Letters to The Fighter ✔

20. The Wedding

Dear Peter, 

In order to write this letter, I had to drive to the wedding venue itself. I'm sitting on a cold bench facing the giant manor, every second of that day so vivid in my mind. The happiness, the laughter, the tears.

The building itself looks different in the winter time. It seems to lack the life it did in Spring during the wedding. Now, the branches on the trees outside are naked, the only thing covering them being thin sheets of ice. The park nearby is vacant--the sounds of children playing are missing. 

I need to remember what being here felt like in order to recall that day. It was important for not only Zoya, but for all of us, and you'll see why. 

***

She resembled a goddess. Her long, dark hair was collected and twisted into elegant braids, which were then set in an updo above her head. They supported a delicate veil that flowed down her back, framing her slim figure. 

The upper half of her body was hugged by a white, lace-patterned fabric, and just at her waist, the satin material was angled outwards, concealing her legs but leaving a long trail to brush the ground. 

Her eyes--they were gleaming. Today, they seemed to be home to more specks of electrifying gold than usual. They were framed by natural eyelashes that were always insanely long, and her skin at the corner of her eyes was crinkled from her permanent smile. 

"Zoya," I blinked, trying to suppress tears because I knew that if I wasn't able to stay composed, she would fall apart as well, "You're beautiful."

My voice trembled the slightest bit, betraying my intentions, but she didn't notice. It was as if she was in a trance. She remained in front of the mirror, her hands wrapped around her waist, playing with the dress. 

It was made for her.

She smiled even wider, her body emanating joy. 

"Is it perfect?" She asked, tilting her head a bit, scanning her reflection for possible flaws. 

"Actually," I walked over to the dresser, "You're missing something."

She watched my reflection pick up a light blue hydrangea and walk back towards her. 

I carefully moved her veil from where it covered her ear and tucked the flower into her thick locks, before stepping back to take in her beauty. 

Now she looked perfect. 

"You have to keep a piece of me with you," I explained, "You know, since you're breaking my heart and marrying someone else." I playfully jutted out my bottom lip, feigning hurt. 

She laughed, "Oh Lucy," she sighed, "what would I do without you?"

We had another hour until the wedding itself. David had chosen this particular manor because it was a family tradition. His great-grandparents, grandparents, and parents all got married in the very same building. Zoya never told him that she had always wanted an outdoor wedding. 

It was supposed to be a small reception. Just their close family and friends. For David, this meant about 30 people. For Zoya, it was me, Charlie, Peter, two coworkers, some college friends and her cousin from Florida, Ali. He'd always been like the brother she never had, taking care of her especially when her parents cut her out of their lives. He was giving her away in place of her father, whom she hadn't spoken to in years. She had sent her parents an invitation, but her hopes were not high in fear of being let down. They never returned her letters or phone calls, anyway. 

She pretended not to care, but I had gotten good at detecting sadness in her eyes. They were her parents. Didn't they have to love her, despite their differences?