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I climbed into my tiny car and gingerly turned over the engine, hoping it would start. It had been threatening to conk out for a while and was overdue a service because I hadn’t gotten round to taking it to the garage yet. I mentally underlined the task on my mental to-do list, hoping that meant I’d remember to cross it off my actual written to-do list.
The roads had been freshly gritted, heralding an imminent drop in temperature, and once I arrived at the town square and parked, it felt as if it had dropped another few degrees. My breath clouded the air as I got out of my vehicle and pulled my pink woolen beanie farther onto my head.
The sight of our little town square at Christmas infused me with some cheer. The square itself was packed full of small wooden cabins, each housing wares for the Christmas markets. Some sold glittery Christmas trinkets, some jewelry, others arts and crafts. And interspersed between them were food stalls boasting fragrant mulled wine, artisan coffees and hot chocolates, and hot baked sweets and savories. The shops lining the square all had their own miniature Christmas trees standing outside, some bedecked in simple gold or white lights and some in bright blues, reds, and greens.
My stomach grumbled as I browsed the stalls, so I gave in and bought myself an almond croissant and a gingerbread spiced coffee to tide me over until lunch with Aisha.
Munching on my treat, I continued to make my way through the crowds in the frosty square, taking in what was on offer in each of the stalls. I purchased some jewelry for my mum, books from the little pop-up bookstall for Dad, and a basket of handmade, organic toiletries for Aisha. My sister was always careful not to use products with any harmful additives.
I carefully stored my goods away in the boot of my Mini and then headed over to Brewhemian Rhapsody—Aisha’s and my favorite coffee shop—and snagged us a table by the bay window where we could watch all the Christmas shoppers go by.
Aisha arrived her signature ten minutes late, her face lighting up as she spotted me by the window. Someone had once said that Aisha was like a smaller, anime version of me. Shorter and basically the same face, but with bigger, rounder eyes and a smaller nose. Her hair was a shade darker, her eyes a couple of shades lighter. “Baji!” she said, beaming as she approached and enveloped me in a Dior-scented hug. “How the hell are ya?”
“Great,” I said somewhat unconvincingly as I watched Aisha take off her camel coat and cream-colored scarf and hang them on the coat stand behind our table. “Well, good, anyway.” I paused. “Perhaps fair to middling.”
“Hmm.” Aisha sat across from me, a frown on her face. “You’re downgrading your well-being by the second.”
I shrugged, eyeing the menu for the specials. “I’m getting by, Munni.”
Aisha was still frowning as I lowered the menu.
“What?” I asked warily.
“Right,” she said, placing her hands on the table in an assertive manner. “I am sick and tired of you mooning over bloody Drew. The guy left you, and he’s a douchebag for doing so.” She let out a big sigh, slumping back in her seat. “Ahh. It feels so good to let that out.”
My mouth dropped open. “Drew is not a douchebag.”
She rolled her eyes, then beamed as the server came to take our order. Aisha ordered her usual—a fresh chicken breast and avocado sandwich and a soy latte. I chose the steak ciabatta and ordered another coffee, darting my eyes over to Aisha as I spoke.
The server bustled off to the kitchen and Aisha turned back to me. “Yes he is, Baji. And it’s time for you to stop making excuses for him. I’ve bitten my tongue for long enough.” She gave me the stare that I recognized from our childhood. The I-am-not-budging-on-this-so-don’t-push-it one. Aisha usually brought it out when I was acting overprotective, and she would put her foot down because she wanted her independence. But it was still always apparent that she enjoyed being made a fuss of.
“Fine,” I said slowly, my mind attempting to digest this sisterly opinion alongside Rona’s friendly one and finding . . . that they fit snugly together. “We’ll agree to disagree.”
Another eye roll from my baby sister.
“So,” I said, opting to change the topic of conversation. “Are you feeling any better? Have you been to the doctor?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m absolutely fine. I know my own body and things are picking up. I’m telling you it was just a post-viral thing.”
I narrowed my eyes. “If you aren’t right by next week you need to go and get your bloods checked.”
“Yeah, yeah. Stop nagging me, Mrs. Naggity Nag.”
“Watch it,” I said, a small smile tugging at my mouth.
“I saw your entry for the Christmas lights competition on social media,” Aisha said. “Nice work. Also, in general, it’s good to see something positive on there rather than the usual moaning about fireworks displays and the wait for an appointment at the doctor’s.”
I shrugged. “Well, you know. Gotta help spread that Christmas cheer.” The mention of the competition was an acute reminder of my criminal activity, and I tried to keep the internal cringe off my face, but judging by Aisha’s expression, I had been unsuccessful.
“What? Why do you look like you’ve sucked a lemon?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
A reprieve came in the form of the server arriving with our coffees. I thanked her, then lifted my spoon to swirl the leaf pattern in the crema into a little coffee vortex.
“Don’t hold out on me now,” Aisha said, blowing on her latte.
“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “I may have gotten myself into a bit of a Christmas decoration–related pickle with Kerr across the road.”
“Ooh. What’s happened with cat-killer Kerr?” Aisha asked, licking the foam off her coffee spoon.
