So one time, to avoid sitting there like a mute statue, I tried to participate.
I told a girl I liked her scarf.
She literally ran away.
Then started whispering with her friends.
They probably thought I was some kind of pervert.
I just liked the scarf. It hurt my feelings lowkey.
So yeah. Never again. No compliments.
They can compliment each other all they want. I am staying out of it. I walk out of the room and head to the car.
…
We get there in like ten minutes. Not as bad as I expected.
We do not even make it all the way into the chaos and it already smells like food. A lot of food.
Grilled, roasted, fried, everything. There is loud traditional Italian music blasting too which, honestly, is not bad.
It is different. After all these years in Canada, where every corner only plays American pop, my heart kind of needs a little Toto Cutugno screaming through the speakers.
The sky is pink, and thank God it is not unbearably hot today. There is this soft breeze, just enough to cool my skin.
We walk straight into the chaos. There are so many people. Like, an insane amount.
And I like it.
I do not even know why, but suddenly I feel kind of happy. I like being in crowded places.
Too many faces, too much movement. No time to notice what I do. Which means I can relax and have fun.
Do stupid things without feeling like there is a spotlight on me. In front of us there are endless rows of white plastic tables, all covered in half empty plates, crumpled napkins, and abandoned forks.
A complete mess, in a comforting way. Everyone is dancing like crazy. People keep bumping into us by accident as we squeeze through, trying to find a spot.
I almost knock over a whole tower of beer cans.
Wow. That is… a big tower.
The whole place is a disaster, in the best way, that feels like we are in some kind of dance battle.
"There! There is a table! Come on." Daisy grabs my wrist without waiting and pulls me into the mess.
We dodge between dancers and drunk old men singing with their arms around each other, past trays of pasta, clinking bottles, and bursts of laughter.
Someone shoves a glass of limoncello into my hand and I do not even see who it is. When we finally reach the table she spots, I realize it has three chairs and definitely no room for seven people. She turns to me, beaming. "I told you I would find one!"
I stare at the chaos around us.
"Daisy," I say, raising my voice, "are you sure this is a small gathering and not an active fever dream?"
Daisy just grins. "I never said it was asmallgathering."
Right. True. That one is on me.
