CHAPTER 128: Six Weeks

POV: Maya Castellano

The dress fitting took place in a tiny studio nestled in Hayes Valley, a space that was steeped in the scent of fabric and the sweet hint of flowers. It was clear that this was a place where attention to detail was paramount, where every stitch and every fold was taken seriously.

Selene settled into the corner chair, the one where people usually sat to share their thoughts and opinions.

Kofi wasn't there, and Maya had made it pretty clear that she didn't want him to be. Apparently, it was bad luck for him to see the dress before the big day, a tradition that Kofi didn't really believe in, but Maya did, and that was all that mattered. He had tried to argue that it wasn't something he personally observed, but Maya had shut him down, saying that she did observe it, and that was enough for him to respect her wishes.

Maya loved him for that.

She stepped onto the small platform and looked at herself in the three-way mirror while the seamstress worked at the hem.

“Well,” Selene said from the corner.

“Don’t cry,” Maya said immediately.

“I’m not crying.”

“Your face is crying even if your eyes aren’t.”

“It’s a very good dress, Maya.”

“I know,” Maya said. “ That’s why I chose it.” But she looked at herself again, at the version of herself standing in a studio in Hayes Valley about to marry a man who had sat down at her table without asking and changed everything, and felt something move through her chest that was too large to name.

After the fitting they walked to a café nearby and ordered coffee and sat in the afternoon light the way they’d been doing their whole lives, in various configurations, various crises, various ordinary moments.

“Are you nervous,” Selene asked.

“No,” Maya said. Then: “Yes. Not about Kofi but about everything working.”

“Everything will work.”

“You don’t know that.”

Selene thought the foundation's first symposium was a success. "You have a really unique visual identity," she said. "And let's be honest, you handled a tough situation outside your building and still came out on top. If you can get through that, I'm sure you can handle something like a wedding."

Maya wrapped both hands around her cup.

"Kofi's family is coming to visit from Accra," she said. "His mom, two sisters, and an aunt - who, from what I've heard, has a lot to say about just about everything."

“You’ll charm them.”

Maya explained that she usually wins over people who don't have a long history with the groom, but this situation was unique.

"Maya," Selene said, her voice low and encouraging, as she leaned in closer. "Think about it, you walked into a coffee shop, not knowing what to expect, and sat down across from a complete stranger. And then, despite him having all these complicated reasons for being there, you still managed to connect with him, to make him feel something real. You even made him fall in love with you, which is no easy feat. So, if you can handle all that, I'm pretty sure you can handle his aunt, no matter what she's like."

Maya almost smiled and said….

"That was a very specific kind of encouragement."

“I’m a very specific kind of sister.” Selene replied.

Kofi was cooking when Maya got home.

Not simple cooking. The ambitious kind, three things happening on the stove simultaneously, music playing from somewhere, the apartment smelling like something worth coming home to.

He looked up when she came in.

“How was the fitting,” he said.

"Good," she said, a hint of a smile on her face. "You just can't imagine how good it really is."

“I have an imagination.”

"Go ahead, use it," she said, letting her bag fall to the floor as she walked over to lean against the counter beside him. "So, how's the food been today?"

“Twenty minutes,” he said. “ Maybe thirty.”

She observed him as he moved around the kitchen, his actions filled with a sense of calm and focus, like he was completely absorbed in the moment, not trying to hurry or put on a show, just being there.

“Your mother called me today,” she said.

He looked at her.

“She called your phone,” Maya said. “ Not mine. Yours. To ask what flowers I was using for the centerpieces.”

Kofi stirred something carefully. “ What did you tell her?”

“Peonies.”

“She’ll approve,” he said. “ She loves peonies.”

“How do you know that.”

"I just said that's what I was using and asked her opinion on it,"

Maya stared at him.

She spoke slowly, "You called her about the centerpieces I was making."

He wanted to make her feel like she belonged. "I wanted her to feel included," he said, explaining his thoughts. She was traveling a long distance to be there, and I wanted to give her a sense of ownership, to make her feel like some part of it was already hers.

Maya gazed at him as he stood by her stove, in the heart of her kitchen. This was a man who had a knack for designing spaces that flowed with the way people naturally moved through them. And, it seemed, he applied that same philosophy to the way he navigated families, too.

As she made her way across the kitchen, she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pulling him close, and gently pressed her face against his back, giving him a warm hug.

He gently placed one hand over hers, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, while he continued to stir with his other hand, the spoon moving in a slow, rhythmic motion.

“Twenty minutes,” he said again. “ Maybe thirty.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

They were sitting down to eat, and as they were at the table, she turned to him and asked, "So, tell me about your aunt."

He looked up. “ Which one.”

“The one with opinions.”

He smiled, the real one. “ Auntie Grace.”

“What do I need to know?” Maya asked

He warned Maya that she would put her through her paces, but not out of cruelty - it's just her way of showing she cares, a test of endurance for all those close to her."

“She loves me already?”

"He said she would, but only after she had put you through your paces."

“What’s the test?”

He explained that it's not anything specific, but rather about observation. She pays attention to how you interact with others, particularly those who may not be able to offer you anything in return. It's about the way you communicate with people, how you listen to them, and whether you make them feel truly seen and understood, or just simply acknowledged.

Maya was quiet for a moment.

“That sounds familiar,” she said.

He looked at her.

“She raised me,” he said simply.

Maya reached across and took his hand.

"Then I already know what it takes to pass.” She said.