The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 7 - The Wineless Lunch

I've been standing in front of the full-length mirror for the past five minutes. After much deliberation, I decided to go for a pale green blouse and a short, white skirt but now I don't know whether to complete the look with a pair of white loafers or black, low-heeled pumps.

No, no, no, I can't wear loafers for lunch with The Boss. He's wearing a suit for God's sake! I slip my feet into the pumps and tie my hair up into a long, tidy horsetail and frown at my reflection.

Ugh! I look like I'm off for a business meeting. This isn't a business meeting.

What the hell is this anyway?

I rummage through my flats again and settle on a pair of white sneakers. My hand reaches automatically for the lipstick drawer but then I freeze. Maybe the lipstick is a bit too much. I don't even know where we're going.

Oh, screw it!

I snatch the neutral brown one, the one that's neither too bright nor too shiny and dab it on.

There. Better. I think.

I let my hair down and run my fingers through it, shaking my head vigorously to give it some volume. It's still damp from the shower, but at least I don't smell like an ashtray anymore.

Okay. That's it. Breathe, Ally.

I hurry down the stairs, hating the erratic pounding in my chest. Why is my heart doing that? I'm not scared of him, am I?

No. No. More like, scared for him.

I see Mr Cordina pacing around impatiently and typing furiously on his phone, presumably shooting emails all over the place and hopefully impervious to the fact that I took much longer than twenty minutes to get ready.

He doesn't notice me coming down so I slip through the doorway on the left and into the kitchen where Millie is sitting quietly in her corner with a streaming cup of coffee in front of her. The radio is switched off and the room feels weird without it.

"Hey," I whisper, squatting in front of her.

"Hey," she whispers back.

"We're going to get my car back from Saint Julian's and then we're grabbing lunch," I murmur, the panic still evident in my voice despite the fact that I'm whispering.

"I know, I heard you," she says with a cheeky grin. "You weren't very polite. Why is your car in Saint Julian's?" she adds as an afterthought.

"I ran into him yesterday and he made me get a taxi because he thought I was too drunk to drive."

Nanna Millie furrows her eyebrows in confusion before arching them. "Were you?"

"Of course, not!" I tut. "What am I going to do?"

"Get your car. Have lunch," she answers with a shrug. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know!" I reply.

"And why aren't you wearing heels?"

"Should I be wearing heels?" I gasp concernedly.

"Well," Millie starts hesitantly, "he's in a suit. And he's very handsome. If he were taking me out to lunch, I'd wear heels."

My jaw drops at her bold statement. "He's my boss! And he's very, very odd. Not to mention he's a bit old for-"

"I know exactly who he is, Ally. Go. He's been waiting long enough," she urges, waving me away. Then, just before I reach the doorway she hisses, "Ally!"

She whooshes towards me, fluffs up my hair a bit more, unbuttons the first two buttons of my blouse and nods affirmatively. I ignore the wave of nausea that churns in my stomach and march bravely into the living room.