The Absent Guests from the Bride's Family
The air was filled with a festive and busy atmosphere, mixed with the faint smell of new furniture varnish, the rich aroma of flowers, and the warm, greasy scent of home-cooked dishes wafting from the kitchen, ready to entertain guests.
This three-bedroom apartment, temporarily rented as a wedding home, is now like a beehive suddenly injected with too much energy, buzzing and filled with people and sounds in every corner.
In the living room, Chen Hao's aunts and uncles sat around the sofa, some knitting, some cracking sunflower seeds, chatting loudly in Mandarin with accents from various regions. The conversation jumped from details of the upcoming wedding to a child's school admission, and then to the latest vegetable prices. Laughter grew louder and louder. Several teenagers chased and played, running from the living room to the dining room, only to be scolded and brought back by the adults.
The kitchen was a different story altogether. Chen Hao's mother, wearing an apron, was directing her two sisters-in-law, who had arrived earlier, to prepare ingredients: washing vegetables, chopping meat, and making soup. Pots and pans clattered, the range hood hummed, and the rising steam fogged up the windows. The men, meanwhile, gathered on the relatively quiet balcony, smoking, drinking tea, and discussing work and current events, occasionally whispering about important family matters that only they understood.
Chen Hao moved about among them, sometimes refilling tea and water for the elders, sometimes answering questions from relatives, always with a gentle and polite smile on his face. Only occasionally, when he glanced towards the bedroom, a hint of worry would flash across his eyes.
The bedroom door was closed, shutting out most of the noise from the room.
Feng Ya sat alone on the edge of the double bed in the bedroom, covered with brand-new bright red sheets. She had already changed into one of the dresses she would wear for the outdoor photoshoot tomorrow—a beautifully tailored champagne-colored satin dress that accentuated her fair skin. The makeup artist wouldn't arrive until early the next morning, so at this moment, she was bare-faced, her long hair casually draped over her shoulders, head down, focused—or rather, mechanically—on adjusting the expensive wedding gown she would be wearing tomorrow.
The wedding dress was beautiful, with layers of pure white tulle, delicate lace, and exquisite pearls and rhinestones, shimmering with a dreamlike glow under the soft light of the bedroom. She and Chen Hao had shopped at several stores before choosing it. When she put it on and stood in front of the mirror, the undisguised amazement and love in Chen Hao's eyes made her feel like the happiest person in the world.
But at this moment, as my fingertips brushed against the cool, smooth satin, I felt an emptiness in my heart, as if a large piece was missing.
She could clearly hear everything coming from outside the door: her aunt's hearty laughter, her other aunt's debate about how to cook a dish, the children's excited screams, Chen Hao's mother's warm voice urging the guests to "eat more fruit"... These sounds intertwined to create a warm background soundscape that belonged to "home" and "reunion".
But the louder the background noise, the more distinct the silent, cold emptiness in her heart became.
Her phone lay on the dressing table beside her, its screen dark. She couldn't resist picking it up again and turning it on. The WeChat interface remained in the chat window titled "Relatives Group)," even though she had already set it to Do Not Disturb. The last few messages were from three days ago, when she had cautiously tagged everyone in the group again, attaching a link to the e-invitation and the hotel address, along with the message: "I sincerely invite all elders, brothers, and sisters to attend my wedding. Looking forward to your presence."
The response was minimal.
Only my distant cousin replied with "Congratulations! [rose emoji]" along with a 200 yuan red envelope.
An uncle who had hardly spoken replied, "Understood, best of luck."
Everyone else remained silent, as if they hadn't seen anything.
She scrolled up to her earlier post, and the situation was similar when she first extended an invitation. A polite but distant "Congratulations," accompanied by a small red envelope, and then nothing more. No one asked for a specific time, no one said "I will definitely be there," and no one, like Chen Hao's relatives, started arranging tickets and itineraries well in advance.
She knew the reason perfectly well.
On the one hand, my father, Feng Jianguo, was a stubborn and straightforward person who was neither good at nor interested in cultivating relationships with relatives. In the local dialect, he was a bit "aloof". In his youth, he had many grudges with relatives over some old matters, such as someone not repaying a loan, someone not attending a party, or just trivial quarrels. His relationships with them were already distant.
On the other hand, and most fatally, was the sudden death of the father as a "criminal suspect." Although the case had not yet gone to trial, he died "accidentally," and legally, he could not be convicted without a trial. But in the eyes of relatives, in those worldly eyes who were accustomed to defining a person with the simplest labels, the words "criminal suspect" were heavy enough, filthy enough, enough for them to hastily draw a line against him as if avoiding a plague.
"I heard that Old Feng got into trouble and almost got shot!"
"Luckily he died young, otherwise it would have been even more embarrassing."
"It's a pity about Xiaoya, she got such a father..."
"Shh, keep your voice down, don't mention it, it's bad luck. Did you accept her wedding invitation? Don't go, or you'll get tainted by her blood."
These whispers, which she hadn't heard with her own ears but could fully imagine, pierced her heart like cold needles. She understood, truly. The instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm is human nature. Who wants to be associated with a relative of a "criminal," especially on a "joyful" occasion like a wedding? What to say when they arrive? What to talk about? How would she awkwardly deflect questions about the bride's father if unsuspecting people asked?
So, despite sending carefully crafted e-invitations and sincere invitations individually to every Feng family relative she could contact, even those she only interacted with during mass New Year's greetings, the result was still the same. As expected, yet still hurtful.
The bedroom door was gently pushed open, and Chen Hao walked in, carrying a glass of warm milk. He closed the door behind him, slightly shutting out the noise from outside.
"Are you tired? Have some milk to warm your stomach." Chen Hao handed her the milk, sat down next to her, and naturally put his arm around her shoulder.
Feng Ya took the cup, feeling its warmth against her palm. She forced a smile, "It's alright. It's... quite lively outside."
"Yes, my mom and the others are preparing dinner, it'll be ready soon." Chen Hao looked at her, his gaze gentle, yet he also keenly caught the lingering sadness in her eyes. He paused for a moment, tightened his grip on her arm, and lowered his voice. "Yaya, don't overthink it. Our family doesn't care about those things. My parents, my uncles and aunts, they all like you, and that's enough. After Saturday, once the wedding is over, we'll fly straight to San Francisco. There, in a completely new environment, a completely new beginning, no one knows about the past, only our future."
His voice was firm, carrying a comforting power. Feng Ya leaned against him, nodded, and softly hummed in agreement. Chen Hao's comfort was sincere, and she believed that their future would turn a new page in United States. However, the heavy weight in her heart—the grievances and loneliness brought about by her father's "disgraceful" end and the cold severing of ties by her relatives—could not be easily erased by a few words of comfort and promises about the future.
It was a sense of loss rooted in her bloodline and upbringing. A wedding should be a moment of blessings and witnessing from both families. Other brides had their fathers walking hand-in-hand down the aisle, their mothers adjusting their veils with tears in their eyes, and a throng of aunts and uncles offering auspicious words. But she had only herself. Like an abrupt intruder, she was about to enter a bustling and perfect "new home," a home almost completely disconnected from her past.
She didn't resent her father's final choice. In fact, after learning everything he had done and his ultimate fate, deep down she believed that her father had done what he thought was right, even if the methods were extreme and the price was heavy. She felt a complex and indescribable pride in having such a father, and also felt heartbroken for his final destiny. But this feeling was something she couldn't share with outsiders, nor could it dispel the coldness of human relationships in the present moment.
"I know," she said softly, looking up at Chen Hao and trying to give him a brighter smile. "I'm just... a little sentimental. It's okay, you go keep your aunt and uncle company, I'll come out after I finish getting my wedding dress ready."
Chen Hao looked closely at her eyes, seemingly trying to make sure she was really alright, and finally lowered his head to kiss her forehead. "Okay, then hurry up, we've been waiting for you."
He got up and left, gently closing the door behind him. The bedroom fell silent again, save for the faint sounds of laughter and conversation outside, and the faint evening light of the city filtering through the window cracks.
Feng Ya put down her milk glass, picked up her pristine white wedding dress again, and unconsciously ran her fingers over the cool rhinestones on it. Her reflection in the mirror showed her alone, dressed in a beautiful gown, sitting on the edge of a bed covered with a bright red wedding quilt. Behind her was a room full of warm decorations, yet it exuded an inexplicable loneliness.
She took a deep breath, looked in the mirror, and practiced once again the happy, perfect smile she should have for tomorrow.
A slight stinging in the corner of her eye reminded her of the undeniable disappointment that still lingered in the softest part of her heart.