* * *
“Tomorrow, we do this for real, Babe.” Amid the mingling and dancing at the restaurant after Matt and Evie’s rehearsal, my brother had sneaked up behind his bride-to-be and wrapped his arms around her.
Leaning into him and tilting her head up, Evie gazed into his eyes. “I can hardly wait.” She looked so gorgeously happy. Her upswept hair allowed easy access to her neck, which Matt zeroed in on with his lips.
Just when I opened my mouth to protest, a low voice growled, “Hey, cut it out, Man. You’re making the rest of us want to gag.”
Chuckling, Matt told Tim, “You have no room to complain. You had your chance with a certain blonde but blew it.” He sent a meaningful look my way. Despite the levity in his voice, I knew that Matt was as disappointed about the turn of events as I had been. I suspected that he and Tim had exchanged heated words soon after the break-up. The one time I had asked him about it, Matt clamped up. “He’s not worth worrying about, Brooklyn.” But now they were best buds again. It must be a guy thing.
That familiar ache after Tim broke it off with me pierced my chest. He probably didn’t remember all the fun we’d had together with water balloon fights and silly string ambushes or the romance we’d shared in the form of moonlit walks and stolen kisses. Why hadn’t I been good enough for him? I wanted to ask him that question before I took off for college but chickened out. I wish I’d been a little braver.
Even now, as I turned away from the group, I berated myself for my cowardice. Here I was, a Journalism major at Iowa State University, and I couldn’t even sniff out the top story like the proverbial bulldog? I guess I needed to work on my communication skills.
Typeractive Tales: A Collection of Clean Short Fiction Page 19
