Fantasy novel with 40 year old protagonist

Chapter 10

Daciana imagined something different when she heard about a holiday to celebrate Saint Andrew, something a bit more religious. That may have been the case for some Romanians, but most people she saw that day seemed to take a different approach to this.

The first thing Daciana saw when she woke up that morning was the blouse that her grandmother, Codruţa, had left her. Washed and ironed the day before, it was waiting for her on the hanger in the bedroom, and Daciana practically jumped out of bed, thinking that she would put it on for the first time today.

While the blouse was loose and could easily fit many women of sizes slightly smaller or larger than her, Daciana did not expect it to look so good on her. Moreover, she did not expect to feel so much joy and pride seeing herself dressed in it. And, for the first time in a long time, she cared about what she wore that day.

Dacy paired the blouse with navy skinny jeans, dark brown boots, a skinny belt in the same colour and her rust-brown coat that went past her thighs. She gave a sleepy Chocolate a smooch on the head, grabbed her bag and keys and made her way out the door, feeling better than she had been in a long time.

To her surprise, her blouse was praised by almost everyone at work, but otherwise, the day started like any other Wednesday. However, by nine in the morning, the entire office knew they would leave an hour early to celebrate their manager's name day. It turns out that Romanians celebrated those with the names of saints on days that honour that particular saint. In this case, anyone named Andrei, the Romanian version of Andrew, or its feminine equivalent, Andreea. The entire office could have closed its doors two hours earlier because everyone's mind was only at the party afterwards.

The sun was still shining when they finally left at three in the afternoon. A weak and timid sun, like one would expect for an end of November, but enough to make you want to spend a few minutes with your eyes closed, absorbing its heat with more thirst than a lizard, storing it somewhere safe for the winter ahead.

People who had brought their cars gave rides to the others, and they all made their way to the old town for a meal at one of the more rustic restaurants there. From the looks of it, many other people had the same thought because this restaurant and pretty much every other restaurant in the area was jam-packed with people, all celebrating the same thing.

While some had decided to take advantage of the last sunny days of the year on the terraces and did not seem to mind being outside, their group made their way inside. Wooden chairs and tables covered with white tablecloths with red geometric motifs, the white walls adorned with wooden cart wheels, paintings from another time, and musical instruments Daciana could not name, along with the clay plates and jugs for drinking, all made this place incredibly picturesque.

They sat around a reserved set of tables pushed together. There were no assigned seats, so everyone sat down on a first-come, first-served basis. And somehow, everyone felt light and happy, talked with the people close to them as if it was the best thing they were doing that day and enjoyed the foods that were brought to them one after another. Ah, the food.

Daciana could have probably had enough from the appetizers alone, the plate of cheeses and cold cuts, the bean and aubergine dips, the caviar spread, the pickled mushrooms and roasted red peppers salads and that fantastic mix they called "zacuscă.".

But the meal did not stop there. She saw plates of chicken wings in garlic, sausages and grilled meat rolls served with fries, a huge pork knuckle with polenta, fish and stews. And everyone seemed to relish her lack of experience with these meals, inviting her to try a bit of what they chose or simply dumping a few bites onto her plate.