I'm operating on auto-pilot again as I slowly sit up in bed and switch on the lamp that is sitting on my nightstand. I blink a few times, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light, before I grab my cell phone off the nightstand and flip it open. My fingers seem to know what they're doing, even if I don't. They dial ten digits, and press the TALK key. I hesitate before raising the phone to my ear. The number I know by memory my not still be her number, I realize. My heart rate quickens as the phone begins to ring. I'm suddenly nervous again - not in my calm, auto-pilot mode, but now fully conscious, and as nervous as I had been when Pat was trying to convince me to talk to Sandy in the bar.


Whoever's on the other line picks up after the eighth ring. There is a moment of silence before a heart-wrenchingly familiar voice says,


"Why are you calling me at six in the morning, Lucas?"


"Sandy?" I say stupidly, surprised at how awake she sounds. The Sandy I knew was never up before nine.


"No, I'm just some insane reverse-stalker who happens to know your name." Her tone is dripping with sarcasm, and I feel my muscles tense at her irritation.


"Are you doing anything right now?" I ask, trying hard not to sound too urgent. "I kind of want to see you."


"Only 'kind of?'"


"Please."


She sighs. "What, was last night not enough for you?"


"Sandy."


Another sigh.


"Fine," she says at last. "The Starbucks on 4th, in twenty minutes."


She hangs up, and I flip my phone shut, feeling both relieved and guilty at the same time. Something feels weird about getting coffee with Sandy on the morning of my wedding day. Weird, because, in the back of my mind, I'm fairly sure I'd rather have coffee with her and just skip the wedding altogether. I manage to convince myself that this is only because I'm nervous, and because throughout my entire friendship with Sandy, I related being with her to comfort, which is why I am currently throwing on last night's clothes as fast as I possibly can to go and meet her for coffee. Because I need comfort. Because I am nervous. About my wedding. That's all. Right?


I honestly can't be sure.


Five minutes later, I rush down into the hotel lobby, and out the front doors. Even though it's fairly early, the streets of New York are as busy as ever. The city that never sleeps, I remind myself with a smile.


I hail a cab and hastily tell the driver where I'm meeting Sandy.


"I don't even really know why I called her," I tell him as the car slowly makes it's way through the traffic. "Is it normal for guys to meet their former best girl friends for coffee on the morning of their wedding to a girl who isn't the girl they're meeting for coffee?"


"Uhh," says the cab driver.


"It's just...I dunno," I muse. "I never seriously thought of Sandy as anything more than my friend. And then now - at the most inconvenient time possible, mind you - I'm starting to wonder..."


He grunts in response, and I get the feeling he doesn't really care. Why should he? He probably drives hundreds of people around every day, each with their own problems that they all probably unload onto this poor cab driver. Compared to some people's issues, my premarital jitters must seem like nothing.


I decide not to say anything else.


It's 6:17 when the cab pulls up in front of Starbucks. I thank the driver, pay him, and then step out of the car. I'm a few minutes early, so when I get inside, I order a latte and wait at a table beside the window.


Sandy shows up at 6:20 on the dot. She offers a small wave, and then heads to the counter to order her own coffee. I turn and watch her. She's dressed in the same jeans and t-shirt she wore to the bar last night. I guess she didn't have time to straighten her hair, because it's not sleek and shiny like it had been when I last saw her, but curly and slightly poofy, held back with a purple headband.


She shoots me an odd look as she makes her way to the table.


"What?" I ask, after she sits down.


Sandy shrugs. "You were the one staring."


Was I staring?


"You're full of it," I tell her, not because it's true, but because it seems easier than admitting that I may have been checking her out.


She rolls her eyes. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"


Huh. Good question. I realize I didn't actually have a reason to talk to her. Really, I just wanted to see her.


"I don't know," I admit. "I guess I'm just kind of nervous...you know, about today..."


"Lucas, I'm not going to sit here and talk to you about your wedding," she says with an exasperated sigh. "Especially if all you want from me is to say how you and Stephanie are 'made for each other,' and all that bull."


I'm taken aback by the harshness in her tone.


"Do...do...you not think that Steph and I are-?" I stammer.


Sandy gazes at me with a strange gleam in her dark eyes. She seems to be thinking about her response, and I stare back at her expectantly.


"I don't know," she says at last, sounding somewhat defeated. "But I'll tell you this. The fact that you seem to be having so many second thoughts on the day of your wedding probably isn't a good sign."


I lower my eyes to the table, and study the Starbucks logo on my coffee cup. Could she be right? For so long, I'd had my heart set on being with Stephanie. Dating her, marrying her...I was convinced that all I wanted was to be with her forever. But now...


I steal another glance at Sandy, who's still watching me with that same gleam in her eyes. I'm having trouble trying to identify the expression on her face. It seems a like mixture between frustration and sympathy...but there's also something else there. Something I now realize I've seen on her face many times before. Since we were in high school, even. Now, I am beginning to understand the emotion that is held in that familiar expression on her face, and that sparks a new question.


"Sandy?" I say slowly. "Why are you here?"


She snorts. "You called me, remember?"


"No," I say, shaking my head. "Not here, here. In New York City. On the same weekend of my wedding. The wedding I thought you didn't want to come to."


She's silent for a while, taking her time as she sips her coffee, avoiding my gaze completely. She's thinking again, about what she should say. I can see the little cogs turning inside her head as she tries to come up with a well-worded response. Whenever she does this, I know what she's about to say is a huge deal. She was like this when she caught my girlfriend, Marisol, cheating on me in the tenth grade, and had to find a gentle way to tell me. And again, the summer after we graduated high school, when she borrowed my car, and accidentally scratched it. I've learned that whenever Sandy thinks about her response for a long time, I should brace myself, because whatever she's about to say, I probably won't like very much.


"When you got engaged to Steph, I was pissed," she says quietly.


I shouldn't be shocked by her response, but I am. Shocked and confused. All I can do is gape at her.


"W-why?" I manage.


She stares at a napkin. "Selfish reasons."


Like what? I want to ask, but I'm scared I already know.


"Anyways," she says, clearing her throat, "that's why I began ignoring your calls, texts, emails, and those three wedding invitations you sent. It was a jerk-move on my part. Sorry."


"But, if you didn't want to come to the wedding...why...?"


Sandy lifts her eyes to meet mine. "You know how the preacher guy says, 'speak now, or forever hold your peace'?"


I nod.


"Well...I had this insane idea that I'd go, and he'd say it, and I'd stand up and tell you not to do it. That you're making a big mistake. And you'd listen to me, and you wouldn't marry her..." She straightens up, and brushes a strand of hair from her eyes. "It's a dumb plan, I know, but I figured it was worth trying. And...well, it was too late to call and ask if I was still invited to come, and anyways, if I was going to crash a wedding, it really wouldn't matter whether or not I was invited-"


"Why don't you want me to marry Stephanie?" I interrupt. "What do you have against her?"


She stares at me incredulously.


"I can't believe you're so stupid," she says, her voice shaking slightly. "Everyone knows, Lucas. Ever since high school. Even then, everyone knew. Except you."


"Well, can you please tell me?" I ask her, quickly becoming frustrated at her words. "Cause obviously unless it's on a neon sign, I don't know jack sh-"


"I love you, you idiot!"


The exclamation is so loud that a few people turn around to look at us.


I freeze.


Tears are beginning to form in her eyes, and she's breathing heavily as she tries to keep herself from crying. I am unable to say anything as I stare at her, trying to process those last five words though my brain.


Sandy's voice wavers as she slowly repeats herself. "I love you. I have since we were sixteen. Maybe even before then, but that's when I realized it. Since then, I'd been hoping you'd figure it out yourself - I mean, crap, everyone else did. But you didn't. You proposed to Stephanie, and it killed me. Because there went that tiny lingering hope that you could one day feel the same way about me..."


"I..." I say, still dumbstruck.


Sandy Cansella is in love with me. My best friend since ninth grade. In love with me. My mind is racing. Suddenly everything makes sense. Sort of. Dear God, I'm clueless.


I want to tell her something. But I'm not sure what to say. I couldn't lie to her. I couldn't say that I only think of her as a friend, and the only feelings I have for her are friend-based. Because that's not true. Granted, I'm not sure what exactly is true, but that's not it.


At the same time, I couldn't exactly tell her that I don't only think of her as a friend, because I'm getting married today. To Stephanie. Who, apparently, Sandy hates because she stole me away from her. Well, that's understandable, I guess...


"Sandy..." I begin. But before I can say any more, my phone rings. My hand fumbles inside my pocket and I hastily yank it out. I flip it open, and the caller ID informs me that it's my bride-to-be.


Speak of the devil.


"Give me two seconds," I beg Sandy.


She shakes her head tearfully. "Whatever, Lucas."


"Two seconds," I plead.


She glowers at me, but I can't not answer my phone. Regardless of whatever feelings Sandy may have for me - and vice versa - Stephanie is still my fiancee, and I owe it to her to at least pick up the phone when she calls.


"Hey," I say, after flipping my phone open. It seems rude to talk at the table, so I stand up and head into the bathroom.


"Lucas? Where are you?" Steph sounds a bit frantic on the other end.


"Umm," I say, hesitating. But I decide I can't lie to her, and quickly answer, "Starbucks. Drinking coffee. Why?"


"Mickey just called asking if you were here because he woke up and you were gone and he said he didn't want to call you if you were here so he called me instead and I don't really know why that makes it better or what the big deal is really at all but he asked if you were here and I sad no and he said he didn't know where you were and so I said I'd call you and-"


"Steph!" I say loudly. "Calm down. Deep breaths, okay?"


"Okay," she says obediently, and I hear her gasping for air.


"Chill out, I'm fine, and I'll see you later today," I promise her. "Walking down the isle, right?"


"Right," she says, in a tone that suggests she's still not completely calm.


"Okay, I'll talk to you later," I say.


"Okay," she agrees. "I love you."


So does Sandy.


"Love you too," I say automatically.


She hangs up, and I leave the bathroom to head back to the table, my mind swimming in a pool of confused thoughts. Stephanie really isn't a bad girl. She's not Bridezilla or anything. Nervous, yes, obviously. But usually she's really fun to be with. And pretty, too. Absolutely gorgeous, really, with long dark hair and green eyes, and crazy long eyelashes. But Sandy...


There's still so much I want to talk about with her. I need answers. I need advice. I need...I don't know what I need. I just need someone to talk to, I guess. But I can't talk about anything with Sandy. Because when I get back to our table, she's gone.

I call her twenty times on my way back to the hotel, but each time, all I get is her voice-mail. I have to stop trying to reach her after I reach my room, because the second I'm inside, Pat grabs me by both shoulders and shakes me hard.

"Where the hell have you been?!" he demands.

I wrench myself free of his grasp before answering.

"I went for coffee with Sandy." I try to make it sound as if it's no big deal, even though it sort of is.

Pat thinks so, too, apparently.

"Sandy?" he repeats, stunned. "You had coffee with Sandy Cansella on the morning of your wedding?!"

I don't reply, moving instead towards the bed. I pause and stare longingly at the pillows for a moment, before throwing myself facedown onto the matress. Right then, I decide I don't really want to get married today. What I would really like to do instead is take a nap, right here, on this very soft, very clean hotel bed. And maybe I just won't wake up again. If I don't wake up, I won't have to worry about Sandy, or Stephanie, or any of the complications my life has seemed to suddenly fill itself with.

I roll over on my side and groan to see Patrick standing over me, arms crossed, and a suspicious expression on his face.

"What?" I say, annoyed. Why can't he leave me alone for two seconds?"

Pat throws up his arms in surrender. "Don't get pissed at me. You're the one with the problems."

"I don't have any problems," I tell him stubbornly.

He sighs. "Whatever man. Just remember I'm here if you wanna talk. Oh, and put your tux on - we're leaving in half an hour."

I groan again, and roll off the bed. Pat tosses me a large dry cleaning bag with my tux inside. Reluctantly, I strip and begin to pull it on. I feel like something seems to be missing, but it takes me a minute to figure out what it is.

"Where's Mickey?" I ask curiously. As my best man and brother, he's hopefully doing something productive.

"Hung over," says Pat. "Went out to the drugstore to get some aspirin."

I begin to button my neatly pressed white shirt. "Next time I get married, you get to be my best man. And please don't get drunk the night before."

I meant it as a joke, but Pat pauses and gives me an odd look.

"You having second thoughts, man?" His tone isn't accusing, but concerned.

I'm about to tell him no, of course not. But for some reason, when I open my mouth, my lips have trouble forming the words to lie to him. So instead, I say,

"What makes you ask?"

"I dunno," he says, shrugging. "It's just...well, you didn't really seem to be enjoying yourself much last night. And then this whole thing with Sandy..."

"I'm not calling off my wedding because an old friend showed up at the bar where I was having my bachelor party," I tell him.

"But, you were kind of acting weird before then, though," he says thoughtfully. "There was a reason I always thought it would be Sandy instead of Steph, Luke. It's not cause you guys were close or seemed like couple or anything. You just...I dunno. You just always seemed more comfortable with her. You seemed happier. Even last night, you were a total downer until she showed up..."

He trails off, looking at me expectantly, but I don't answer. I've been in love with Steph for so long. Or...I thought I was. I finally got what I wanted. Or...what I thought I wanted. I can't just walk away from that...can I?

But deep down, I know Pat's right. With Stephanie, I've always been so self-conscious. I started to loosen up a while after we started dating, but I still find myself trying hard to impress her. But that's what happens when you're in love with someone...isn't it? Friends are the people things come easy with. The ones you're allowed to let your guard down with. The ones you don't have to impress because...they don't have to be. That's why I always thought of Sandy as only my friend. Because things aren't supposed to come that easily with someone you're in a romantic relationship with...are they?

I sit down on the bed, my face in my hands. The bed creaks slightly as Pat sits down next to me.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he says quietly. "Nobody's making you."

"I know," I say through my hands.

We're both quiet for a moment, before I pull my hands away from my face and stand up.

"I should probably shave," I muse, glancing at my stubble in the mirror.

Pat stares at me in surprise. "You're still going through with it?"

"Yep," I say, turning to head into the bathroom.

"But-"

I round on him. "Look, I know no one's forcing me to do this. I know I don't have to if I don't want to. But I love Stephanie, and when I asked her to marry me, it was kind implied that I would be there for her to do so!"

"But Sandy-" he protests.

"I know." I turn my back to him, and scan the sink top for my razor. "I know she's better for me than Steph. I know I have feelings for her. I know that you probably think I'm making so huge mistake...but I also know that I had my chance. And I was too stupid to take it."

I grab the can of shaving cream, and pour some onto my hand, watching quietly as it foams into a white fluffy mountain.

"What do you mean?" Pat asks, confused. "Did something happen this morning? Did you two...?"

"No, nothing like that," I say quickly, being careful not to cut myself with the razor. "She just...she told me the truth. About everything. And I had my chance to tell her that I think I've felt the same way about her for a long time, and I didn't. Steph called, I answered, I left, and when I came back, she was gone. Tired of waiting, I guess. I can't say I blame her..."

Pat nods. "I get it...but Luke, man, if you're feeling this way about Sandy...I mean, it's not really fair to you or to Steph to go through with this wedding-"

"I know that, Pat!" I snap.

He steps back and shoots me an annoyed look that says don't take your anger out on me, psycho. I sigh, and finish shaving the last section of my face before turning to face him again.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. "I'm trying to figure things out, okay?"

"Yeah," he says. "I know...you better figure them out soon, though. I hear divorce sucks."

We reach Central Park thirty minutes before the wedding is supposed to begin. I still haven't figured things out, and don't have time to sit down and think about things, because the moment we get there, my mother swoops down on us. She's dressed in some heinous pink thing, but I'm mostly just relieved to see her usually-stern face stretched into a huge, wide smile.

"Big big day," she says in a chirpy, sing-song voice that I don't quite recognize. "You nervous, Lukey?"

Pat snorts loudly, but is quickly silenced by a sharp jab in the side, delivered by my elbow. To my mother, I say,
"Yeah, a bit...a lot, actually. Big day."

I try to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. My mother puts a hand on my shoulder and assures me that I will be just fine. I don't tell her, but I'm not so sure I agree. She doesn't say anything to me after that, choosing to focus instead on Mickey, who, though he took a few aspirins before we left, is still suffering from a major hangover.

I escape into the back tent while my mother's shouts echo across the park.

"Michael Minardi, you are the BEST MAN! If you stand up there while your brother is saying his vows and your TIE IS NOT STRAIGHT-"

That's my mom.

Inside the tent, the air is much cooler than the summer heat outside. I run my hands through my hair, and begin to pace back and forth, thinking about what Pat said before we left the hotel. It really wouldn't be fair to Steph for me to marry her if she isn't the only woman I love.

Or even love at all...

I still haven't figured that part out yet.

Or you don't want to admit it, says a small voice in the back of my head.

No. Shush, I tell it. I do love her...

Do you?

Shut up. I do. I do. I do. I do.

Huh...I'll be saying that out loud in less than an hour...how funny...

Suddenly, my phone rings, and I pull it out of my pocket, hoping it's Sandy. I feel my face fall a little bit when I see Stephanie's name on the caller ID instead, but then quickly remind myself that she is the one I'm going to marry today. I should be happier to see her calling than some girl I was friends with in high school.

"Hello?" I say into the phone, trying to sound pleasant.

"Hey..." Steph sounds just as nervous as she did earlier this morning. "I'm kind of freaking out here, and I wanted to hear your voice."

"Um, Steph?" I say as I slowly realize something. "Where are you?"

"In the bridal tent at the park," she answers. "Why?"

"I'm like ten feet away from you," I tell her. "Why don't I just go over there and-"

"NO!" she screeches. "NO - JESUS CHRIST, LUCAS, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT'S BAD LUCK?!"

I have to hold the phone about six inches away from my face to avoid going deaf.

"No, I-" I stammer.

"If you see me before the wedding, everything will go wrong! The whole thing will be a catastrophe and then who knows what'll happen afterward?! There could be divorce or child-loss or death or-"

"Sandy, I really don't think one of us is will die because I see you before the wedding starts," I say, trying hard not to laugh at her hysterics

Stephanie suddenly goes quiet on the other end.

"Did...did you just call me Sandy?" she says in a wavering voice.

Crap.

I bite my lip and try to remain calm. "I-I meant Steph. You know I meant you, Steph."

"Sandy as in Sandy Cansella?" Steph says slowly.

"I don't know," I say helplessly, before admitting, "yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Why did you say Sandy Cansella's name instead of mine?" I can hear voices in the background, but she hushes them and waits for my defensive reply.

"I don't know, Steph," I say, wishing would just end this conversation now. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"GOD, LINDSAY! THAT'S THE WRONG FRICKING BOUQUET!"

Lindsay yelps on Steph's end, and I can hear her whimper an apology before Steph speaks to me again.

"Okay, fine...let's not fight today, okay?" her voice sounds strained, as if she's trying really hard to keep a cool temper.

You started it, I want to tell her. But I bite my tongue, because really, from her point of view, I probably started it by slipping up and calling her Sandy.

"Okay," I say instead. "I'll see you in a bit."

I hang up just as Patrick steps into the tent, smirking.

"She having a meltdown?" he asks, sounding amused.

"Just a little one," I say, keeping my tone light. I really don't want another talk from him about how Stephanie isn't right for me.

Thankfully, he doesn't say anything more on the subject, and we wait for the wedding to begin in silence.


If I hadn't heard Stephanie freaking out over the phone twenty minutes ago, I wouldn't have known she was nervous at all. She almost seems to be floating down the isle as she makes her way toward me, a huge smile plastered on her face. The whole crowd stares at her long after she's reached me, and I don't blame them. Steph really is beautiful.

The preacher steps forward and begins to talk about marraige, and how it's a great spiritual connection between two people that should be treasured and...something. Is it horrible of me not to be listening? Cause I'm not. Not really. I'm gazing across at Stephanie, and she's staring straight back, but I'm not really paying attention to her, either.

There's only one thing that's really on my mind, and as much as I really would rather not think about her, I can't help it. If I didn't see Sandy at the bar, and didn't make her confess her feelings this morning, would she still carry out her plan to crash my wedding? It would be fairly easy to do so, seeing as we're outside and don't have any security guards or anything. What would have happened then?

Thinking about having my wedding crashed by someone who dislikes my soon-to-be-wife should infuriate me. But it doesn't. Is that bad?

The preacher sounds bored as he goes on with his speech. Stephanie is listening intently, or pretending to. I shake myself and realize that if I actually want this to work, it would be a good idea for me to hear to what he has to say as well.

But what if I don't want this to work?

I'm still thinking about Sandy. About how she had always been there for me before I'd unintentionally hurt her. About how, even though her image has changed a bit, she's still incredibly beautiful. More than Stephanie, I realize. Because Sandy doesn't try.

I think about that familiar glint in her eyes, and suddenly I know what it is. I glance out of the corner of my eye, into the crowd. Did she come?

No, of course she didn't come, I tell myself. She thinks I don't love her.

But I do.

She thinks I chose Steph over her.

But I wouldn't. I don't. Not anymore. I've made up my mind.

I finally clue in to what the preacher's saying, and when I hear his next words, my heart begins to pound against my chest.

"...if there is any reason as to why these two people should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

I clench my eyes shut. I have to do this. I'm going to do this. I'm going to speak now. I have to.

But before I say anything, the crowd gasps, and I open my eyes in confusion.

She's the only one standing. There, in the middle of the crowd. Her face wears an expression of defeat, but even from here, I can see a defiant hope in her dark eyes.

"I had to try one last time," she says, staring straight at me. "I love you, Lucas Minardi."

Stephanie looks close to tears. I hate doing this to her. Even if I don't love her, Steph's always been a good friend. After this, I know she'll hate me for a long time. Possibly forever. Yeah, most likely she'll hate me forever. It will suck.

But I have to do this.

The three bridesmaids are glaring daggers at me. Mickey is watching with sudden interest. Pat's smirking and I know he know's what's about to happen. I take one last glance at Steph, and am taken aback by her expression. She's hurt, she's angry, but not surprised. I begin to get the feeling that she knew this would happen, too.

Finally, I turn away from my wedding posse, and gaze straight at Sandy. Before I'm fully conscious of what I'm doing, I run halfway down the isle, and then, suddenly, she's in my arms. We hold each other for a long time. I can feel her shaking, either with laughter or with tears. Either way, I only hold her tighter.

"I love you too," I whisper. "And I'm sorry it took me so long to figure that out."

"It's okay," she says breathlessly. "I'm just glad I came today."

I pull away slightly, so I can look down into her deep, dark eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, and her mouth is spread into a wide, dreamlike smile.

"If you didn't, I'd have gone to you," I tell her.

She slides her hands to the nape of my neck, and stands on tiptoe so she can press her lips to mine.

My mother is hysterical, of course. She's yelling something at me about how I'm making a huge mistake and Stephanie was the best thing that ever happened to me, and how I shouldn't throw it all away just for a "fling."

I'm not really listening though.