“And meanwhile?”
“Be a human, and go listen to sad love songs. Eat a tub of ice cream, you ηλ?θιος.”
“Don’t call me an idiot.”
“Shoe fits.” She swatted me, and I had to laugh. “And maybe let her take the lead.”
Great. Chelsea’s lead would likely be to shut me out of her life.
The ice cream sounded like a great plan. I seriously considered hiding in my bedroom with a gallon of Rocky Road and marathoning romance movies, but my brother arrived for dinnerwith my nieces and nephew, who ran through the halls while my dad yelled at them to go outside.
Ma and Zoe moved through a complex choreography at the kitchen counter. I wanted to offer to help, but they’d shame me if I tried, so I hunted for the other men, hugging the kids as they tore past.
I found my brother, Nicky, with my uncle and brother-in-law, also named Nick, in the basement at a card table. I pulled up a chair. “Need a fourth?”
Nicky dealt. “Next hand, Bas.”
It was lucky for me he was the older son, since he’d managed to fulfill all his familial expectations. He’d married a Greek woman and knocked out a couple of kids early on. He’d finished college at the top of his class and gone on to med school. He drove a Chevy Tahoe and took his young family to Greece every couple of years. He made me look positively American.
I should have been jealous. Especially since he was kind of a dick, but as the baby, I’d been given a lot of slack. If it meant living with comparisons to Nicky, at least nobody really needed me to walk in his shoes. Not that they’d come right out and say that.
I surveyed the manly scene, a diorama of chest hair and testosterone, and reconsidered offering to help in the kitchen.
“Something bothering you, Bas?” Nicky’s gaze remained intent on his cards. Had I sighed? Or had the gossip reached the man cave?
Theo Kostas grunted, puffing on his cigar.
Here were men with wives they’d probably pissed off more than once, so I took a gamble. “I’m having issues with my—”
Ex-girlfriend? Friend? Ex-friend?
“Lady trouble?” Theo Kostas’s laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “Remember you’re always wrong.”
I shook my head. This had been a bad idea.
“Apologize in person,” Nick said, tossing a chip into the pile. “And do not show up empty-handed.”
“Zoe told me to give her space.”
They all groaned, shooting each other knowing looks, like I’d fallen fresh off the turnip cart.
Nicky laid a hand on my shoulder. “Bring her flowers or jewelry. Women always love something pretty.”
“Definitely flowers,” added Kostas with a wink. “What kind does she like?”
“I—” Shit, I had no idea.
For the next hour until the women called us up to eat, four Greek men sat in a haze of smoke, discussing the merits of roses versus lilies, and for once, I felt a sense of belonging.
Chapter Nineteen
Chelsea
Challenge: Start a gratitude journal
On Monday morning, I called my manager at the coffee shop and asked if they could use an extra hand in the morning. I might as well make money if I had to be in hell. As it happened, they were short-staffed.
I dragged myself in to work where, for the next several hours, I lost myself in taking orders and foaming milk. I tried to find a way to numb the grief that threatened to swamp me.
