“No. Two hours is perfect.”
“Great.” Eddie started maneuvering the dinghy back out to sea. “I’ll pick you guys up by the pier. Enjoy the island.” He waved as he took off.
“You ladies know where you’re heading?” Alex asked as we walked down the pier. He gave us a few pointers—highlights of places we might want to see—and then took off for the market. We heard him greet a line of locals having their morning coffee outside the stores and cafes. He told them to get their lazy asses to work. They reacted with wild gestures, some good-natured cursing and hearty guffaws.
Fia and I took the bus to the main village, admiring the rugged slopes, the almond groves, and homes of rust-colored stone. The village itself was a labyrinth of winding streets, terracotta rooftops, and cobbled steps. Courtyards filled with herbs and geraniums. Mulberry trees sheltered taverna tables and the odd bougainvillea waved brightly.
We walked under an archway of flowers, took the tiny steps off an alley, and ended up on the rooftops. The village lay before us, dotted with fountains and little churches. Fia clicked her camera with Oscar-night-like frenzy.
“A couple of frames, huh?” I said.
She laughed as she reviewed an image on her screen. “I can’t stop.”
I leaned back against the wall and watched her. Although she’d grown up with Dolly and Rachel Auntie, she was different. Dolly would’ve freaked at the thought of jumping on a local bus. Rachel Auntie would’ve gotten on the bus, then glared at all the passengers, because surely one of them was going to pounce on her gold chain. Both of them would nag me for not getting a taxi instead. But Fia… She didn’t nag. She didn’t drag. She didn’t fill up silences with endless chatter. She had a relaxed sense of freedom—a lightness that came from not caring if the world saw you or not. Her riot of silver hair added a touch of defiance. She was trim and toned and looked fantastic for her age. I got the impression it was something she did for herself—because she respected her body and made it a priority.
I thought back to the last three months—my quest to lose weight, so I’d feel good enough and confident enough when I saw Nikos again. I could take a few lessons from this lady.
“So, what happened between you and my mother?”
She said nothing for a moment, peering into the viewfinder of her camera as if recalling the landscape of another time. Then she turned around and gave me a half-shrug.
“Life,” she said.
“Was it a guy?” Besties fight. It’s a given. The jealous fight a.k.a “I introduced you to my friend and now you’re spending more time with her.” The “I saw that dress first” fight. The time your bestie hits you where it hurts, then plays the “I’m telling you the harsh truth because I love you” card. Sometimes your bestie hates the guy you’re dating and uses every dirty trick in the book to sabotage your relationship. But the “You hooked up with my dude” fight trumps all. The dude in question could be a crush who has no clue you exist, but as long as your bestie knows it, she’s bound by the Code of Bestie Ethics. The only exception is when you both fawn over the same unattainable celebrities. Mutual fangirling is a powerful bonding experience, but when it crosses over to a real-life crush, the gloves come off. Next thing you know, you’re posting pictures of each other that you both swore you deleted.
Fia fiddled with the dials on her camera. She clicked a photo of me beneath the tumble of roses growing over the walls. “You could say that.” She took a few more shots, nodded at the screen and added, “It was most definitely a guy.”
People’s pasts were fascinating. Scratch the surface deep enough and you’d unearth all kinds of dusty stories. “Was he worth it?”
“I don’t know.” Fia shrugged. “You should ask Dolly.” She slid the camera strap over her shoulder, cross-body style. “It’s all water under the bridge, at least for me. The important thing is being able to look yourself in the eye.”
Okayyy. So apparently it was Dolly who overstepped her turf. With whom? My father? Someone before my father?
We returned to the port on foot instead of taking the bus again. Following one of the trails Alex told us about, we wandered down the hillside to the cheerful, grinning mascot of Kea—a giant stone lion. Legend had it that Kea was once inhabited by water nymphs whose beauty, along with their idyllic green island, provoked the jealousy of the Gods. As this was a recipe for tragedy in ancient Greece, a kerfuffle of epic proportions followed. The Gods sent a lion to chase the nymphs away and destroy the island. All the water disappeared and the plants and trees began to die. A temple was built in honor of the most powerful God—Zeus, who was quite chuffed with this turn of events and sent rain, restoring the island’s beauty. As a bonus, he restrained the lion and left him carved in stone. In another account, the nymphs were real bitches and wreaked havoc on the island, until the lion appeared and chased them away. Either way, the lion sat, smiling cheekily over ancient mysteries as we trekked by on our way to the harbor.
The cafes had their tables set outside for lunch. People sat under wide umbrellas, sharing ouzo andmezedes. We stopped at a shop for souvenirs. It sold everything from cheese and beer to sarongs, snorkeling gear, and furniture. At the back of the store, was a rack full of oddities: curtain fabric with the hooks still attached, a fishing net that looked like it was gnawed through by a rodent, rope flower baskets, a brand-new wedding dress, and two ladies’ swimsuits.
“You throw nothing out on an island,” said Fia, brushing past me to check out the ceramics. “Things are difficult to come by and equally difficult to get rid of.”
I pulled out one of the swimsuits and held it against me. It was a one-piece with thin stripes running vertically—an important detail when you’re trying to look lean and long (as opposed to horizontal stripes that made me look like a round-bottomed flask). The back was a U-shaped dip. The price tag was faded, its edges starting to yellow. It looked like the suit had been hanging on the rack a long, long time, but it had clean, classic lines and was exactly my size.
Come join me. The water’s perfect. Nikos had beckoned from the pool. And then he’d said something about secluded coves and nooks.
I saw myself wearing the swimsuit, laughing and cavorting on a white pebble beach with him. My three-thumbed unicorn.
The important thing is being able to look yourself in the eye. Fia’s words came back to me.
I hovered over the swimsuit. Was I being fair to Nikos? Did I like him forhimor his extra thumb? Was I being fair to myself? I didn’t swim. I was terrified of the water, yet I was contemplating this purchase because it would help me get closer to Nikos. The suit would paint the picture of a fun-loving girl, who had the same fun-loving goals that he did, which included (shudder) diving off a cliff.
If Ma Anga was right and Nikos really was my soul mate, it would just happen, right? Without me trying to mold myself into someone else. I placed the swimsuit back on the rack and walked away.
Fia and I took a table outside one of the fish tavernas. She chugged down a cold beer while I enjoyed an ice-cream. It was barely noon, but the pavements sizzled with hazy heat.
“Is that Alex?” Fia pointed the heel of her bottle toward the beach.
We watched as he dropped his bags and shrugged out of his clothes. He wore a pair of swim shorts underneath, obviously prepared for impromptu dips in the sea. He started running bare-chested—Baywatch-style—toward the water.
Such a show-off.
