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Now, here they stood.
The groom’s and bride’s families were gathered in Iyore’s family’s ancestral home in the village of Araya. Most of them sat around the tacky velvet sofas, with the groom’s family surrounding him on one side, thebride’s on theother.
Iyore was standing in the middle of the circle, facing her future husband, who sat in one of the armchairs in front of her. They were both dressed in deep, traditional red velvet; Iyore in two wrappers tied around her frame, her afro combed and pinned to her head in an elaborate updo styled with coral beads. The same beads were wound around her neck, threaded with gold, along with her ears, wrists, and ankles. Malcom wore a cream kaftan and matching velvet wrappers of his own, his bald head hidden underneath a traditional velvet cap, a walking stick clutched tightly in one hand. He looked like a Prince.
“Iyore, my sweet daughter;we have all gatheredheretoday because this man has said he wants to be your husband,” her father said, his voice booming. “Do you accept his proposal?”
Iyore remained silent. They’d warned Malcom of theIsokowedding traditions beforehand, but Joy could still see him sweating from here, which made her want to laugh.
“I will ask a second time,” her father said. “Do you want this man to be your husband?”
Iyore remained silent. Beside her, Joy heard a soft, familiar chuckle that sent warmth blooming in her lower belly.
“He’s shitting bricks,” Malachi leaned over to whisper.
Joy bit back her laugh.
“I will ask a third time, and after this, I will not ask again. Do you want this man to be your husband?”
“Yes,” Iyore said finally, decisively, to the cheers of the crowd and Malcom’s immediate relief.
Joy dragged Malachi up to his feet along with everyone else. The bride was given a gourd filled with palmwine, and told to givethe drink to her future husband. She did so, kneeling by his side, and the room burst into cheer when Malcom dutifully took a sip, then tipped the gourd for Iyore to drink as well, the action representing how they’d take care of each other during their marriage.
Afterward, she wasgently led to the armchair beside Malcom’s, their hands intertwined in the middle. The women began to clap and sing, everyone getting to their feet to dance.
They sang in Isoko; sweet songs praying for fruitfulness in their marriage and their lives and their happiness. Iyore and Malcom had eyes for no other, beaming and staring at each other, even though, according to tradition, they were both supposed to be stern and stoic until the ceremony ended. Iyore was supposed to then be danced out of the room,andMalcom was supposed to bring his gifts to the bride’s family for their blessing and acceptance.
But fuck tradition, eh?
Once the prayer songs ended, the dancing songs began. The bride and groom stood. Some of the women ululated. Space was made in the middle of the room for them to have their first dance.
Joy cheered loudly. Iyore didn’t hesitate to go down low and wind her hips, grinning widely and happily at her husband, while Malcom stared at her like it was the beginning of the rest of his life.
Joy’s heart constricted tightly. She glanced at Malachi, who was taking itall in with the greedy excitement of a child. As the day to the wedding had drawn closer, it seemed he’d been more excited than the bride and groom themselves, desperately eager to witness the traditional wedding in all itswondrous, dramatic glory.
To everyone else, he was simply a tall, handsome, dark-skinned man with unnaturally long hair. They’d come up with an elaborate story that he’d come to Nigeria from abroad to do some work. He’d ended up enjoyinghis time here, and had decided to stay. He and Joy had met by chance, bumping into each other at a supermarket. They’d reached for the same carton of Indomie, hands brushing, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Joy’s lips quirked as she recalled Iyore’s squeals of how cute it was as she had narrated the false story, her hand tangled tightly in Malachi’s. She remembered feelingabriefpangof something lost, wondering how it would have been if it had happened that way. Then she’d shoved the melancholy aside. She wouldn’t change what she had for the world, and not for something as ridiculous as “normality”. She was a proud murderer of rapists; “normal” was no longer in her wheelhouse.
Now, Malachi was a regular part of their circle. He’d been so nervous at first, so afraid of fitting in; Joy’s heart clenched hard with love for him.
When she turned back to face Iyore dancing with her husband, the love in her heart grew. Her heart raced as she thought of her own plans. She was supposed to enact them after the white wedding, but Joy didn’t know if she could wait.
Marriage and kids and the whole shebang wasn’t something she’d ever been interested in, but lifelong companionship? Nowthat,she had to admit, sounded pretty fucking good.
She glanced at Malachi again. He turned to look at her at the same time, his lips curving into a handsome grin. While he’d once let her see his “human” form just so she had anidea of whateveryone else saw when they looked at him, to her eyes only, whether in public or in private, he remained himself—horns, wings, purple skin and all. Just as she preferred.
“Hi,” Joy said dreamily, nonsensically.
“Hi.” Malachi’s grin widened. His feathers rustled, a sign that he was fighting the urge to preen. “You okay?” His leftarmand wing went around her shoulders. Hisrighthand came on top of hers, where she hadn’t realised she’d been cracking her knuckles. Oops.
She stopped,then snuggledinto his side. Her heart thumped hard against her ribs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Hm.”
“What?” Joy said, but she was smiling, helplessly endeared by his antics. “I’mfine.”
“Okay,” Malachi said, lips twitching.
