Year, nobody ever remembers my birthday. He gives me Snowcrash and a box of good chocolate. We while away the evening over pizza. We've been friends for eight years, and it's comfortable, enjoyable, to have a little time together without the rest of the group. 
 
 A week later he calls and invites me to lunch. A lunch date, he says. 
 
 That was a date? my brain squeaks, utterly floored. But I figure what the hell. It's the least I can do. I say yes. 
 
 -- -- - 
 
 The road between Massachusetts and Iowa flies at a supernatural rate beneath my car. My mother laughs from the driver's seat, her turn at the wheel. She has n't seen me so excited or happy since I graduated college. The ph.d program was a mistake. The school was a bigger one. My life is in shambles around me but I'm grinning ear to ear, because I'm finally going home. 
 
 I go out for lunch with a friend. She's teasing me a bit. Luke and I broke up when I moved thirteen hundred miles away, but there's no fooling her. She knows I want to talk to him. I'm literally in the middle of telling her exactly how much I want to talk to Luke when our server approaches. 
 
 It's Jason. Same sweaty face, same bulbous lips, though years of intramural athletics have given him a body to admire. I see her check it out, discreetly, but his eyes are only for me. 
 
 I know the look in them now. I glance down at my napkin, embarrassed. 
 
 He's almost glowing as he slips in the booth beside me to ask how I've been. I mumble something. My friend chatters away. Luke is mentioned. His expression clouds a bit; he tells me that Luke has seen two other girls while I was gone, news to me, but strangely I'm not upset. I realize there's very little that could dim my excitement to see him again. 
 
 Eventually, at the urging of his manager, Jason reluctantly departs to fetch our nachos. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 Luke and I lie in bed. We've been engaged for ten months with eight left to go. Whether it's the influence of his mother, a neurotic planner if ever one lived, or my own growing nerves as the details pile one on another, I find myself nagging him for the seventh time that week to please choose his groomsmen. I know the wedding is laid-back. I know our wedding party is small. I still insist it's past time he alert them. 
 
 Two will be his brothers, it goes without saying. I wait for the other name, hoping it will not be the one I suspect. 
 
 He looks at the ceiling and lets out a breath. Jason. 
 
 My heart sinks. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 The first time I met Jason's wife was in passing, on her wedding day. We scarcely said two words to one another. They met online, not a bad place to meet, but I always found it strange how they never seem to stand close to one another, never demonstrate a trace of public affection. Some people are undemonstrative, Luke tells me. 
 
 I try to remember it as she looks at me with brittle blue eyes and offers her congratulations before we sit down to the rehearsal dinner. More than once, I catch Jason peeking at me over the bowl of mashed potatoes. I tell myself I'm imagining things. Probably I am. I mean, I have to be, right? Anything else is absolutely crazy. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 The sidewalk attempts to tear the cathedral veil from my head the entire way down the aisle, the rough concrete catching against the tulle. I'm grateful for it; crowds are not my forte, and it gives me something else on which to concentrate. It's hot, midwest high summer hot, and I'm in forty pounds of taffeta. I never could resist a pretty dress. It was as true at prom as it is now, though my motives are more pure. I guess I grew up after all. 
 
 Luke is smiling, gorgeous in his tuxedo, his eyes crinkled at the corners. I do n't even want children but at that moment I'm hoping they get his eyes. He takes my hand. 
 
 I risk a glance at the crowd. My gaze sweeps over the groomsmen, and though last week I worried about Jason in the midst of the eleven thousand other things contributing to my anxiety, it's a non-issue. It's like he's not even there. 
 
 The minister begins to speak. My mind is so light and happy that I scarcely notice any of it, an instrument of emotion rather than one of record. The ring sticks as he tries to put it on my heat-swollen finger. My bridesmaids cringe. I laugh. It'll be a fond story later. 
 
 Luke leans forward, our lips meet, and the onlookers burst into applause.
