Letters to The Fighter ✔

12. Our First "Date"

Dear Peter,

You've probably noticed by now that I've stopped writing the dates on these letters. To be honest, does it matter when I'm writing them? I'll send them all at the same time, anyway. And these days, every hour just blurs together and time seems to be in a race with itself. 

I miss when I used to be able to feel the seconds as they'd pass me by.

*** 

"So, what's your plan? You'll write a biography?"

I ran my fingers across the soft pedals of a delicate lilac, wondering how on earth Zoya was going to choose from so many beautiful options. Her wedding was a month away, and one of the last arrangements left was to pick flowers for the theme.

The florist shop that we stood in was huge, every corner occupied by flowers of all sizes, shapes, and scents. 

Nana would've loved it.

You know, I went to visit her grave yesterday. I went with Mom and Dad. And it's weird because when we stand there in front of her, no one needs to speak. The silence is loud enough. We can feel each other through the beating of our hearts and her presence is enough to fill every void. 

Mom and Dad left earlier than I did. They knew that I liked to have my time alone with her. Even though she's  been gone for ten years now, I feel like she's with me every day. 

We never forget, Peter. When someone touches our hearts with the tentative fingers of their souls, even for a second, we never forget them.

I hadn't realized that I was standing there, smiling to myself like an idiot instead of answering Zoya's question until she pinched my arm.

In response to my incredulous expression, she simply shrugged.

"I feel like I'm talking to the flowers here and not you. Where is your head at these days?" 

She continued walking in front of me, her tired eyes full of concern.

I sighed. That was a question that I did not know the answer to.

"Not a biography, per say. Honestly, I don't know. I'll figure that out once I learn more about him."

She nodded in agreement and kept scanning the rows of endless flowers, until she gasped, grabbed my arm, and dragged me across the shop.

In the corner there sat a small bouquet of hydrangea, tinted the lightest of all blues, so simple yet beautiful in a way that they stood out from the rest.

She looked up at me and raised her eyebrows, asking me a silent question. I nodded eagerly, giving her my silent response.

"Four weeks, Lucy, and then my life changes forever."

A wistful look swept across her features, followed by a concerned one, but I didn't question it.

"Maybe we can invite Peter to be the flower girl," I joked, nudging her arm.

We both shared a laugh at the thought of you in a dress, walking down the aisle with flowers in your hand.

"You're crazy, do you know that?" Her lips widened into a mischievous smile.

"Not your worst idea, Lucy. And that's saying something."

***

Stepping back into the arena felt strange. It was different this time.

Before, I was here to watch a show. I didn't know what to expect.

Now, excitement and curiosity swirled like a tornado in the pit of my stomach. I was here on a mission.