Until the Final I Do

SPENCER Being one of New York's wealthiest men has its perks. It also can feel like a burden. Something you want to escape from, but find yourself stuck in a web of power, money, and all the meetings that go along with the two. As a little boy, I never imagined I would be sitting in the head office alone with a beautiful view of the city and nobody to share it with. I always wanted a wife and kids. I almost had those things long ago, but when my father became ill I decided to take over the company. My mother said she would help with the hotels and all the meetings, but I wanted her to tend to him. Not becoming stressed with the company and help him through this sick time. Then, maybe he can come back to work. That was a year ago. Duane King is still in the hospital and Mitchell King is waiting alongside him, tending to his every need. I could have my brother help me, but Tristan just started a family with his wife down in South Carolina. The time it takes for this job shouldn't be paired with taking care of a newborn. A beeping noise sends me out of my thoughts and back to the real world. "Excuse me, sir. I have an envelope for you. Do you want me to bring it up?" The receptionist asks. I press my finger to the button and hold it. "Yes," I say, letting go. I wonder what it could be. It's almost like those moments you spend as a child on your birthday and you are waiting for a gift from family to come in the mail. It probably is a postcard from Tristan of his new baby or a letter from my mother. Just on cue, a lady comes in. Her short black hair sways as she walks the envelope to my desk. "Thank you, Margaret. That will be all," I say, taking the envelope from her fingers. I plop the envelope on my desk and rub my face as if I'm trying to wipe away the fatigue. It was nearly six o'clock in the afternoon as the sun was saying its last goodbyes, giving way to a whole new view of the city. My attention is turned towards the fragile white paper and my fingers play with the point.  As I tore it and slid it open, a sense of confusion washed over me when I peered inside. There was a baby pink card with hints of glitter here and there. Two rings connected decorated the front cover. To my eyes, it seems someone is getting married and I wondered who. I didn't have any family and friends that are getting hitched. Well, that I knew of. I finally took the card out of the protection and threw the envelope away. I opened it and read: you're invited to the union of Liam Hayes and Brooklyn West. Save the date: July twenty-fourth. My heart sunk after reading the neat calligraphy letters her name was in, especially the date. That was the day I asked her to be mine. Two years ago. My mind was going crazy. Brooklyn. Brooklyn West. My mind instantly goes back to last year when I held her in my arms and confessed my love to her and waking up to her in my bed almost every morning. I lost her the day I took over the company. I had to move. Move away from my everyday life in Daytona Beach, Florida. She was twenty-one and I was twenty-three at the time and I dreamt of the day I would get to see her walking down the aisle to me. She would wear a white dress with her dark brown hair tied up neatly and her blue eyes telling me how much she loves me. We would exchange tears along with the vows that kept me up the night before. Her father would know right away I was the right guy to give his daughter to. Now, it won't just be him giving her away that day. I know it has been a year. She is allowed to move on and so am I, but it's hard to even think about another girl without remembering her hair or how her scent would play in my sheets even after she left for days. I never did get over her and the idea of the day I might be able to hold her again. Now, I'm too late and she is lying with another guy hundreds of miles away. It's weird how news can either repair or damage your spirit. Not even five minutes ago I was happy and ready to take on the world. Now, all I want to do is get a giant tub of vanilla ice cream and lay alone. It's hard now not to regret never messaging her. I thought I was doing her a favor in not contacting her because I heard from her friends she was a mess after I left. I thought it would be easier for me for her to hate me rather than love me. Once again something pulls me out of my thoughts, but this time it's the ringing of my cell phone. I look to see the caller ID and I read the name. Justin. He is one of the hotel supervisors in Florida. Daytona Beach was one of the first locations we built the hotels at. Therefore, the oldest and we are doing some remodeling. So, I clicked the answer button. "Hey, Spencer, I talked to the contractors and told them every detail you told me. They said it was still under revision with you and a meeting needed to be set to start demolition. Do I need to book you a flight?" He asks. "No, I'll have Margaret schedule a flight for tomorrow," I reply. "Okay, I will set up a meeting. They had a slot for next week. Say Wednesday at three?" Justin says. "Okay, that will do," I say and hang up. Looks like I'm heading back to Daytona Beach. It's been a while since I visited my childhood home. The timing is a coincidence, six months until Brooklyn's wedding and a week until the meeting. I can only wonder what could come within these few months.