The Wedding Day Confession

The thing about being in love with your best friend is that you know exactly how they take their coffee. You know which side of the bed they sleep on and what they look like when they've been crying and which sweater they wear when they need comfort. You know all the secret parts of them that nobody else gets to see.

You also know you'll never be anything more than the person who knows these things.

My name is Alexa Reyes, and I've been in love with Jordan Mitchell since we were sixteen years old. We're twenty-six now. That's ten years of pretending, ten years of swallowing my feelings like bitter medicine, ten years of watching her date a parade of people who weren't me and smiling like it didn't shatter something inside me every single time.

She doesn't know. She's never known. And I've spent a decade making sure it stays that way, because losing her friendship would be worse than never having her love.

At least, that's what I told myself. Until the wedding.

📅 Three Weeks Before

The invitation arrived on a Tuesday—thick cream cardstock, elegant calligraphy, the kind of stationery that cost more per sheet than I spent on groceries in a week.

Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Mitchell
request the honor of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter
Jordan Elizabeth Mitchell
to
Christopher James Hartley

I stared at it for so long that my coffee went cold. Then I called in sick to work, drove to the liquor store, and bought a bottle of wine that I drank alone in my apartment while Jordan's face stared at me from the photos on my wall.

She'd told me, of course. Three months ago, when Chris proposed on their trip to Paris—the trip I'd encouraged her to take, because I wanted her to be happy, because that's what best friends do. She'd called me at 3 AM, giddy and tearful, and I'd said all the right things. "I'm so happy for you." "He's a great guy." "You're going to be such a beautiful bride."

And I meant them. I did. I wanted her to be happy. I just wanted to be the one making her happy.

The next day, Jordan texted me fourteen times. When I didn't answer, she showed up at my apartment with Thai food and that worried crinkle between her eyebrows that I knew better than my own reflection.

"You're not answering your phone. Are you sick? You look sick. You look like you've been crying."

"Allergies," I lied, and then, because lying to her had always been impossible, "I just needed a day. Processing."

"Processing what?"

That you're getting married. That I'm losing you. That I've spent ten years waiting for something that was never going to happen.

"Just... life stuff. Work stuff. I'm fine."

She looked at me for a long moment, those gray-green eyes seeing more than I wanted them to. Jordan had always been able to read me. But she'd also always accepted my boundaries, never pushed when I pulled away.

"Okay," she said finally. "But you'd tell me if something was really wrong, right? We tell each other everything."

Not everything, I thought. Not even close to everything.

"Of course," I said. "Now hand over the pad thai before I commit a crime."

📅 The Week Of

Being maid of honor at the wedding of the woman you love is a special kind of torture. Like being asked to plan your own execution and make sure the flowers match the tablecloths.

I threw myself into it anyway. Organized the bachelorette party (tasteful, because Jordan hated anything tacky, just dinner at her favorite restaurant and too many cocktails with her small group of friends). Coordinated the rehearsal dinner (fought with the caterer about the appetizers, won, felt momentarily triumphant). Made sure her dress was steamed and her something borrowed was in place and her mother stopped crying long enough to actually help with her veil.

Chris was annoyingly nice about all of it. He thanked me constantly, told Jordan he was lucky she had such an amazing best friend, looked at her like she hung the moon and stars.

I wanted to hate him. I really, really wanted to hate him. But the bastard was genuinely kind, treated Jordan like the treasure she was, made her laugh in that full-body way that I lived for.

If she had to end up with someone who wasn't me, at least it was someone worthy of her.

The night before the wedding, we had a sleepover. Just the two of us, like we used to do in high school, when we'd stay up until dawn talking about everything and nothing. Jordan's parents were hosting Chris and his family, so the bridal suite was ours.

"Remember when we used to dream about our weddings?" Jordan was lying on the massive hotel bed in her pajamas, her freshly done nails waving in the air as they dried. "We had it all planned out. The dress, the flowers, the first dance song."

"You wanted butterflies released at the ceremony. I tried to tell you that was chaos waiting to happen."

"And you wanted to ride in on a motorcycle. Very practical for a wedding dress."

"I was fifteen. I was also convinced I was going to marry Gerard Way."

"God, your My Chemical Romance phase." She laughed, and the sound washed over me like warm water. "You wore so much eyeliner. I thought your mom was going to have an actual heart attack."

"Worth it."

We fell into comfortable silence. Outside, I could hear the distant sounds of the city, car horns and late-night revelers. Tomorrow, everything would change. Jordan would become Jordan Hartley. She'd move into the house Chris had bought for them in the suburbs. She'd start the next chapter of her life, and I'd still be here, stuck in a story that was never going to have the ending I wanted.

"Lex?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you happy?"

The question caught me off guard. "What do you mean?"

She rolled onto her side, facing me. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, she looked younger somehow. More vulnerable. Like the girl I'd fallen for a decade ago.

"I mean... I'm getting married tomorrow. And I'm happy. Genuinely happy. But you... I don't know. Sometimes I look at you and I see this sadness you try to hide. And I keep thinking about how you haven't seriously dated anyone in years, and how you always change the subject when I ask about your love life, and..."

"I'm fine, Jordan."

"See, that's what you always say. 'I'm fine.' But fine isn't happy. Fine isn't thriving. Fine is just... surviving."

My throat tightened. This was dangerous territory. The kind of conversation that could unravel everything I'd spent years carefully constructing.

"Maybe I'm just one of those people who's better off alone."

"Bullshit." Her voice was soft but firm. "You're the most loving person I know. You deserve someone who adores you. Who can't imagine their life without you. Who—"

"Jordan." I cut her off before she could continue, before the irony of her words could slice me any deeper. "Please. Not tonight. This is your night. Let's just... can we just watch a movie or something? Like old times?"

She studied me for a long moment, and I could see the questions piling up behind her eyes. But then she nodded, reached for the remote, and let it go.

We watched When Harry Met Sally—her favorite, because she was a romantic at heart—and by the time the credits rolled, she was asleep with her head on my shoulder. I stayed awake for hours, memorizing the weight of her against me, knowing it was the last time I'd have her this close.

Tomorrow she'd belong to someone else.

📅 The Wedding Day

She was beautiful. Of course she was beautiful. Jordan in jeans and a t-shirt was beautiful; Jordan in a white lace gown with her hair pinned up in some complicated arrangement that had taken the stylist two hours was absolutely devastating.

I helped her into her dress, careful not to smudge her makeup or catch any of the delicate beading on my bracelet. My hands were steady even though everything inside me was shaking.

"How do I look?" She turned in front of the full-length mirror, eyes shining.

"Like a dream," I said, and meant it.

"Lex..." She crossed the room, took my hands in hers. "I know I'm not supposed to cry before the ceremony, but I need you to know how much you mean to me. You've been my person for so long. Through everything. And I know things are going to change now, but I need you to know that you'll always be my best friend. No matter what."

I wanted to tell her. The words were right there, pressing against my teeth, begging to be spoken. Ten years of silence, and here was my last chance to—

No. Not today. Not when she was about to walk down an aisle toward someone who loved her the way she deserved to be loved. I wouldn't do that to her.

"I know," I said instead. "Now let's go get you married."

The ceremony was perfect. Because of course it was. Chris cried when he saw her coming down the aisle. Jordan's father cried when he gave her away. Even the pastor seemed choked up during the vows.

I stood there in my sage green bridesmaid dress, holding Jordan's bouquet, watching her promise forever to someone else. And I smiled. A real smile, because she was happy, and her happiness had always been more important to me than my own.

When the pastor said "You may kiss the bride," I looked away. Just for a second. Just long enough to breathe.

The reception was at a winery, all fairy lights and rustic elegance. Open bar, which I took full advantage of. By the time the speeches started, I was just fuzzy enough to get through mine without breaking down.

I told the story of how we met—fifth grade, new school, Jordan the only one who talked to the weird quiet girl in the corner. I talked about our adventures over the years, the inside jokes, the midnight drives to nowhere. I said that Chris was the luckiest man alive, and I meant it, and I raised my glass and watched them dance and felt my heart splinter into a thousand pieces.

Around ten o'clock, I couldn't take it anymore. I slipped outside, found a quiet bench in the winery's garden, and finally let myself cry.

I don't know how long I was there before she found me. Long enough for my mascara to run, for my carefully constructed composure to completely fall apart.

"Lex?"

I looked up, and there she was. Still in her wedding dress, now with a champagne stain on the hem and her hair coming loose from its pins. Still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"What are you doing out here? Are you—oh my god, you're crying. What happened?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. Go back to your reception, Jordan. It's your wedding."

"Fuck the reception." She sat down beside me, not caring about her dress in the dirt. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Please don't. Just go back inside. Be with your husband."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong." She took my hand, and I flinched, and something in her expression shifted. "Alexa. Look at me."

I couldn't. I couldn't look at her, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but sit there and shake while ten years of suppressed emotion threatened to burst out of me.

"It's me, isn't it?" Her voice was quiet. Careful. "The reason you're upset. It's about me."

"Jordan—"

"How long?"

The question hung in the air between us. I could lie. I could deflect. I could do what I'd always done and bury it all down where it couldn't hurt either of us.

But I was so tired of pretending.

"Ten years." My voice cracked on the words. "Since we were sixteen. Since you fell asleep on my shoulder at that sleepover and I realized I wanted to kiss you more than I'd ever wanted anything."

Silence. Complete, devastating silence.

"Ten years," she repeated. "You've been in love with me for ten years, and you never said anything?"

"What was I supposed to say? You were straight. You dated guys. You never gave any indication that you—"

"Because I was scared!" The words exploded out of her. "Because every time I started to wonder, started to question, I'd look at you and think, 'No, she's my best friend, she doesn't think of me that way.' So I buried it. I dated guys who were safe. I convinced myself that what I felt was just... normal friendship stuff."

My heart stopped. "What?"

"God, Lex." She laughed, but it was a broken sound. "Did you really think I didn't notice? The way you look at me? The way you tense up when I mention dating someone new? I just thought... I thought it was my imagination. Wishful thinking."

"Wishful—you wished—"

"I've been in love with you since junior year. Since you punched Dylan Peters in the face for calling me a slut at that party. Since you held me while I cried about my parents' divorce and never made me feel weak for falling apart."

I stared at her. My brain had completely stopped functioning. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when she'd just married someone else.

"You're married," I said, because it was the only thought that made sense. "Jordan, you just got married. To Chris. Who's inside right now wondering where his bride went."

"I know." Her voice was anguished. "I know, and I don't—I can't—"

"You can't do this to him."

"I know!"

"And you can't—we can't—"

"I KNOW!"

She was crying now too. Both of us sitting on that bench in the dark garden, surrounded by flowers and fairy lights, absolutely wrecked.

"Why didn't you say something?" she whispered. "Before. Any time before. Why didn't you give me a chance to—"

"Because I was afraid of losing you. Because your friendship was more important to me than anything. Because I'd rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you at all."

"So you just... suffered. In silence. For ten years."

"I was surviving."

She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "We're idiots. Both of us. Complete idiots."

"What do we do now?"

It was the question that hung over everything. The question I'd been afraid to ask because I already knew the answer.

Jordan took a deep breath. Wiped her eyes. Squared her shoulders like she was bracing for battle.

"Now I go back inside. I dance with my husband. I finish this reception like the bride I'm supposed to be." She looked at me, and there was something steely in her expression now. Determined. "And tomorrow, I have a very long conversation with Chris. Because I can't—I won't—build a marriage on a lie. He deserves better than that. We all do."

"Jordan, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do. I should have done it months ago. Years ago. But I was scared, and I was stubborn, and I convinced myself that safe was the same as happy." She cupped my face in her hands, and for one dizzying moment I thought she was going to kiss me. "I need time, Lex. To figure out what happens next. To do this the right way. But I need you to know—whatever happens, I love you. I've always loved you. And I'm so sorry it took me this long to say it."

She stood up, smoothed her dress, and walked back toward the winery. I watched her go, heart pounding, mind reeling, not sure if I'd just destroyed everything or finally set something free.

⏳ Six Months Later

The annulment was finalized in March. Chris took it better than expected—hurt but understanding, especially after Jordan explained everything. They parted as friends, which felt like more than either of them deserved.

Jordan moved into a studio apartment downtown. Started seeing a therapist. Spent three months figuring out who she was when she wasn't trying to be who everyone expected her to be.

I gave her space. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but I understood why she needed it. She wasn't leaving Chris for me. She was leaving Chris for herself. And if we were going to have any chance at something real, she needed to find her footing first.

Our first official date was on a Thursday in June. She showed up at my apartment with flowers—daisies, because she remembered they were my favorite—and a nervous smile that made her look seventeen again.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"This is weird, right? After everything?"

"Incredibly weird."

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"The best weird."

She kissed me then. Right there in my doorway, with the flowers getting crushed between us and my neighbor walking by with her dog. Our first real kiss, after ten years of waiting.

It was worth every single moment of the wait.

⏳ One Year Later

We're lying in bed, lazy Sunday morning, sunlight streaming through the windows of the apartment we now share. Jordan's head is on my chest, her fingers tracing absent patterns on my stomach. Her ring—the simple gold band I gave her six weeks ago when I asked her to marry me—catches the light.

"Do you ever think about what would have happened if we'd figured this out sooner?"

"Sometimes. But I think we needed to get here the way we did. We needed to grow up separately before we could grow together."

"That's very philosophical for someone who hasn't had coffee yet."

"I have hidden depths."

"I know. I'm still discovering them." She props herself up on an elbow, looking down at me with those gray-green eyes that I still haven't gotten tired of. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

"I cried for two hours after I mailed your wedding gift."

"The KitchenAid mixer? That was from you?"

"You'd been talking about wanting one for months. I figured if you were going to be married to someone else, at least you could have a nice mixer."

"That is the saddest thing I've ever heard."

"I'm aware."

She kisses me softly, then less softly, and we get distracted for a while. Later, when we're tangled together again, she picks up the conversation like no time has passed.

"I still have the mixer, you know."

"I noticed."

"I made you cookies with it last week."

"And they were delicious."

"Full circle. The universe has a weird sense of humor."

"The universe has a great sense of humor." I pull her closer, press a kiss to her forehead. "Because somehow, despite everything, I got the girl."

"You've always had me, Lex. It just took us both a decade to figure out what that meant."

"Worth it?"

"Every second."

She settles against me, and I hold her, and outside the window the city hums with its usual Sunday morning energy. Somewhere out there, people are falling in love. Making mistakes. Figuring it out. We did all of that too, the long way around.

But we got here. Finally. Together.

And I'm never letting go.