“Coming along great,” I lie. “I just have a few more credit cards to pay down, and then I’ll be able to save more each month.”
Everyone else in this family had a trust fund to help with future endeavors.
Mine was spent…
By my dad.
“How much do you still owe?” he asks.
I cringe internally. He asked me the same question last time I was here, and I may have made it sound like it wasn’t as bad as it actually is. And like they were almost paid off.
They aren’t.
Not even close.
There was a lot of shit happening over the summer.
“Better than they were last month,” I say, hoping my smile will soften the blow.
“Three months ago you said they’d be paid off by now.”
I shrug. “They aren’t.”
His expression sags. “I thought you had a plan.”
“I did,” I say, sipping my tea, my gaze hovering above the rim. “But then it was my birthday, and you know Yiayiá would have been mortified if I showed up in something last season in front of all her friends. And I had to get my hair done. Then there are the endless lunches and dinners, and God forbid anything be affordable these days...” I trail off because, well, I guess everything is affordable for Pappoús.
He just shakes his head. “This is why you need to go out with Alexander.” He chuckles at that, and I find it anything but funny.
“I don’t need a man to fix my financial problems. I just need to catch up. I’ve turned down two events this month because I didn’t want to buy a new dress.”
I’m not a complete shitshow with my money. It’s just hard keeping up with the Joneses. Between the world I came from and the one Ipretend to belong to, I either need to make double my income, or do exactly what Pappoús is suggesting andmarry up.
I tried once. Look how that worked out.
Yeah, I know. There’s always the wholelive within your meansbit, but that’s easier said than done. Especially when all your friends and family dwell in Manhattan’s elite social circles.
My pappoús and yiayiá are my dad’s parents. He’s fucked up more than anyone, but Yiayiá will never see it that way. She blames everything on my mamá. The good news? Someone sucks more than I do.
“How bad is it?” he asks, expression grim.
“It’s not terrible,” I say, voice light, lying through my teeth.
“That’s what you said last time, koukla mou. Five thousand? Ten?”
“Um…” I take another sip of tea, buying myself time. “Mhm,” I mumble into my cup.
Why does he always have to guess? It’s always worse than he imagines, but then what am I supposed to do? Tell him his worst-case scenario doesn’t even come close? He thinks ten thousand is an astronomical amount to owe on a credit card. Not because he can’t afford it, but because he can’t stand the idea of paying interest. Meanwhile, Yiayiá probably spends that every month on a few new dresses that end up collecting dust in her closet.
He watches me, brows scrunching together like he’s genuinely disappointed. And the last person I ever want to disappoint is my pappoús.
“Pappoús! Don’t scowl at me.”
“How much, Jordan?”
I sigh, setting my teacup down a little too firmly on the porcelain saucer. “Fine. Closer to twenty,” I admit, wincing internally.
His eyebrows shoot so high, swear to God, they nearly reach his hairline, and I burst out laughing.
