It had been ten years.
Surely, it would be nothing. But Faye hesitated, anyway. Why, oh why, did Steph had to invite him?
After the makeup sex all those years ago, Faye and Tristan had dated for three years. They were good years. For the first time in a long time, she had had a healthy relationship.
They'd spent nights by the river, watching the lights. Settled into cosy dinner routines at his apartment, his pug Kitty curled up at their feet. She had moved in, even, left her clothes at his place, a spare mini toothbrush in his mug, her pear-scented shampoo.
But three years in, things changed. Not all at once, but bit by bit. Tristan began staying out longer, bringing work home. And at the same time, Faye found herself needing more in her career.
So when the job offer came from halfway across the country, she took it. When she told Tristan about it at their favourite restaurant, he looked down at his lap for a moment before holding her gaze.
"If that's what you want," he said. "If that's what will make you happy."
They did not put up any pretense that they would try to make it work across all that distance. And even though Faye had nursed a smidgen of hope each time she got home from her job at the local paper that she would find him standing there on her step, she knew that she would not.
That she would never see him again.
Until now, that is. At her best friend's wedding.
"Why did you have to invite him, again?" Faye asked, taking a hairpin from between her lips and securing it in Steph's hair with deft precision.
"Oh come on, Faye, he's my friend too," answered Steph. "Besides he works with my Daniel. It's business."
She wore a simple lace-trimmed gown, with a bodice like one of her favourite Disney princesses. Faye couldn't remember which.
"Well, I suppose," Faye mumbled, twisting Steph's hair into a loose bun. "I guess. I wouldn't mind hooking up with him again for old time's sake."
Steph stiffened under her.
"What. What is it you're not saying?" Faye asked.
"Well, he may have mentioned bringing a... plus one," Steph said sheepishly.
"What!" Faye stepped back, mouth open. "Why didn't you tell me this before!"
"And what, what would you have done, not come??" Steph answered, tugging impatiently on her skirts.
Faye sulked through a mouthful of pins.
"Oh, Faye, it was 10 years ago. You guys had a good thing," Steph pleaded. "Besides, it's my wedding. Please just let it go this once, for me."
Faye sighed. She took her friend by the shoulders and turned her back to face the mirror.
"Just for you."
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In the bathroom, Faye fished out her lipstick from her purse and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
She had grown her hair out. Not as long as when she had been with Fabian, but not as short as when she was with Tristan.
It was a good look, she thought, studying herself critically. Did she look different? Perhaps. Her skin was not as dewy as it was in her younger days. She had more lines, now, around her mouth, and eyes.
A stall door opened and a woman walked out, catching Faye's eye in the gilded mirror. Buxom, slightly shorter, a blonde with a button nose. She smiled. Faye returned the smile.
It was time to face the music, come what may. Yadda yadda. Who knew, she may not even spot him in the crowd?
Yeah, right, Faye thought to herself.
She stood outside the church, in her pale yellow maid of honour's gown. A fitted bodice, a satin skirt. For Steph, she wore buttery yellow flowers in her hair.
The room had filled with people and the organ began to play. Faye picked up her best friend's skirt and gave her an encouraging grin.
The doors swung open and she trailed behind Steph, who looked a sheer picture of bliss, as they walked down the aisle to cheers and applause.
As discreetly as she could, Faye swept the crowd with her eyes, but she did not find Tristan. Perhaps he did not make it. Perhaps he didn't want to see her.
She felt a tinge of disappointment, and a pang of sadness.
She sat in the front pew and watched her friend exchange vows with Daniel. An accountant. A reliable man. She knew the moment she met him that Daniel would look after Steph.
Who will look after me?
She brushed the thought away.
After the tears and the speeches and the video of how they had met each other, the guests began milling out into the garden for lunch.
From the front pew, Faye picked up her glass of champagne and lifted her skirt, ready to make a beeline for a safe vantage point, when a hand rested on her shoulder.
Her heart stopped.
"Faye,"
She knew before looking up that it was him. She would never forget his voice, the things he had said to her, urgently, softly, sadly.
There he stood, in a navy suit, smiling down at her, handsome as ever. A flush rose in her cheeks.
