Chapter 15: A Wedding of Imperfections

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."

— Marcel Proust

Pending responsibilities of marriage and fatherhood, the opportunity to work on the farm in France was both a blessing and equal challenge.  The job, though far removed from the joy he found in the bicycle shop, presented a financial lure too significant to ignore. It promised four months of earnings, equivalent to two years of his current salary, but the decision had to be made quickly.  The choice wasn’t easy because Alex had grown to love his work at the bicycle shop, where he found satisfaction in reassembling bikes and connecting with customers while selling them. It was more than a job to him, as he felt deeply connected with colleagues. It was a place where his hands created something meaningful. But the prospect of providing a secure future for his growing family tipped the scales. His love for the shop paled in comparison to his sense of duty. So, Alex reluctantly bid farewell to the job he cherished. He wasn’t chasing a dream in France—he was chasing security and the job was a means to an end.

The watermelon farm was a far cry from the life Alex had imagined. The work was grueling, the days long and the sun relentless. His hands, once devoted to the delicate mechanics of bicycles, were now blistered and raw from the repetitive labor of picking and loading heavy melons. The language barrier added another layer of isolation—as he didn’t know a word of French.

While resting in the camp, his fellow workers and tent neighbors, immigrants from Sudan, Somalia, and Morocco, while pretending that they are real Muslims and didn't drink because of religious beliefs, were drunk almost every evening after work and spoke in broken English fragmented phrases about politics and war, their voices tinged with bitterness. “America and Bush are kaput!” one of them muttered, shaking his head, cutting his troat with a thumb while waving his brother's picture. All Alex could do was listen and not engage too much. He was too exhausted to engage, his thoughts consumed by responsibilities back home to make it happen, Anatig and the child they were expecting.

Despite the hardships and weird interactions Alex’s resolve didn’t falter. The vision of returning home with enough money to secure his family’s future kept him going. Each melon he lifted was a step closer to that goal, a small sacrifice for a greater purpose. But the monotony of the fields and the burden of his decision nibbled at him. He often thought of the bicycle shop, the colleagues, the different routines, the joy it brought him and the life he had left behind.

One afternoon, as Alex worked under the blazing sun, a distant rumble broke the rhythm of the day. He straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, and squinted toward the horizon. A convoy of police vehicles, more than twenty strong, kicked up clouds of dust as they approached the fields. The ominous sight caused the workers to freeze, silencing their chatter. The vehicles came to an abrupt halt, and officers disembarked with dogs in tow, their movements swift and coordinated. “S’il te plaît, viens avec nous,” which translated into “Please come with us,” one of the officers said, his tone firm but not unkind.

Alex’s stomach churned. His first instinct was to run, but his rational mind kept him rooted in place. The workers herded together and were escorted to a large school hall, the air thick with tension and confusion. Inside, an immigration officer addressed the group, his words cutting through the murmurs. They were told their presence in France was only permissible as tourists, not workers. Without proper documentation, they would be deported.  The news was devastating to Alex. He hadn’t even earned his first paycheck. The financial security he had come to France to secure for his growing family was slipping through his fingers in front of his eyes. The scope of this realization hit him like the watermelons he had been loading onto the truck—heavy and unyielding.

As he sat in the crowded hall, shoulder to shoulder with his fellow workers, Alex’s mind raced. He thought back just a day before, when he had seen the news on a television screen in a grocery store. Two passenger plains slamming into Two towering buildings in New York, making them to collapse into dust, the images of people leaping from windows to their deaths seared into his memory. At first, he had mistaken it for a Hollywood action movie, but the grim expressions of the people around him told him otherwise. When he called home, Anatig had told him the world was changing, that world war was on everyone’s lips.  And now, in the aftermath of 9/11, the rippling effects had reached even this remote corner of South France. The crackdown of undocumented workers was swift and unrelenting, a manifestation of the heightened security measures sweeping across the globe. Once a site of labor and hope, the serene fields now presented a scene of hopelessness. Snarling dogs, barked police commands, and some employees fleeing in terror shattered the meadow’s fragile calm.

The moment everyone realized that they wouldn't be allowed to go back to work, blame and frustration simmered among the workers. Some cursed the agency that had sent them to France without proper paperwork. Others muttered about the farm owners, who had turned a blind eye to their status. For Alex, the fields symbolized a place where dreams were crushed under the gravity of global events beyond his control.

In the fields, as the sun went down, long shadows fell across the rows of watermelons. Alex thought about Anatig, Lithuania, and their future child. He left home with the goal of making the future better, but now he was coming back empty-handed. There was more to the trip back than just returning.  It was a way to get away from broken dreams and a reminder of how fragile plans can be in a world where uncertainty reigns. It was painful to think that the bike shop had hired someone else to do his job.

The bus ride back to Lithuania was long and exhausting with silence and conspiracies. The workers, bound to retrieve earned money, were plotting against the agency that had made such big promises, and its representatives sat in quiet defeat in the same bus. The agency that had sent them to France had arranged for their return, but not before leaving them stranded for a week in the barren camp. Food dwindled, tempers flared, and the once lively camaraderie among the workers dissolved into arguments over scraps of work and blame. 

The agency had arranged for a twelve hour stop in Paris, a gesture to soften the journey’s hardships. Alex climbed to the second floor of the Eiffel Tower, where the city stretched endlessly beneath him—its mesmerizing view undeniable.  For a fleeting moment, he felt the grandeur of Paris, but it only deepened the ache within. He had left Lithuania with dreams of a better future, and though he was returning without the success he had hoped for. Maybe this is how it was supposed to be?  By allowing it, he had planted seeds of resilience and a deeper understanding of what it meant to persevere. 

When the bus finally pulled into the station in Lithuania, Alex felt a mix of relief and inner fear. He had come home, but not as the person he had hoped to be.

His first stop was the home of his wise grandmother—the one who had financed his journey with a promise that he would repay every cent. Her house now felt like a humble request wrapped in a small yet cozy space, transformed over the years into a library.

As he stepped inside, he was greeted by the scent of old books, and his grandmother’s serious face softened into a warm smile. “I already know everything,” she said, her voice calm but understanding. She had heard the story from Alex’s father, but she didn’t press him for details. Instead, she listened as Alex recounted the events in France, his voice sometimes tense with frustration and regret. He promised to repay her for the money she had advanced for his trip, but she waved him off with a dismissive gesture. 'When you are able, Alex,” her smile gave him reassurance, no pressure. “What matters now is that you’re back,” she said that leading him outside.  “You have a family to think about now. That’s the most important thing you need to focus on.”

Her words, though simple, carried a significance Alex couldn’t ignore. She didn’t see his return as a failure but as a chance to start fresh. And she had a plan. She offered him a solution—a small garage outside her house, once converted into a living space by the previous owners. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Alex could transform it into a home for himself, Anatig, and their unborn child.

The gesture was more than just practical—it was a lifeline. Alex felt a surge of gratitude for his grandmother’s unwavering support. But there was still one hurdle weighing on his mind: the proposal to Anatig. Now he even had no money for a ring, and the thought of asking Anatig to marry him without one filled him with shame. While the agency disappeared, so did all the pay, even for the days worked. 

When his grandmother learned of his predicament, she didn’t hesitate. She arranged to send money to Alex’s aunt in the United States, asking her to purchase a ring and send it back. But fate had other plans. The ring, a symbol of love and commitment, was lost in transit, and the whole package went missing. The news hit Alex hard just a few weeks before the wedding, only thanks to his grandmother's undeterred resolve.

“Come,” she said one afternoon, taking him by the arm. She led him to a local jewelry shop, where the glittering array of rings seemed to mock his empty wallet. But his grandmother, always full of surprises and ever practical, handed him the money to buy a modest but beautiful ring. “This is for her,” she said simply. “And for your future.”

The ring, chosen under his grandmother’s watchful eye, felt like more than just a piece of jewelry. It was a testament to her belief in him, in his ability to build a life despite the setbacks. With the ring in hand, Alex felt a renewed sense of purpose. He was ready to propose to Anatig—not as a man who had everything figured out, but as someone willing to face life’s uncertainties with her by his side.

****

The early snow of upcoming winter fell on the day Alex chose to propose. The gray skies had given way to a pristine white canvas, and the world seemed to hold its breath as snowflakes drifted gently to the ground. On the way to a simple walkabout, Alex led Anatig to a place that held quiet significance for him. In the distance, the swing where he had once sat, lost in thought, now almost 10 years later, stood adorned with a delicate frosting of snow.  As they walked, Alex’s heart raced. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times, but now that it was here, words seemed to elude him. The snow crunched softly beneath their feet, the only sound in the stillness of the surroundings.

Finally, he stopped and turned to face her.

“Anatig,” he began, his voice trembling. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, its modest sparkle catching the pale winter light. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to pause in the scene of a shaken snowball with them inside. Anatig’s green eyes, wide with surprise, filled with tears. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”  Relief and joy washed over Alex as he slipped the ring onto her finger. They embraced, the snow falling softly around them, each flake a silent witness to their commitment. The swing, just a few feet away, stood as a quiet guardian of their unfolding love story—a symbol of the past and the future they were building together. 

In that moment, Alex felt a glimmer of hope. The failures in France, the struggles he had endured, all seemed to fade into the background. What mattered now was the life they were creating and the family they were about to become. The snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in a quiet promise of new beginnings. 

The wedding date of December 10 arrived with a serene blanket of snow, painting the world in quiet beauty. The day should have been perfect—a celebration of love, family, and new beginnings. But for Alex, the idyllic snowfall couldn’t mask the simmering discontent in his heart. The wedding, held in a modest cafe/bar across from the football field of the college, was far from the grand affair he had once envisioned. The bar, typically a lunch venue for workers, had been hastily decorated with streamers and fairy lights, an effort to inject some festivity into the otherwise uninspiring space.

Seventeen guests, a mix of close friends and family, filled the room with warmth and restrained excitement. Yet Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. A priest's refusal to marry them because Alex hadn't received baptism prevented them from having a church ceremony, just another pretext to hate the day and religion itself. For Anatig’s religious family, the registry office wedding was a compromise, and for Alex, it felt like a reminder of the clash between his beliefs and theirs. 

The reception that followed was subdued. The clinking of glasses and murmurs of conversation filled the air, but the atmosphere was far from jubilant. Alex tried to immerse himself in the joy of the occasion, but his unease was hanging on his face so much so that everyone noticed. The hired a comedienne whose jokes fell flat, what only added to the awkwardness of the evening. The celebration felt hollow, as though it had been arranged for others rather than for him and Anatig.

Lithuanian tradition has a saying: if there was no fight at the wedding, then it's not a real wedding’’. 

As if enacting a dark ritual of Alex’s troubled thoughts, the timid calm of the evening crumbled under the weight of raised voices—Alex’s real father and stepfather clashed fiercely. Though near strangers to each other, tension pulsed between them like a shared wound. Alcohol did what it always does: turned resentment into rage. Their arguments swelled, teetering on the edge of violence, drowning out the guests’ uneasy glances and turning laughter into concern. Alex felt terrible as he witnessed the fiasco.  It served as just another reminder scene from his broken dysfunctional childhood. Their outburst ruined the fun completely for some and served as a stark reminder of how hard it had always been for him to deal with his family's problems.

The day was a collision of dreams verses reality in Alex’s mind. Imagined a sacred, intimate ceremony—Anatig in a big white dress walking down the church aisle. Instead, he discovered himself in a strange environment full of unresolved conflicts and unmet expectations. As the evening wore on, he openly expressed his frustration, his words tinged with confusion and disappointment. “This isn’t how I wanted it to be,” he admitted to Anatig, his voice low but heavy with emotion. His honesty only deepened the confusion of those around him, but for Alex, it was a necessary release.

The next morning, Alex and Anatig arrived at their new home—a small garage-turned-living space nestled in the lush back garden of the wise grandmother’s house. The ivy-clad exterior and blooming flowers around it seemed to whisper stories of resilience and hope. Inside, the rustic charm of the wooden walls and the creak of the floorboards greeted them. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs.  “This place has a soul,” Anatig murmured, her fingers tracing the wooden wall. Her voice carried both love and uncertainty. Alex nodded, his gaze sweeping across the room. “It does. But it needs a lot of work,” he replied, his tone steady.

“Can we really make this work?” Anatig asked, her voice a mix of hope and apprehension.  “We’ll make it work as long as we work together,” Alex said, meeting her gaze with quiet determination. “It’s not just the house—it’s our future now.”

As they unpacked their wedding gifts, the reality of their new life began to sink in. Anatig lingered over a photo frame, her smile tender but tinged with worry. Meanwhile, Alex found a tiny ornamental slipper among the gifts, a symbol of heritage and tradition. As he traced the faded patterns, memories of his childhood flooded back—darkness, uncertainty and unresolved anxiety. Yet, in that moment, he felt a strange mix of pride and determination. The past, with all its scars, had shaped him into the man he was today. And now, it was time to build something new.

The wedding, far from perfect, marked the beginning of a new chapter. For Alex, he had a meaning to exist and a great lesson in acceptance—a reminder that life rarely unfolds as we plan. The modest ceremony, family tensions and humble beginnings of their married life all underscored a simple truth: perfection wasn’t necessary for real love to thrive. What mattered was the commitment they made to each other, the promise to face life’s challenges together.  That night, Alex felt a spark of hope as he stood in the quiet of their new home and watched the snow fall softly outside the window. The trip ahead would not be easy, but it was theirs to figure out. The love and support of his wise grandmother and the resilience he had built through his struggles created a strong emotional bond that he shared with Anatig.  Not suspecting how toxic this bond would one day become. In the stillness of the night, Alex whispered a quiet promise to himself,

“I’ll make it work. No matter what.”

NEXT WEEK! Chapter 16: Legacy

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