She purses her lips but says nothing more as she poursthe coffee. This is our dance—she hints, I deflect, neither of us addressing the chasm between what she wants for me and what I want for myself.
Demetria makes her entrance, yawning dramatically. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing men’s striped pajamas.
“Coffee,” she moans, making grabby hands toward the machine. “I need coffee or I’ll die.”
“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” I say, sliding my mug toward her before making another for myself.
Demetria takes a long sip, closes her eyes in momentary bliss, then opens them to fix me with a stare. “Your friend Ruby is nice.”
Something in her tone puts me on alert. “Yes, she is.”
“Beautiful too,” she adds, watching me over the rim of her mug.
“I suppose she is.”
My mother places a container of Greek yogurt on the counter, along with honey and walnuts. “She seemed quite comfortable here last night.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “She comes here regularly.”
“Mmm…” My mother’s eyes linger on my face a beat too long.
Demetria divides the yogurt over three small bowls, drowns it in honey, and adds a few walnuts to each. “So,” she says, setting them on the table. “Why didn’t you tell us your neighbor was…” She pauses, glancing at our mother with a teasing smile.
“Was what?” my mother prompts.
“A lesbian,” Demetria finishes, making the word sound both perfectly ordinary and slightly scandalous.
My mother clicks her tongue. “Demetria, please. There’s no need to be so blunt.”
Demetria laughs. “Mom, don’t tell me you’re shocked. It’s not the fifties.”
“Of course I’m not shocked,” my mother replies with dignity. “She’s a lovely woman, and I’m glad you two are friends.” She turns to me. “I’ve never actually met a lesbian before. At least, not that I know of.” She pauses, head tilted. “Do you have many gay friends, Athena?”
I feel heat creeping up my neck, and I take a sip of coffee to buy myself time. Demetria’s gaze is suddenly laser-focused on me, as if she’s seeing something she hadn’t noticed before.
“I—” I clear my throat. “I live in Las Vegas, Mom. Of course I know queer people.”
Non-answer. Safe ground. I’ve become an expert at this evasion, dancing around the truth without ever explicitly lying. It’s not that I’m ashamed—far from it. I’ve been comfortable with my sexuality for decades, but my father, for all his love for me, would never have understood.
And my mother? The woman who still lights candles at church every Sunday, who crosses herself when we pass a cemetery, who believes marriage and children are the ultimate fulfillment of a woman’s purpose? What would she think of me if she knew the truth? I’ve never been brave enough to find out.
THIRTY-SEVEN
RUBY
I stand in Athena’s kitchen, locked in a standoff with twenty pounds of spotted feline attitude. Zeus sits on the countertop, his golden eyes narrowed to slits as he tracks my every movement.
“Listen,” I say, pointing my chopsticks at him. “We’ve talked about this. The counter is off-limits.”
Zeus blinks slowly, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as his way of saying he acknowledges my words but has absolutely no intention of obeying them.
I’m exhausted after a day of back-to-back client meetings, but I’ve been leaving the office earlier this week—worried that Zeus might be lonely despite his apparent disdain for my company. He tolerates my presence at best, but something about his regal solitude tugs at my heart.
“Don’t give me that look,” I mutter, arranging the sushi, sashimi, and miso soup from Nobu onto a plate. “You just had your dinner.”
Zeus stretches languidly, extending one massive paw toward my plate.
“No. Absolutely not.” I move the plate away. “You’vehad premium cat food, which, may I remind you, is imported from Japan and costs a small fortune.”
