28

SOLEIL

I stare at my room which is in quite the state. My cupboards and drawers are thrown open and all my clothes are in a heap on the bed.

To others it may look chaotic, but there's method to my madness.

Judging the mound in comparison to the boxes and my suitcases, I'm going to have to give some of my things away. It so happens that every term I end up with more stuff than I initially came with. I remember my mother, Nandi, telling me that I need to give in order to receive otherwise where would I put all the new stuff if my life was cluttered with the old.

I'm almost done folding and packing when I hear a knock on the door.

"May I come in?"

I recognise the deep baritone of his voice, no need for me to turn around. I'm just surprised that Brice is using the front door instead of appearing out of thin air like he normally does.

Then again it is broad daylight and I have successfully not seen him since we wrote Paper 2.

"Who am I to stop you?" I answer nonchalantly.

"Do you need any help?"

"Nope. I'm almost done."

"What about your work station?"

I knew I was forgetting something.

"The PC needs to go in that box. I'm having that and my chair couriered down tomorrow."

Without me having to ask, Brice unplugs the cables and effortlessly lifts the wide screen monitor packing it and the tower box away. Wow he's strong. I was gonna leave that up to the couriers to sort out.

"Anything else you need help with?"

"Nope. All good." I finish zipping up my bags. "What's left is going in the giveaway box."

I feel myself lifted off the ground when Brice picks me up. I try struggle out of his hold but my attempts are futile.

"You've been avoiding me," he starts, placing me on his lap.

"I was trying to keep things professional."

He laughs quietly, the vibration of his chest sending shivers down my back.

"I'm going to miss this."

Damnit. I'm kinda going to miss seeing him too. I refuse to admit that considering what he said.

I exhale loudly. "I think you're just going to miss playing these games and toying with me."

"Is that what you think?"

I raise a brow in question daring him to prove me otherwise.

When he leans in for a kiss, I pull back knowing he's a tease. I'm not that silly girl that once pined over him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just not that into you."

"Meaning?" he grinds out.

"They're six words Brice. You never needed help in English."

"What's with the cold shoulder treatment?"

"We both know what this is and what it's not. Let's not pretend otherwise."

We look into each other's eyes - grey to brown - with neither of us willing to back down. Can he read my mind?

Jou ma se poes, I think but he doesn't blink.

You smell like salt water and shit, I try again.

Nothing.

Good.

At least my thoughts are still private even though my dreams and memories can be tapped into.

"How are you going home?"

"Driving down."

"By yourself?"

I shake my head not wanting to think too deeply about the crease that furrows his brow.

"Who's driving you?" he continues.

"My gran sent her driver."

He squeezes my waist a little tighter but doesn't say anything else. I hear my phone ringing which breaks me out of the brief spell he casts with those hypnotic eyes. I attempt to get off his lap but he won't allow it with his vice-like grip.

"Brice, that's probably him."

He finally lets go and I get up heading over to my phone stationed at my work desk.

"Hi. Yes. I'm coming down."

I move over to my luggage and turn it the right way up preparing to drag it down the steps since I live on the top floor. Its going to be much easier rolling them down than it was bringing them up. Brice takes the handles out of my hands.

"I'll take these. You worry about your handbag," he smirks. I roll my eyes and turn round. "Wait." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a green roll of $100 bills. "You're welcome to count."

I shake my head because I don't want to waste anymore time. He's throwing me off my cleanse by being so... considerate. I doubt he decided to rob me considering what he's put me through these past weeks plus he's not just Milton rich. He's royalty rich.

I pass the halls of Hadeda House for the last time with a little sadness. This place has been my home for the past five years . I'm going to miss it. I wave for the last time to the few girls left in the dorms. We already said our goodbyes last night. Those with their parents helping them pack have me feeling sad for other reasons.

I lead the way to the Ranger I recognise as my gran's. The driver quickly gets out to assist.

"Miss Spellman, it's good to see you again. Ready to go?" he asks.

"Hey Thabo! Good to see you too and yes, I am."

"I assume those are your bags?"

He eyes Brice behind me who still has my luggage in hand.

"Yeah," I turn around and acknowledge Brice for the last time until MD. Unless he decides to show up in my bedroom back home in Durbs. I should hope not. "Thanks for the help," I say diplomatically.

"Not a problem."

I turn around, about to get in when he pulls me back.

"You'll let me know when you arrive."

I don't want to commit to anything verbally so I bob my head in strange directions. When Thabo's done loading my luggage in back, he climbs into the driver's seat and I follow suit riding shot gun.

He's in his late twenties and chill to chat with always filling me in on what I've missed especially my gran's antics.

I try not to but end up looking in the sideview mirror to find Brice staring back. As we pull away, I watch his figure recede until he is out of sight.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

***

We pull up to the beach house in Umhlanga and a moment later Aunt Michelle runs out dressed in an old t shirt, black leggings, and a doek followed by my gran in an old dress, apron and also a doek.

I jump out of the car and run into their waiting arms. We share a group hug. It's hard to believe, but this is my entire family. Gramps is dead, my parents are dead, and Michele is happily single or so she claims.

"Ngijabulile! My girls back!" I'm so happy. Gogo shakes us from side to side with a strength you wouldn't expect.

"I'm happy to be back and see you both!"

I'm cheesing so hard right now but I guess that doesn't hide the question in my eyes over why they're dressed like that.

"Your grandmother fired the cleaning staff."

"Huh ah, Ntombi. Imagine they were charging me so much only for me to move the couch and... dust. They were just cleaning on top not even bothering to get inside. Angifuni those lazy people. They're lucky I'm not on Hello Bobza." I don't want.

"It's Hello Peter, Ma and I'm sure you could have called the agency to complain and they would have rectified it."

"Angifuni abantu wathanda mali but they don't like to work. My mother, you grandmother, was a cleaner and she taught me how to do a good job. From top to bottom. Every nook and cranny. I cant with these Generation S." I don't want people who like money.

"Generation S?" I question.

"This generation of Spugupugus!" Imbeciles.

I chuckle at that.

"I don't think that exists or if works like that Ma," Michelle counters.

"Well I'm making it work."

"And you're making me work when I'm supposed to be on holiday," my aunt whines like a child as if she is not a corporate exec.

"We're working together. We're bonding. Three generations of women." She lifts both of our hands up in triumph and leads us inside. "I spoiled you girls too much. In the end, I'll have peace of mind knowing that I educated you and taught you how to keep your home!"

"I had to cut my acrylics!" Michelle holds up her hands with her haphazard looking nails.

I can't help it.

I burst out laughing. Her face is so sour it's hilarious. She lives in pencil skirts and heels.

"Go change into something you don't mind getting dirty, nana. We're starting at the top with your room so you can settle in without that dust giving you allergies."

"Yes Gogo," I obediently reply looking forward to her stories.

I don't mind the physical labour. Or so I thought.

***

I stand on the podium with one of the dresses I pulled off the rack for MD. After an exhausting day cleaning our two storey beach house Michelle broke the bad news to me. Turns out Gavin Rajah and David Thlale were both out of country.

My backup Gert Johann Coetzee had no available dresses thanks to the orders he garnered after the Durban July and being a couple of months away from The Met.

I try be proudly South African and this is what I get.

We were now at GG which is Gugu Gombela's studio. She was an up and coming designer who had worked for all three of my favourite designers and was planning to debut her collection at the SA Fashion Week the following year. She came highly recommended by Michelle.

The black number I have one is daring but sophisticated. The top is a sheer corset which is a bit tight. The bottom is asymmetrically cut with a long tail.

"Hawu! Why are you so exposed?" My gran comments, taking another sip of her juice.

"It's not my skin Gogo. It's the material that gives that illusion," I counter.

"That leg I'm seeing is no illusion. No."

I stick my leg out and granted the slit is dangerously high. It's cut right to my hip. I get down and go try another.

I climb up the podium again this time in a white and gold number. The top consists of long, white, bell sleeves that dip into my cleavage. The rest of the dress from the waist down is form fitted with gold sequins and beading.

"Yoh! Yoh! Yoh!" Gogo starts putting her glass down. "So you want my child to go out with her breasts hanging just like that?"

"Ma she barely has any breasts. I think it's a good option." Michelle comes to my defense.

"Hayi. I'm not convinced. Try another one Soli."

I try on the next one which my gran picked out. It's a white, long sleeved, mermaid dress that doesn't expose anything other than my shape.

"Wow! This one's nice mtwana yami! " My child.

"You did choose it Gogo," I say, not too convinced about it.

"It looks like a wedding dress," comments Michelle taking a sip of her wine.

Come to think of it, it does.

"Yeah, I think white is for wedding dresses and Debs ball. I don't want to wear white for MD," I add.

I spend the next hour trying on dresses that are either not to my taste or my grandmother finds fault in.

My aunt has relegated herself to sipping on the complementary wine and chosen not to comment after my gran asked if she wants me to go out looking like a hussy since she kept defending my risque tastes.

I return to the changing room for the umpteenth time and flop onto the couch feeling defeated. Nothing seems to be working with my outfit. First it was the designers now it's the cut or material.

If Gogo wasn't here fussing over everything, I would have chosen something already. But I love her too much to think like that. She's old and I can't imagine the day...

I sigh in exhaustion.

The door opens and closes. Michelle appears in view above me with what looks like her third glass in hand.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"My tired is tired."

"I know. Ma has always been conservative. When your mom and I went to Milton in Grade 8 our skirts were allowed to be four fingers above the knee. You gran had us wearing skirts that were four fingers above the ankle."

I laugh so hard I have to sit up when I start choking on my spit.

I guzzle the semi-sweet liquid Michelle hands me to quell my throat.

"Alright, that's enough," she snatches the glass back. "I don't need your gran asking me if I'm trying to make you a drunk."

I laugh again. The dynamic between the two is funny to watch and gives me insight into what my mother went through growing up. Ntombi is her twin and the strongest link I have left to her.

"Gugu, where's your show stopper?"

"My what?" Gugu adjusts her glasses.

She's been quiet the entire time.

"You know, the dress you plan to send down the runway at the end of your show."

Gugu rubs her neck nervously. Poor thing has heard nothing but complaints about her gowns from Gogo.

"It's not ready."

"Can we see it though?" Michelle continues.

"I don't think it's quite what Soleil was looking for."

"Cummon girl, I know you're holding out on me. Don't let my mom get to you." Michelle rubs gugu's back encouragingly, "You know she was born in a different time. Go get it," she encourages pushing her out the door.

Gugu walks back in a few minutes later with a black bag draped over her arm. When she unzips it, I can see the shimmering sparkles of what I soon learn are crystals.

It's exquisite.

I'm scared to even touch it.

"May she try it?" asks Michelle on my behalf.

Gugu nods, helping me slip it on.

I'm in love.

This is it.

"MA! MAMA!" Michelle shouts like a banshee.

"Why are you screaming in other people's place of business? No wonder your boss is always complaining."

Michelle swallows down her retort by tossing the rest of her glass back.

"Look!"

"Modimo!" Gogo gasps. "It's wonderful! Do you like it nana?"

I nod, still speechless.

I think I found the one.

04 | 07 | 2023 |

WC: 2 374

This one's a bit late. I lost my first draft and stared off into space in disbelief when I found myself looking at a blank page. Add to that wattpad saving  I dont know how many iterations but not publishing 😭

I'm dedicating this one to the seniors/matrics going to MD/prom as well as my unsolicited yet gracious accountability partner eringreat11

for being more of a

nudge-nudge

wink-wink

kind of a person when I probably need a boot up the ass 🙆‍♀️

Who's your favourite designer?

I knew there were people balling in a different league when one girl ordered Louboutins and another had David Thlale make her dress. Like what?!

This was a while back but still. What?!

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