John Price — The Wedding Invitation

The invitation was beautiful, achingly beautiful. Thick paper, elegant calligraphy, embossed flowers. It looked like something out of a fairy tale. Until you read the names.

Sitting at the kitchen table, you remained motionless. Your sister, Sarah, and John Price, you reread Sarah and John Price. Over and over again.

As if repeating it would make it less real. The tears came before you could stop them, not because he was getting married, but because she was the bride. The person who knew every detail of your relationship.

The person who hugged you when he walked away, the person who swore to be on your side. The sound of a vehicle stopping in front of your house interrupted your thoughts.

You looked out the window and felt the air leave your lungs; it was him. Price got out of the vehicle slowly, looking tired. More tired than you remembered.

A few seconds later he knocked on the door. When you opened it, neither of you spoke. His eyes went to the invitation you were holding, he looked at it silently, then looked up.

Price: I suppose you already know that.

His voice was deep, heavy, as if he had rehearsed that conversation hundreds of times.