The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 37 - Refusing Coffee is a Sin

The smell of Nanna's cooking greeted me as soon as I opened the door. It was almost eight o'clock. Keith would be here in fifteen minutes. I swallowed my butterflies and willed them to stay put. They had been going mad in my stomach since ten o'clock that morning, when Keith agreed to come over and have dinner with me and Nanna Millie.

I was surprised Sosa hadn't picked up on anything. I had almost ordered double the stock we needed from one agent and half of what we needed from another. Luckily, Sosa realised before I sent in the order and fixed everything. She hadn't even asked what was wrong, probably putting it down to the 'new developments' with Millie, which of course were also weighing heavily on me.

But I needed to accept this. There was nothing I could do except support her, and I couldn't do that if I was a heap of blubber, which was exactly what I became whenever I thought about it.

"What are you cooking? It smells amazing in here."

I took a clean dishcloth and started drying the washed pots and pans. Millie looked happy. Like her usual self. Like nothing was wrong with her. I didn't know if that was good or bad, but if nothing else, seeing her in her element, in the middle of her sunny, music-filled kitchen, felt right.

"I should hope so," she said excitedly. "I want to make a good impression. Leave those. You go get ready."

I laughed nervously and put the dishcloth back on the counter. "Don't make a fuss, this isn't a big deal," I said, ignoring the fact that my stomach was somersaulting all over my abdomen.

"Of course it is! Your first boyfriend is coming over for dinner!"

"He's not my boyfriend," I protested.

She raised her eyebrows at me, unimpressed. "Then why is he coming for dinner?"

"I have no idea," I replied teasingly. "I'm going to shower quickly and come right down."

My phone buzzed in my bag on my way up the stairs. I fished for it, trying not to trip but not daring to stop because I was already so late. It was Sosa.

"Hey!" I answered.

"Hi," she replied, sounding a little edgy. "Can we talk?"

I opened the wardrobe and skimmed through my things, looking for something to wear. A breeze was coming in from the window and it felt almost chilly on my skin. The weather was slowly getting cooler as we finally reached the end of the scorching Maltese summer.

"Um... I'm a bit busy, but yeah, I guess," I said, taking out a yellow floral shirt and matching skirt and laying them on the bed. They weren't too wrinkled. I thought I could probably get away with not ironing them.

"Oh. Okay then, don't worry about it," she said, trying to sound casual.

"Are you sure?" I asked. She didn't sound too good.

Sosa hesitated. "Yes. Yes, mela! I'm okay, it's nothing."

I lay down on the floor, flat on my stomach, and fished a pair of brown flip-flops out from under my bed. "Sosa, what's up?"

Got them!

I quickly fetched a towel from my dresser and headed to the bathroom, closing the window to shut out the sounds of the chaotic streets below. Someone was clearly enjoying the change in weather. Folk music was blaring, and at least two men were singing along. I heard shouting and clapping and deduced they had an audience.

Keith was going to think I lived in a hovel. He was from a relatively posh neighbourhood in Attard, and he was always teasing me about living in the 'Maltese Bronx'.