Yeah. Just my own.
“I won’t get money when my pappoús dies,” I say, grabbing two glasses and filling them with filtered water. “It’ll all go to my aunt.”
“What about your mom?” she asks.
“My mom’s parents died a long time ago,” I say. “My pappoús and yiayiá are my dad’s parents.”
“Really?” she asks, surprised. “Okay. So what about your dad then? Wouldn’t it go to him, too?”
“No,” I say simply.
Sabrina pauses. “Why not?”
I hesitate. I haven’t talked about my dad in years. I don’t tell people about him, but I’ve known Sabrina a long time. I trust her.
I shrug, reaching for my glass. “Because he spent everything that was ever meant for me. And then some.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was an addict,” I say. “Drugs. Gambling. One bad decision stacked on top of the next. Embezzlement. Tax fraud. You name it.”
I pull my salad from the bag, needing something to keep my hands busy. “He went to prison when I was in high school. Blew through his inheritance. My trust fund. We lost everything. All sense of security I once had was gone. Including a lot of my self-respect.”
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “I had no idea.”
“It’s not really something I talk about,” I say lightly, like it doesn’t affect me anymore.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
“No, it’s fine.” I shake my head. “It was a long time ago. I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t trust you. You’re my friend. Honestly, I’m a little surprised it hasn’t come up after all these years.”
Sabrina peels the lid off her chicken bowl. “So where’s your dad now?”
“In Florida.” I stab at my salad. “With his twenty-five-year-old girlfriend. He got out of prison when I was in my late twenties. Started some company with a buddy. Makes a shit ton of money, but spends it like it’s going out of style.”
I may take after my dad in more ways than one.
And that’s always scared me.
“But your mom…” she says carefully. “Doesn’t she live with your grandparents?”
I nod. “Yep. That’s probably the most fucked-up part of it all.” I take a bite, chew, then wash it down with water. “My mamá doesn’t come from money. My yiayiá didn’t like her at first, but my dad has always been rebellious in his own way. After I came along, my mamá won her over. Or maybe I did. But my yiayiá knew if she didn’t take care of us after my dad went to prison, my mamá wouldn’t let her or my pappoús see me. So she moved in with them while I went abroad to finish high school in France. I guess I was sort ofused as leverage.”
I take another bite, swallowing it down as I hear it all out loud.Jesus Christ.It sounds like a daytime television drama. But there’s no point in holding back now. “My mamá and yiayiá cared about appearances and social standing more than anything else. The Greek community had a full-blown heyday with it. It was the juiciest story they’d heard in years. My mamá and dad stayed married to minimize the gossip.”
I take another stab at my salad. “He travels to Florida for”—I make air-quotes—“business.” Except he actually lives there with a revolving door of girlfriends young enough to be my sister. He flies in every once in a while to keep up the charade.”
I shovel in another bite, wiping dressing from the corner of my mouth.
Sabrina just stares at me. “Youcannotbe serious.”
I cock my head. “Right?”
She lets out a low whistle. “That’s some realDesperate Housewivesshit right there.”
“I know.”
“So… do you ever see him?”
