Page 75 of Don't Tell Me Who To Love

Aisha wondered if she was raising false hopes but with the state of the old woman’s mind, it was more likely that she would forget the conversation before morning. “Yes. I can,” she said.

“Do what?” Old María asked. She got up and went to the window. “Did Carmen get out?”

She sat back down, and they drank tea, and then, like the sun slipping over the horizon and easing in the night, she closed her eyes. The corners of her mouth turned down, and her cheeks sagged. Aisha studied her closely to check she was still breathing and crept out the door with a heavy heart.

She smiled at her mama as she put the empty basket on the table. “Let me help,” she said and started cutting vegetables for the soup they would eat for lunch.

“It’s good to see you happy,” Mama said.

“I am happy.” She stared into Mama’s eyes, and guilt pricked her conscience. She wanted to tell her that she was in love and walk away with her blessing.

She could leave a note, but Aisha knew what it felt like to not be able to share grief openly. If she told them, they could cry together, appreciate each other’s loss, and she could leave knowing she had done her best by them. “I want to talk to you about something,” she said.

Her mama narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to give me bad news now, are you? Just because I’ve said you look happy.” She laughed.

Aisha bit back the words. Now wasn’t the right time. She vowed to say them before she left but not before lunch. “I thought I’d go and see Matías this afternoon. He said he’d like to make my wedding rings.”

Mama stirred the pot. “Not this afternoon, Aisha. We are going to the city. I told you at breakfast, but I think you were too dreamy to hear.”

Aisha froze. “No. I can’t.”

Mama jolted and glared at her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. I was just excited to go and talk to him.”

“Maybe you can go when we get back, but there’s a lot to do. Conchita is coming with us. She wants you to help her choose the flowers for her wedding. We have an appointment with the florist at two, and we need to get cloth for the bridesmaids’ dresses.”

Aisha’s heart thundered, and the words descended on a spiralling loop of despair to her stomach. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t think straight. She should tell Mama she was gay and leave now. “I need to—"

“How was Señor Perez?” Mama asked.

“Alive,” Aisha said.

Mama laughed. “Grumpy today, no doubt. He always complains on a Wednesday.”

“Mama, I need to talk to you.”

“Not now, Aisha, please. I need to concentrate on lunch, and then we must get the bus into town. Now, go and find your sister. She’s in the field. We’ll talk later.”

Lunch had been hard to swallow, and the journey into town on the bus had taken forever. Aisha had stared out the window as they’d passed Matías’s workshop hoping for a glimpse of Matías or Gabi, though what good would that do if she couldn’t get a message to Gabi? The ache in her heart deepened as she caught sight of the closed workshop door and the absence of Matías’s van. Conchita’s voice grated on her nerves. She wanted to scream but clenched her jaw instead.

The florist greeted them, orbited by pollen that moved in sync with her movements. She had a red nose and carried a handkerchief in her hand. “Come through,” she said and sniffed into the handkerchief.

Aisha trailed her mama and sister into a darker, cooler room, and inhaled the sweet smell of freesias. Buckets of flowers were scattered around the space, purple asters, deep chocolate cosmos, sunflowers, blue thistles, and white dahlias. The soft, cream-coloured anemone with its dark centre caught her eye. Majestic in its elegance, it was perfect for a wedding.

“Please sit. I will arrange for tea. There are magazines if you’d like to start looking through them. Flowers are listed by availability throughout the year, and there are pictures in case you’re not familiar with them. Yours is a September wedding?”

She looked towards Aisha, and Aisha shook her head and pointed at Conchita.

“A perfect time for many flowers. Now, about that tea.” She left the room.

Conchita picked up a magazine and started leafing through it. “What colours do you think?”

“Everything goes with white,” Aisha said.

Mama smiled. “Some colours go better than others, even with white, Aisha.”

“What’s your favourite colour?” Aisha asked.

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