side of the kitchen. “Go and get a job, then you can buy your own car.”
“Eish,” Dumisane muttered, his shoulders slumped. “Fine. Can I at least borrow some money?”
Melody shook her head. “Didn’t I give you R200 last week?”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “Lolo, that isn’t money.”
“So how much do you want this time? Should I clean out my account?” But she was already reaching into her handbag, fishing out a crisp R200 note. “That’s all you’re getting.”
“Thanks.” Her brother snatched the money from her hand and was out of the house before anyone could say another word to him.
Melody sighed and turned to her mother.
“He’s so ungrateful,” complained Connie, her face marred by a scowl.
“He’s a teenager,” Melody reminded her. “We were all like that once.” She frowned at the groceries laid out on the counter. “Did I get everything? It looks like I forgot the milk.”
“Lolo, you don’t have to buy us groceries every month,” her mother said softly. “I’m still working, you know. I can take care of things. And aren’t you supposed to be redoing your flat?”
“I am, but . . .” Melody caught herself just in time before saying, You can’t support yourself and cater for Dumisane’s lavish tastes on a primary school teacher’s salary. Then she continued out loud, “I don’t want you to struggle. Anyway, I have a good job. I can afford to help out.”
Connie smiled and gave her a hug. “You’re such a good girl.” She pulled back and fingered Melody’s freshly cut hair. “That’s why I can forgive you for cutting your hair like those American girls. What do your bosses say when you show up at work looking like one of those R&B singers?”
Melody had to refrain from rolling her eyes. “Mama, don’t start. You know I have no patience with long hair.” She had a brief mental picture of herself with a long weave and the man she had seen in the restaurant running his fingers through it.
She bit her lip; this wasn’t the most appropriate time to be fantasising. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the previous night, and her thoughts always involved physical contact. Behave! she chided herself, turning her attention back to her mother.
“Maybe I’m too old to understand these things,” Connie was saying. “Like your brother. I don’t even try to understand him any more.”
“Mama . . .” Melody put an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a kid; he’ll grow out of it. He’s just going through a phase, like I did.”
“You weren’t this much trouble, Lolo. I always knew where you were at night.”
“Boys are more difficult,” said Melody in a tone that claimed authority she didn’t have. “Let’s not talk about Dumisane for now. I bought lots of eggs and flour, and I don’t have to be back in the city until later. I thought we could bake, just the two of us. How about that?”
Connie smiled. “As long as we’re following my recipes.”
Melody held up her hands in surrender, glad to be able to take her mother’s mind off her worries for a few hours. “It’s your kitchen, Mama. You’re the boss.”
* * *
By the time Melody drove back into town, it was nearly 9pm. She had a huge Tupperware container of biscuits on the back seat. After all that baking, she knew she would be too tired to cook when she got to her flat in Observatory. As she drove through town, she considered her options. Chicken? No, I had chicken the other day. Maybe some seafood? Her stomach churned. Nope, seafood won’t do it. I need something greasy. With cheese. She smiled. Pizza it is.
She pulled up outside the nearest mall and got out of the car, her stomach growling in anticipation. The pizzeria was packed, as usual, and she found herself in line behind a tall man with broad shoulders. She could barely see past him. Inching closer, she tried to get a good look at the menu. The man in front took a step backwards, the heel of his shoe landing on her foot.
Melody yelped and jumped back, almost losing her balance. The man whirled around and grabbed her arm to steady her.
“I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”
He certainly sounded sorry. Melody raised her gaze to his face and her eyes widened in recognition. He was the hot guy from the restaurant, the one who had starred in her fantasies for the past twenty-four hours. Suddenly she felt flustered and nervous. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“I’m afraid that’s what happens when you have feet as big as mine,” he said apologetically, flashing a contrite grin. His teeth were just a little crooked and his smile was slightly lopsided, which only made it more appealing. His body was no less impressive: well built and powerful-looking. He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular arms, blue jeans that fitted just right and spotless tackies at least twice as expensive as her brother’s.
Melody forced her gaze back to his face. “Uhm, no problem. I shouldn’t have stood so close anyway. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Hunger does strange things to people.” He smiled again, and Melody felt her knees buckle.
The man pointed at the menu and said something, but she was too busy staring at him to pay attention.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I’m way too tired to be talking to someone this good-looking, she thought miserably. I’m probably a mess! Where’s that full-length mirror when you need it?
“I was just saying they have a special,” the man said. “Buy any large pizza with two extras and get a small one free.”
Melody ran a hand down the back of her head, hoping she didn’t look as tired as she felt. “They’ve probably increased the regular prices to make up for that.”
The man laughed. “And I thought they were being nice,” he teased. “What are you having? I’ll order for both of us.”
“Thanks, a small chicken and mushroom for me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Small?”
“I’ll be eating it alone,” she explained.
He grinned, suddenly looking very pleased, then leaned towards the counter and placed the order.
Melody fumbled in her bag and fished out a R50 note.
“It’s okay. I’ve got it,” he said, pushing her hand away gently.
“Oh no, that’s really not necessary,” she protested. “Please take the money.”
He shook his head. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad manners to refuse a gift? Come on, let’s have a seat while we wait.” He led her away from the counter.
Melody didn’t know whether to be grateful or feel put out. Grateful, probably, but she couldn’t help it; she liked to pay for her own things. That was the whole point of being independent.
