A strange expression crossed his face. “You think I was born middle-aged and responsible?” He shook his head. “Son, at your age, I was worse.”
I blinked in surprise. “That’s not possible.”
“Ask your grandmother sometime about the sailboat incident,” he said, a rare smile touching his lips. “The coast guard still tells that story.”
Before I could process this revelation, he was speaking into his phone, arranging for the doctor to come to the house. After hanging up, he met my eyes directly, man to man rather than father to son.
“The difference between us isn’t that I never made mistakes,” he said. “It’s that becoming a widower and single father overnight forced me to grow up. I couldn’t risk my lifestyle costing me the chance to see my son grow up.”
For a fleeting moment, I glimpsed the man my father might have been before responsibility and loss reshaped him. It was like looking at my own possible future, an echo of myself after tragedy had stripped away the recklessness.
But I wasn’t ready to be that man yet. Not when Tia’s lips still needed kissing, not when revenge against Katalina still burned in my veins. Not when the road still called to me with its endless possibilities for speed and escape.
I touched the bandage on my forehead, suddenly impatient for the weekend. For Yiayia’s party. For seeing Tia again.
3
I turned in front of the mirror, smoothing the teal dress over my hips. “Okay... be honest,” I said, glancing at Kat, who was sprawled across her four-poster like a bored queen, scrolling social media.
She was dressed in a thin-strapped black silk dress that clung to her slender frame. Her long blonde hair fell in loose, perfect curls around her shoulders, and her makeup emphasized her high cheekbones and made her blue eyes seem even more striking against her tan.
She didn’t even look up. Just went, “Cute,” and kept scrolling.
“That’s it?” I asked, half-laughing, half-panicking.
She looked up again with an exaggerated sigh. “Theé, Tia, chill. It’s not like anyone’s going to be looking at you, anyway.” She tossed her phone onto a silk pillow and stood, smoothing her dress over her flat stomach. “Greek men are very particular about the women they pursue. They prefer the blonde, lean look. Trust me.”
Another reminder of why I’d already decided this friendship had an expiration date. Two weeks.
Just two more weeks of these subtle jabs, these constant reminders that in Kat’s world, I would always be the supporting character to her leading role. Then I’d be back in the U.S., job hunting, and Kat would become nothing more than an occasional social media update I could easily scroll past.
Her eyes flicked over my curves again, lingering on my hips. “You should be grateful. You can just relax and enjoy the party without being hounded by guys all night. Must be nice, honestly.”
The slight curl of her lip told me everything her words didn’t. I smoothed my hand over the fabric of my dress, which I truly liked until about three seconds ago, and swallowed the urge to go and rummage through my suitcase for a tent. Or maybe a burka.
I glanced at my reflection. Yep, still rocking the hips that four years of college volleyball couldn’t slim down and the chest that makes buying button-ups a total nightmare. Not exactly fashion magazine material.
Then the quiet voice that had gotten me through hospital stays, my father’s abandonment, and through college, countered Kat’s assessment. I’d designed buildings professors had praised. I’d graduated with honors. My body, regardless of its shape, had been strong enough to drag a grown man from a wreck just days ago.
Kat’s comments weren’t about me at all. They were the foundation for a world where her appearance was currency, where she could dismiss me to feel more secure.
I straightened my shoulders. This dress fit me well. It complemented my skin tone, and I looked good. Period.
“Don’t overthink it,” Kat added, her voice softening in a way that somehow made it worse. “I’m trying to help. Besides, you’ll be able to enjoy the food without worrying about impressing anyone. The baklava is to die for.” She patted her flat stomach. “I’ll be having the cucumber salad, of course.”
Katalina had been more Tammy’s friend than mine. We’d been an untidy threesome of friends until Tammy had OD’d.
Every single day, I missed Tammy. I knew Tammy would have told me I looked gorgeous, would have exclaimed, “Curves for days!”
Tammy had died the day after the three of us had booked our tickets to Greece for a post-graduation trip to Kat’s homeland. We’d all been excited, planning beach days and island hoppingadventures. Her sudden death had left me reeling, and somehow I’d ended up here, in this lavish bedroom, with a friend who wasn’t really a friend, preparing for a party where I wouldn’t fit in, according to Kat.
Maybe Kat was right about Greek men’s preferences, and if so, that was fine by me. After all, I hadn’t come to Greece looking for love or Greek men’s approval.
I came to Greece to geek out over buildings that basically invented Western architecture, to keep a promise to Tammy, and to prove I could adult without my mom hovering nearby. Not to impress random Greek guys.
Kat sidled in next to me so she could get a good look at herself in the mirror. “I’m getting married,” she said.
What now?
