My Brother's Best Man

When my brother asked me to his best man, it was like every other time he had asked me to do something—it was more of a statement than a request.
“I’m not supposed to tell you yet,” He said. “But you’re gonna be my best man.”
We were sitting there, just the two of us, having lunch a few days after he had gotten engaged. I couldn't answer him right away because my throat had acquired a painful lump.
I am not an emotional person—the only person I ever cry about is my brother. I always thought he was the most awesome person. I would have done anything just so he would think I was cool. I was proud to be his “baby sister” even though I was only two years younger. He was a good big brother—letting me tag along with him, confiding in me, hanging out with me, not getting too annoyed at my little weirdnesses. I always knew he was my best friend, but it had always seemed like too much to hope that I was his best friend.
I fought the tears and sobs that threatened to spill over. I tried my best not to cry around him. He had once stated, “I can take it when anyone but you cries.” He handled my tears well and made everything all better, but right now—in the middle of the crowded Four Winds—neither of us would enjoy dealing with them, even if they were happy tears.
I finally gathered myself together enough to give my usual answer to his “requests.”
“Okay.”
It was a gift. I got a little bit of my brother back in return for losing him.
The preparations were not overwhelming. Alisha and I had a few consultations over what I would wear—my first choice of a tuxedo was vetoed. My second choice of a beautiful white blouse and blue skirt was finally decided on after much running in circles. I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it, and chose it no matter what choice Alisha gave me. She got the idea.
The weekend of the wedding arrived. I was working that summer and only got to fly home Thursday night. Everyone seemed to be tip-toeing around me. I was sad, but not that sad. I tried to assure them I was fine, but for some reason they didn't believe me. I felt numb. I didn't really care anymore. I worried that I would start caring again the day of the wedding and cry the whole time I stood up in front of everyone.
I spent a little time with my brother the day before the wedding, but we were always in a crowd of family members. I barely got to see him at all the day of the wedding. At the rehearsal in the morning he spent the whole time with Alisha; in the afternoon he took a long bath while I went swimming with my nieces and nephews.
The wedding was suddenly there, and before I knew it, it was gone. I didn't cry; I didn't lose the ring; I didn't trip; and I didn't feel funny standing beside my brother. I slipped by to hug him before the mob swarmed out of the church. He absently hugged me, turning his attention back to his new wife. I blinked back the tears and went in search of my niece. She was named after me—I could steal her from anyone who was holding her.
The reception was a blur—I went from holding adorable Mandie-Beth to escorting my other nieces and nephews around. I briefly tried to talk to my brother, but gave up because people surrounded him. People I didn't know; people who didn't know or care who I was; people who were now my brother’s family and friends. The gulf between my brother and me widened, and I felt the loss.
My mom, though busy being a hostess, kept a worried eye on me. I stayed busy talking to family and playing with my Mandie.
“Liz!” A hand on my shoulder whirled me around. There was my brother—away from Alisha’s side for a moment.
“We’re leaving,” He said. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. He wrapped me in a hug and I held him tightly.
“I’ll see you soon. I love you.”
The tears came, and I hated to let him go, but I knew I had to. He held me until I managed to choke out “I love you” and release him.
I wiped my eyes and watched him walk away to join his bride. Then I had a revelation. I hadn't lost my brother. He loved me too much.