Page 69 of Best Man Speaking

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when I should’ve been,” I say, turning toward her as we walk side by side.

She looks back at me quizzically, a tiny furrow between her brows, like she doesn’t quite know what I’m talking about. “I know you must run a tight ship at work, but being right on time isn’t late.”

She thinks I mean today. Fuck.

My heart, that ridiculous, compulsory-for-life organ, throbs in my chest. I hate to have to bring this up, to upset her or our current status quo by rehashing the past, but how can I not? Even if it breaks a rule.

She moves to turn away, but I gently touch her arm, bringing her attention back to me and our movement to a halt.

“No, Hallie, I mean the funeral. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, that I didn’t show up for you that day. Regardless of anything else, I should’ve been there, and I wasn’t.” The words come easily once I start. It’s nothing I haven’t thought of before; no word of it’s a lie. Apologizing for this is one of many things, none of which is painful. There are more apologies to be given, but I’m not looking to push my luck.

Hallie’s lips press together, and I lift my fingers from where I’m still touching her, giving her space to respond.

“You’re breaking a rule,” she says, looking over her shoulder like someone’s going to hear. Like the dead are going to care.

Her words aren’t what I’d expected or what I hoped for, but I shouldn’t be surprised.

“I know,” I reply with a curt nod. She continues to look unsure about the conversation, glancing down at the flowers she’s got clutched in her hand. And I can only imagine how we look standing together: me in my dark suit pants and button-down shirt, her bright and light in ripped jeans and a white T-shirt, both of us holding our pink bouquets.

“We’re not meant to talk about the past,” she reiterates, as if I don’t know the damned rules. And I consider for a moment if she’s worried that I’m going to use this to end things. To bring all the time we’ve been spending together to a premature close.

“I know, and I won’t say another word about it. But I’m still sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Because there are things I’m not sorry for, like us having sex that very first time or the way anoptimistic teenage version of myself had asked her to marry me. But what I don’t get to apologize for today is how I hadn’t been able to follow through on that final promise.

She looks at me for a long time, in this place that’s so peaceful, so quiet. There are no distractions, only the gentle rustling of leaves through trees.

“Okay,” Hallie says, voice quiet but questioning. “Thank you.”

I can’t help but think she doesn’t believe me or is at least having trouble taking my words seriously. It stings a little, but it doesn’t make what I said any less true.

I’d given Hallie privacy to catch up with her gran after placing my own flowers, my multitude of both thanks and apologies silent but heartfelt. Out of earshot, I’d watched her crouch down, tracing the engraved names of both her grandparents as she’d spoken softly. Part of me was curious about what she’d been saying, if she’d explained my presence. But when she turned back to me, ready to leave, a small smile curving her lips, I hadn’t been able to make myself ask.

Walking back to our cars, side by side, our hands are bare of the bouquets we’d arrived with. The silence between us is comfortable, even as my body starts to feel the opposite. Rolling my shoulders back, I shake them out a little, but it doesn’t stop the discomfort as it trickles through me. My arms feel wrong, awkward, even. I stretch my neck from side to side and quickly flex through my fingers—and that’s where it is. My hands are empty, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about them.

For a moment, I feel relief, the corners of my lips curling up at my own ridiculousness because the issue is mental, not physical. But when I think about it again, my almost-smile drops becauseit’s mental, not physical. There’s no stretching out of this discomfort. Walking next to Hallie, I can’t help it as my fingers flex again in abject discomfort. How the hell do I normally walk side by side with another person? Do I swing my arms? Do I put my hands in my pockets? Do I cross them?

Am I going insane?

Playing with my phone or my keys is not the right move, but as my arm brushes Hal’s, I know what my issue is.

My hand wants hers.

I stretch my fingers one last time and put a little more space between us as we walk.

As we enter the parking lot, I take my phone out, needing to do something. Three missed calls from Johnathan Cairns. Fuck my life, this man won’t take a hint.

“You look less than impressed,” Hallie states, gesturing to my phone.

“Work,” I reply, pocketing the device again, but it feels heavy in my work pants.

“Being able to have your phone set todo not disturbis great, but blocking numbers is where it’s at.”

I laugh, but I’m sure it comes off as strained. “Yeah. Sadly, as the boss, blocking numbers and hiding away with my phone on silent really isn’t an option.”

“I know. But it’s nice when it is,” she says before pausing and looking up at me. “I blocked my dad’s number not long after I arrived. Honestly, best decision I’ve made in a long time.”

Best decision for her, maybe. For me, not so much.

I think of my dad and what I’d give to have another conversation with him. Of the group chat Jules and I have with our mom. Of what a difference the money Johnathan Cairnsis offering could make. “You’re not tempted to speak to your parents at all while you’re here? To see if they’ve changed?”

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