InsaneJournal

Graphic Number 23: "Invitation"
Title: Invitation
Author: xie_xie_xie
Timeline: post-513
Rating: PG-13
Warnings, if any: None
Author's notes: Thanks to my beta testdog65 and to the artist, pretty_words224 for the inspiration!
Graphic: 23 by pretty_words224




When I was 17 years old, I doodled Brian's name in my notebook.

When I was 21, I sat on the sofa in the loft, picking out fonts for our wedding invitations.

When I was 22, I sat on a different sofa in a different city, tracing my finger up and down the engraved words on an old invitation I'd found inside a portfolio I hadn't opened in almost a year.

The phone rang. It was new, and I hadn't gotten around to programming in any ring tones, but I knew it was Brian anyway. He liked to pretend he was unpredictable, but he called me almost every night, while he was driving from Kinnetik to the gym.

I answered the phone. "So, if we'd gotten married, would you have changed your name?"

He didn't answer right away, and when he did, he had that patient tone in his voice that meant he was willing, at least for a limited amount of time, to humor me. "To what?"

I grinned. "To Taylor, of course."

He snorted. "I have to admit, Justin, despite the temporary insanity that led me to go down on bended knee, I was never intending to be known as Mrs. Justin Taylor."

"Kinney-Taylor? Taylor-Kinney?"

"What," Brian asked, speaking slowly, "has brought on this particular and somewhat disturbing line of questioning?"

I heard the engine cut out on the Corvette, but he didn't say he had to go. "Nothing."

He waited.

"I found an old wedding invitation. I was just wondering." I'd worked hard to keep my voice from sounding wistful. Overall, I thought I'd done okay.

Brian didn't say anything. I amused myself imagining him mangling his lip with his teeth, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, and trying to get past the botox to furrow up his brow.

"Justin…" He sounded frustrated. For some reason, that made me feel better. "What the fuck?"

I brushed one finger across the edge of the engraved "T" in my last name. "You should come this weekend."

"I'm coming next weekend, for your show."

"Come this weekend, too."

He snorted. "You do love to spend my money."

I laughed. "That's not all I love. Come."

He sighed. "Okay. Christ, you're worse than Mikey."

I laughed. "I love you, too."

Brian made a sound that I'm sure he meant to be a dismissive grunt but came out a lot more like a laugh. "Later."

I told him "Later" and snapped the phone shut. I looked at the invitation for a minute longer, slid it between the black leather leaves of the portfolio, and smiled.