“Are you ready?!” She whispered it, taking each of us by the hand, eyes twinkling and darting and flaring.
Brendan looked at me and I at him: one of us would marry her, years from now, and the other would be quietly, respectfully disappointed. I nodded, lying, aware that any moment could be the moment where she chooses, deep down, perhaps herself unaware that it had happened. Brendan nodded as well, perhaps for the same reasons.
We were politely asked to leave. The security guard wasn’t angry at all. He seemed entirely unsurprised to find the three of us tearing through the museum at top speed, and could not have been more bored with the speech he gave us about decorum and proper respect and this and that and go on, now, off with you.
Brendan blew him a kiss from the doorway. She’ll pick him, I just know it.