“Shh. Keep it down.” I was hoping it was a happy shriek, the kind that Dolly made when I told her I was going dancing with Nikos.
“Are younuts?” Isabelle nudged me to the back of the bus. “He’ll eat you alive and have your bones for breakfast.”
Okay, so it wasn’t a happy shriek. For as long as I could remember, everyone around me was on a seesaw. If you tried to make one person happy, it sent the other one off-balance. Up down, up down, we went.
“I knew something was going on between you two when I came looking for him last night.” Isabelle spit-whispered in my ear as we took our seats. “Did he kiss you?”
“No, but he would have if you hadn’t interrupted.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I interrupted.” If Isabelle’s forehead wasn’t paralyzed by Botox, it would’ve furrowed. I could only go by the tone of her voice, which was disconcerting. You don’t realize how much you rely on visual cues until they go missing.
I wondered if you could pick different levels when you went in for Botox:
Level 1: High School Reunion. “Doctor, just give me enough to look better than whoever Dylan Jackson is bringing to the event. Because Dylan Jackson has to pay for dumping me, and the sound of his jaw hitting the floor will do nicely, thank you.”
Level 2: The Shining. Reserved for when I have kids. First, get them to watch the movie. Then, a little Botox to get my brows up to Jack Nicholson’s maniacal level. Next, I poke my head through the door like he did and grin at them. “Who’s in charge now, you little shits?”
Level 3: Poker Face. Max me out, so no one can tell what I’m thinking. Tsunami rolling over me or Chris Hemsworth at my door? Same beatific expression.
“Look,” Isabelle said. “All this stuff Dolly Auntie keeps going on about… You don’t believe in all that bullshit, do you? Nikos having an extra thumb is just a coincidence. Dolly Auntie isn’t going to drop dead if you marry someone else.”
“Who’s marrying someone else?” Dolly slid next to Rachel Auntie on the seat in front of us. “What are you two buzzing about?”
“Nothing,” Isabelle and I chimed at the same time. It was a childhood code. One of us could be burying the other in the garden, but if an adult showed up, we played nice until they left.
“What’s wrong with Nikos?” I whispered when Dolly and Rachel Auntie started talking to Teri.
“Nothing,” Isabelle said. “He’s hot, rich, and fabulous. He’ll show you a good time. Agreattime. But don’t go planning a future with him. He’s not about to settle down.”
“Isn’t that what Joseph Uncle said to you about Thomas?”
“Yes. So?”
“So here you are, getting married.”
“It’s not everything it’s cracked up to be, Moti. Every girl thinks that she’ll be the one to tame the player, that she’s the one he’ll change for. If you had any idea how muchI’vehad to change for Thomas…” She looked away and stared out the window.
“All set!” The tour guide clapped as we left the port of Ermoupoli. Pink, white, and ocher buildings cascaded over the hilltops, many crowned by a dazzling church.
I reached for Isabelle’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Is everything okay with you and Thomas?”
She turned to me and smiled. “It is now. I just have to figure out a way to tell Mom and Dad I’ve converted to the Greek Orthodox faith.”
“Youwhat?” My family was mildly Roman Catholic. Mildly, meaning we picked what we liked and ignored the rest. Basically, we were going to hell, with a mild chance of heaven.
“You heard me. Thomas’s parents weren’t ready to accept me until I converted. It’s importantalltheir family is Greek Orthodox, including any children Thomas and I have. And Thomas… Well, it was just easier to go along with it. Although sometimes I wish Thomas stood up for me. Mostly though, I wish I stood up for myself.” Isabelle shrugged and looked out the window again, dabbing the corner of her eye.
“Hey, give Joseph Uncle and Rachel Auntie some credit,” I said. “The only thing that matters to them is that you’re happy. They’ll handle the news just fine.”
“They can’t even handle themselves.” Isabelle sniffed. “They’re still not talking to each other.”
Joseph Uncle’s head bounced a few seats ahead. He was conversing with Thomas and Nikos.
“He won’t even walk me down the aisle,” said Isabelle. “This whole wedding is turning out to be a nightmare.” Isabelle honked her nose, blowing loudly into a tissue. Fortunately, the loud Greek music playing over the speakers drowned out her snot rocket.
“You want?” She unwrapped two triangles of pastry from her bag and offered one to me.
“What is it?” I asked, trying to keep the relief out of my voice. For a second, I’d thought she was passing me her tissue. I’m all for family supporting family, but I wasn’t about to sympathy-sob into Isabelle’s snotty Kleenex.
