Chapter 5
FIVE
CARI
Watching my big brother get married is weird in a way nobody really warned me about. I thought I knew what to expect from Al’s wedding, but without the distraction of being a bridesmaid and taking care of my niece, the intensity is magnified.
There’s the obvious part—emotion, nostalgia, the sense that something is ending even though nothing is actually over.
And then there’s the quieter part, the one that snuck up on me when I wasn’t paying attention.
Now, I’m seeing the big brother I grew up with step into a version of himself I’ve never met before.
Tony looks different standing there.
Not physically. Not really.
It’s the way he’s looking at Viv like the rest of the room has stopped mattering and he didn’t even notice when it happened.
I sit in the second row beside Kiana, hands folded in my lap, trying not to think too hard about the fact that I’ve known Tony my entire life and somehow never seen him like this until now.
Kiana leans slightly toward me once, whispering, “He’s gone.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “He is.”
Not in a bad way—in a permanent one.
When Viv walks in, everything shifts.
Even before Tony reacts, I feel it. The room collectively inhales and forgets what it was doing for a second. She’s in her dress, light catching in the fabric when she moves, and she looks exactly like herself but also like someone who’s stepped slightly outside of time.
Tony doesn’t speak at first.
He just looks at her.
And whatever he had prepared himself to be today disappears right there in front of everyone.
I’ve seen my brother confident, stubborn, loud, impossible to derail.
I’ve never seen him undone.
Not like this.
When he finally moves, it’s slow, like his body has to catch up to the fact that this is allowed to happen. Viv meets him halfway without hesitation, like she’s been ready for this exact moment in a way that doesn’t require explanation.
Kiana shifts beside me. “Okay,” she whispers. “That’s actually disgusting.”
I let out a quiet laugh under my breath. “Shut up.”
But I understand what she means.
It’s too real. Too sure.
Like they’ve both stopped pretending there was ever a version of this where they weren’t going to end up here.
I realize I’m smiling until my cheeks hurt.
The ceremony passes in a blur of words I mostly hear and mostly don’t. I catch fragments—vows, promises, laughter breaking through emotion at the edges. Tony’s voice cracks once, barely, and Viv squeezes his hands like she’s steadying something only she can feel.
By the time it’s over, something in me has settled.
They did it. They actually did it.
When they walk back down the aisle together, Viv laughing through tears and Tony looking like he’s still trying to process reality, I stand with everyone else. People clap, cheer, move toward the reception space, and the energy shifts from sacred to celebratory in a way that feels almost abrupt.
Kiana nudges me as we start walking. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say automatically.
She hums like she doesn’t believe me.
I don’t correct her.
Because I’m not thinking about the ceremony anymore. I’m thinking about the way Brody didn’t look away from me earlier.
Not once.
And the way I didn’t look away first.
The reception is set in a long hall inside the hotel, all warm light and soft noise, tables arranged with a kind of careful chaos that only weddings manage to pull off. People spill in, find seats, settle into conversation that gets louder with every drink poured.
I end up at the main table again, which I pretend is coincidence and definitely isn’t.
Brody sits beside me. Of course he does.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sits, adjusts his jacket, looks forward like the space between us is something he’s actively managing.
I hate how aware I am of him. Like my body has decided it knows exactly where he is at all times.
Across the table, Chuck is already mid-story, gesturing with his drink like he’s narrating a documentary no one asked for. Tony is distracted, still floating somewhere between disbelief and joy. Viv leans into him when she laughs, like she’s already forgotten how to be separate from him.
Kiana leans in once toward me. “So,” she says quietly, “are you going to pretend all night, or are you going to deal with it?”
I take a sip of water. “Deal with what?”
She glances at Brody once, then back at me. “That.”
I don’t answer.
Because if I do, I’ll have to acknowledge that I’ve been waiting for him to stop pretending all day.
Dinner moves like that—food, speeches, laughter, the slow loosening of formal energy into something warmer. I try to stay present. I really do.
But every so often, I feel it.
Brody shifting beside me.
Not enough to be obvious.
Enough that I notice anyway.
At some point, Tony stands to give a speech, and the room quiets in that immediate, affectionate way that happens when people love someone enough to listen. He talks about Viv. About timing. About not being ready for things and realizing too late that readiness was never the point.
Viv laughs at the right moments, wipes her eyes at others.
And I look at them and feel something steady in my chest, like this is what it’s supposed to look like when someone chooses you and doesn’t hesitate.
When the applause comes, the room breaks open again into sound and movement. Chairs scrape, people stand, energy loosens.
And I realize I need air. Now.
Kiana notices immediately. “Where are you going?”
“Outside,” I say.
She nods once like she understands more than I’ve said.
I step away from the table before I change my mind.
The hallway outside the reception is quieter, cooler, lit softly in a way that feels like a pause between worlds. I move toward the terrace doors without fully deciding to.
I just need space. That’s all.
When I push them open, the air hits me immediately—cold, clean, sharp enough to reset something in my head.
I step outside, and I’m not alone for long.
Of course I’m not.
I hear the door behind me before I turn.
Brody steps out into the terrace space like he’s been following a line he didn’t announce.
He doesn’t speak right away. Neither do I.
The city stretches out below us, lights starting to glow in the early evening. Everything feels quieter from up here, like the world doesn’t know we’ve stepped out of the noise.
I lean lightly against the railing. “You’re doing that thing again,” I finally say.
“What thing?”
“Pretending you’re not here for a reason.”
That gets a reaction out of him. Not a smile exactly. Something closer to acknowledgment.
“I’m here for air,” he says.
“Mm,” I reply. “Sure.”
He steps closer, but not too close. Still careful. Still holding himself back in a way that’s less like restraint and more like delay.
And I’m tired of delay.
“You looked at me all day,” I say quietly.
His jaw tightens slightly. “That’s not true.”
It is, but I don’t argue.
Instead, I turn toward him.
“Then stop looking at me like that,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t want this as much as I do.”
That finally makes him look at me properly, like the version of this conversation he’s been avoiding has caught up, and whatever happens next doesn’t feel like uncertainty anymore. It feels like a decision he’s been circling for a long time without admitting it.
The space between us changes just enough that I feel it in my chest before anything else happens.
And this time, I don’t look away.