Letters to The Fighter ✔

10. You and Daisy

Dear Peter,

I hope you're not getting bored, and that's assuming that you're still reading these. I swear, there's a point to recalling every detail of our journey together. Just trust me, okay? I know that's asking a lot after what we've been through. After what I put you through. But, just trust me. Because every step that we took is important in understanding how we ended up where we did. 

I've always thought that weddings were so beautiful. Two people, in love, promising each other their lives. What could be more beautiful than that? 

Remember how naive I was?

In fact, you remember my book, don't you? I'd published it only two years before I met you. It was the story of Max and Hazel; it was the story of a magician―an illusionist, and a girl who fell not for his tricks and illusions, but for his heart. It was my prized possession, my baby, my heart. The story of Max and his Hazel embodied what I'd been: innocent, naive, and romantic. It was a huge part of me that you, for the longest time, never understood.

Anyway, I was a hopeless romantic. But you know that already.

***

I played nervously with the material of the satin blue dress. It hugged me at only my waist and then fell loosely around the rest of my frame. Its dark color resembled that of the sky seconds before the moon kidnaps the tiny bit of light that the sun forgets behind. Right before it all goes dark and all that remains are tiny specks of white that form constellation after constellation, writing stories across the night sky.

It's my favorite dress, but it wasn't my favorite until that night.

Zoya was sitting beside me, almost shaking with excitement.

"I can't believe we're going to Peter Grayson's sister's wedding!" she exclaimed, grabbing my arm.

Zoya was beyond excited when I told her that we were invited to this wedding. She wanted to know all about my meeting with you and Charlie, and when I told her that I'd befriended your best friend, she was both shocked and amused.

"So, you said Peter's actually kind of an ass?" Zoya asked, adjusting the neckline of her light pink dress. The color looked beautiful on her tan skin and with her long and thick brown hair. Zoya's mom was from Pakistan and her father was American. She was always so gorgeous, but so unaware of her own beauty.

She didn't sound intimidated. She wasn't. Zoya was fierce. I knew that if you pulled any of your rude antics tonight, you would get an earful from her.

"He was so cold during lunch that day. Charlie said not to take it personally, but I really just want to know what his issue is."

She sighed.

"Lucy, I understand that, but don't hurt yourself. You can't always fix everyone. And not everyone wants to be fixed."

She gave me a knowing look. We'd been through this before. I can't help it, Peter. Mom always told me I was too optimistic for my own good. She said it was perfectly fine to remain bright but what was brightness without the dark? It was a balance. A crucial one. But I knew that there was good in everyone. All my life, I tried to make it shine in even the darkest of places. 

And that, Peter, was my fatal flaw.

"I'm not trying to fix him," I said, sounding more like I was trying to convince myself than her, "I just want to know his story. You know, for my Literature project..."

We both knew how weak the lie was, but neither one of us acknowledged it.

Zoya smiled. 

"Just don't get hurt," she warned, her hands reaching up to adjust the orchid I'd tucked behind my right ear.