Chapter 1: Prologue

Hello! So here it is... my newest story! I'm excited and I've had fun writing this so far.

Just a side note: yes, I am aware this story's plot line is probably a little cliché. I know that, so DON'T leave me a comment saying it's unoriginal. If you actually take the time to read on, you'll know I've added as much of my own quirkiness and twists as I can to give my own spin on it!

Happy reading!

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“Please stand for the arrival of the bride.”

That was my cue. After a short pause, I smoothed down the pale pink skirt of my old bridesmaid dress before starting to slowly walk the length of Connor’s garden. A small bunch of daisies were gripped in my hand as a makeshift bouquet. I passed the row of cushions we’d set out – occupied mostly by stuffed animals of various species, as well as mine and Connor’s moms, who, after some persuasion, had eventually agreed to attend our wedding ceremony.

Connor was standing at the front, his dad’s old suit jacket reaching way past his knees. It looked ridiculous on him, and I wanted to giggle as soon as I caught sight of him, but it was the closest thing we could find to a tuxedo. I continued walking until I reached him, the both of us standing in front of my older brother, Brandon, who had been bribed to act as the priest.

A very reluctant one, but nonetheless a priest.

“We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Connor Murphy and Georgie Howard,” he said, monotonously reading off the piece of paper we’d written out for him.

I grinned at my best friend, who was standing next to me, as he returned the smile. His gap-toothed grin was his proud memento of the tooth fairy’s latest visit, and had become so familiar I could barely remember him having two front teeth.

“If anyone present has any objection to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

A short silence followed. Although I was fully aware this wasn’t a real wedding, I still felt relief when none of the stuffed animals or our moms spoke.

Brandon rolled his eyes before turning to Connor. “Can we have the rings, please?”

Since Connor was an only child and I lacked any other siblings, he had to play the part of both the best man and the groom – however messed up it seemed. It didn’t really matter, though; as long as he kept the “rings” safe inside the pocket, the wedding was fine to continue.

He dug a hand into the jacket’s pocket, retrieving two orange Haribo rings. Despite being made of nothing more than sugar and cheap gelatin, the both of us stared down at them as if they were made of glittering gold. I shifted my gaze from the sweets in his hand to his face, grinning when I caught sight of his shining chocolate brown eyes.

I held my hand out and he gripped it gently, placing the ring at the tip of my finger.

“I, Connor Murphy, take Georgie Howard to be my wedded wife. To have and to hold from this day forward… for better or worse… for richer or for poorer… in sickness and in health… to love and to cherish… till death do us part,” he said, repeating intermittently after Brandon.

I stared at my ring-clad finger, feeling my heart flutter inside my chest. Sure, this wasn’t a real ring, nor a real wedding, but it felt the same. And one day – far, far into the future – this would be happening. I’d have a proper dress – one white and glittery and flowing – and Connor would have a tux, and the two of us would exchange gold rings whilst promising truthfully to love and cherish each other for the rest of our lives.

I didn’t have any doubt about that happening. Connor had been my other half since birth, so why wouldn’t we get married?

I took the second ring, slowly sliding it onto my best friend’s finger whilst repeating the same vows. They weren’t serious – not meant to be believed – but I said every word solemnly, truly making a promise to myself as if this were my actual wedding day.

Unfortunately, I was pulled out of my wistful reverie by Brandon’s whining.

“Mom, can I stop now?”

I glanced behind me, catching sight of both our moms squashed onto adjacent cushions, smiling warmly. Her eyes shifted to Brandon, shaking her head and making a noise of disapproval. “Brandon, you’ve only got one more line to say. Just carry on, then you can stop.”

He groaned, muttering something about sappy nonsense under his breath, but continued anyway. “I pronounce you husband and wife. You can now make out,” he said quickly, before throwing the piece of paper down and stalking off.

“It’s meant to be ‘kiss the bride’,” Julie, Connor’s mom, corrected him with a laugh as he walked past her.

“Whatever.”

I turned back to Connor, suddenly feeling nervous. Kissing was not something best friends did – and something we hadn’t tried before. Brandon had warned me that even a simple peck on the cheek was enough to spread cooties, and of course I’d believed him. He was the older brother, after all, so why would he tell me a lie?

But before I could ponder on the thought any longer, Connor’s lips were pressed to mine in a kiss that lasted a total of two seconds.

I counted.

And when we pulled apart, we grinned at each other, linking our hands in the special best friend grasp we’d created years ago.

That day had been, without a doubt, one of the happiest in my life. It had ended with us sharing a picnic in the back garden under the evening Indiana sun, still wearing our mismatched wedding gear. At that point in time, I had truly believed that Connor and I would be together forever. In my head, we’d stay best friends all through our school years, marry each other when we were old enough and stay close to home in a house somewhere in this town. We’d have a big family and stay together well into our retirement, reminiscing daily about the lives we’d spent together.

It was as if we felt invincible, like nothing could ever break our best friend bond.

We didn’t realize everything was going to change just three weeks later.

That was the day we received the news that Connor’s dad had got a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity in New York, and they were relocating immediately.

Three states away.

Day by day, the house next door became emptier and emptier as everything they owned was packed into identical boxes and sealed tightly with extra-strength duct tape. After a week, it had been reduced to a mere shell of its former glory. The cozy untidiness that I knew and loved was replaced by bare walls and light patches on the carpet where furniture had previously sat. I couldn’t bear to go inside and see the place so empty.

Their departure arrived frighteningly quickly and was too overwhelming for me to cope with. Even as the moving van waited idly outside Connor’s house, I stayed holed up in my room, stuck in a frame of mind that told me that maybe – just maybe – if I didn’t accept the fact that Connor was leaving, it wouldn’t happen.

If I didn’t cry, the pain wouldn’t be real.

If I didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t be happening.

If I didn’t venture downstairs, I wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

My far-fetched way of thinking was unsurprisingly unsuccessful, no matter how much my eight-year-old self wanted to believe it. By the time I summoned enough courage to take a glimpse out of my window, the only sight that greeted my eyes was of the retreating Toyota vehicle already making its way up the street. As well as the silhouette of Connor sitting in the back seat.

I never saw my best friend again.

At least… not until eight years later.