The destination wedding

Amara had been holding one earring for so long that it had warmed in her hand.

“Has anyone heard?” she asked.

Her sister shook her head.

Outside, chairs faced the sea. Inside, everyone was telling her to breathe.

The person she wanted to hear it from was not there.

When Amara and Daniel chose a small wedding away from home, the photograph had made it look simple: flowers, water, two people.

Then their families began arriving from different places.

One aunt needed a quieter room. A cousin could come only for two nights. Her father had never changed planes alone.

Their planner, Celeste, asked about the people before showing them more photographs.

“Who are you worried about?”

Amara named her father.

They checked his connection, confirmed the transfer and gave him a printed page with the few things he needed. He folded it into his jacket beside the speech he insisted he wasn't writing.

On the morning of the wedding, his first flight was delayed.

Celeste checked the new arrival, spoke with the driver and told Amara what was known. Then what was still uncertain.

Nobody said it would definitely be fine.

Now he stood at the courtyard gate, suitcase beside him, the wrong button fastened on his jacket.

She went to him before anyone could protect her dress.

“You made it.”

He looked at the flowers in her hair.

“I had somewhere important to be.”

Her sister took the suitcase. Daniel found him a glass of water. Celeste quietly gave the ceremony coordinator the updated time.

He changed his shirt. Someone fixed the button.

When they walked toward the chairs, Amara felt his hand tremble beneath hers.

“Nervous?” she whispered.

“No.”

She waited.

“Very.”

Later, the sea turned copper behind the tables.

Her father unfolded the speech he had not been writing.

The corners were worn from the journey.

Amara put down her fork.

She didn't want to miss a word.