Inside was a tall, gold-framed mirror, wrapped in tissue paper. Taped across the glass was a card in Ethan’s neat handwriting. For the groom. You once asked her when she last looked in a mirror. Here’s one, so you can finally look in yours. A woman nearby covered her mouth. Someone near the bar let out a low whistle.
Jason sputtered something about it being a joke, but nobody laughed with him. Brittany stared at the card, then slowly at her new husband, and I watched her realize he had said those words to his own wife. Then Ethan took my hand in front of everyone. “And for the record,” he said evenly, “nobody paid me to be here. I’ve been waiting two years for her to ask me anything at all.”
