Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it.
By Andres Fragoso, Jr.
“Wow. Eustice. You look so handsome in that black Tux.”
“Hey.” Eustice turned to greet Nicasio. “See. What did I say? You would look great in a white tux.”
“I have something to tell you.” Nicasio’s eyes moistened.
“No. Come here to the mirror. Both of us in tuxes. Who would’ve thought?” Eustice’s voice cracked.
“We look great.” Nicasio turned to face Eustice. “I need to talk to you. It’s. Hmm. It’s important.”
Eustice took Nicasio’s arm and led him to the window. “Look at my parent’s backyard. They decorated for you. My big wedding. Aren’t you happy for me?”
“I am.” Nicasio sniffled. “Is that your mom in a red dress?”
They both chuckled.
“She hates Liz.” Nicasio held his laugh. “Listen. I need to talk to you. It’s serious.”
“Come.” Eustice led him to his childhood bed and picked up a small black box with a white bow then reached for Nicasio’s hand. “This is for you. You have been my rock, my anchor, my light all through my life.” A tear rolled down his eyes. “I… I want you to have this as a token of my appreciation for being here today as the best man.”
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