"Weird how that works." I keep my voice deliberately light. "Almost like when someone moves away and forgets about you, communication gets tricky."
Five years with Sarah, and my brother's a different species now. The guy who once spent three days in jail for that water tower stunt now wears pressed shirts, and styles his hair with way too much hair gel.
"That's not . . ." he sighs. "I didn't forget."
I hate this—being around Matt. Not because I don't miss him, but because I do. Because standing next to him is like looking into one of those magnifying mirrors that shows every one of my flaws in high definition. Every choice I haven't made. Every step I haven't taken. He got out, got better, got a life, and I'm still delivering pizzas to college kids who tip in weed.
"Right. You just evolved. Traded band practice for board meetings. Totally natural progression."
"Jesus, Caleb." There's an edge of frustration now. "I grew up. It happens."
"Yeah, Iwatchedit happen. Front row seat to the Matthew Miller Corporate Makeover Show. Very inspiring stuff."
He reaches for my shoulder but I step back, and his hand hangs there for a second, awkward and empty. "Remember that time we hot-wired Dad's truck? Drove out to that field behind Nelson's farm?"
"You mean when you were cool? Yeah, vaguely."
"I'm still—" He catches himself, jaw tightening. "Look, I know things are rough with Dad."
"Don't." I cut him off before he can play concerned big brother. "Just don't."
Something flickers across Matt's face. Guilt, maybe? But it's gone before I can be sure. "Come on," he says instead, dropping the big brother routine. "Let's grab a beer before the southern mafia finds us. Magnolia's already threatened to confiscate my flask three times."
I follow him through the maze of wedding preparations, sidestepping staff carrying flower arrangements bigger than me. "You have a flask at your own wedding?"
"Had to survive the napkin intervention somehow." He pauses at an ornate doorway, looking over his shoulder. "Two hours of beige squares while Kristal explained the difference betweencreamandecru."
"They were not the same!" We turn to find the tiny blond dashing through the room. "Desert Sand and Antique Ivory are completely different, and Magnolia was right, the Champagne Creamabsolutelywould have clashed with the place settings." And she's gone, click-clacking toward a terrified-looking server.
Matt leads us toward a bar cart in the corner, his fingers darting out to snag something off a passing tray. His whole face crumples. "What the—is this raw fish?On acracker?"
A laugh claws at my throat as he desperately searches for somewhere to spit it out. "Not quite the same as stealing Pop-Tarts, huh?"
"Shut up," he mutters, dabbing at his tongue with some fancy French napkin. "I thought it was one of those bacon-wrapped things Sarah loves."
"Still don't get why you picked me as best man," I mutter. "You've got all those fancy work friends now."
Matt's expression shifts, something softer breaking through. "Can't a big brother miss his little bro?"
"Right," I say sarcastically. "Mom definitely didn't force you into this."
"Mom might have suggested it, but it was my decision," he admits with a half-smile. "I was actually worried you'd tell me to shove it. Or show up for the ceremony and disappear before the cake, like you do at every family dinner when we visit."
"Yeah, well." I stare at my shoes, suddenly feeling a bit guilty. "Free cake's a pretty good incentive to stick around."
"I'm glad you're here, Caleb," Matt's voice goes quiet. "I know things between us—"
"Who's even here?" I cut him off. Not ready for whatever heart-to-heart he's trying to have.
"Just family and the wedding party." He sighs, disappointment etched in his face, but he doesn't push. I know my brother, he's storing this conversation away for later, when I can't escape so easily. For now, he reaches for a beer and passes one to me.
"Oh no, sweethearts!" Kristal appears between us and the bar cart. "We can't have beer right now. Magnolia specifically requestedwine onlywith lunch. The Sancerre pairs perfectly with the lobster rolls, and we simply cannot risk—"
"Throwing off the delicate balance of day drinking?" I mutter.
Matt elbows me, but I catch his smirk.
Kristal touches her earpiece, either missing or ignoring my comment. "What do you mean the hydrangeas are wilting? They can't wilt! They're not allowed to wilt!" She spins toward a terrified-looking server. "Trevor! We need more ice on the flower wall! Code blue!"
