Moti on the Water

by Leylah Attar

  I put away my purse and smiled back at Three-Thumbed Nikos.

  Darling, the stories we’re going to tell our children.

  First impressions are important, especially the second time around.

  I planned meticulously for the next time I saw Nikos, including the speed and direction of the wind, so I’d know which way to face to get that sexy, blown-out, Beyonce-on-stage look. Maybe I was overcompensating for not losing all the weight I wanted to. My clothes were creased from the long flight to Athens, but I had the wind situation under control. What I did not anticipate was the yacht.

  Holy Mother of Jet-Set Luxury.

  I shielded my eyes from the Aegean sun as I looked up. It wasn’t just a private, chartered boat but an insanely extravagant mega-yacht with a glistening gold-trimmed superstructure. A line of sweeping portholes suggested an equally impressive interior. In the row of ships moored at the marina, Isabelle and Thomas’s love boat cut a sleek, majestic figure. I was going to be on it for two weeks. With Three-Thumbed Nikos.

  My ship had come in, quite literally. I should’ve been swarming the deck, but I had a moment of hesitation—a panic attack knocking at my door. Maybe it was Ma Anga’s warning about how I would die in the water. Maybe it was my brain’s fear center having a hissy fit because I couldn’t swim. Maybe it was the weight of all the expectations I’d piled onto this one trip that were making it hard to breathe. Or maybe I’d simply inherited Dolly’s uncanny ability to find drama where none existed.

  “Come on, Ma.” I took a deep breath and tugged Dolly up the staircase connecting the yacht to the dock. Yes, an actual teak staircase. No gangway or footbridge to board this baby. Never in my life had I played it so cool while simultaneously freaking out.

  A uniformed blond in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts greeted us. “Welcome aboard the Abigail Rose II. You must be Moti and Dolly. I’m Hannah, your Chief Steward. Anything you need, I’m your go-to person.” She pronounced my name perfectly. She was competent and confident, the kind of person who’d dive into the water after a flailing passenger while simultaneously giving you makeup advice. I liked her right away.

  “We have a barefoot policy on the yacht, so please remove your shoes and deposit them in the basket.” Hannah pointed to a jute basket that already had a pile of shoes in it. “Heels can damage the decks and dirty soles leave scuff marks, but you’re welcome to wear clean socks or light-soled shoes reserved for indoor use.”

  I removed my shoes and accepted the cold towel and drink she offered. Dolly sniffed the lightly perfumed towel before dabbing her face and plopping it back on the tray. She was miffed we’d missed the official meet-and-greet with the crew, as well as the extra three nights in Athens that the rest of the wedding party had arrived earlier for. But since I worked for Joseph Uncle and we were both on this cruise at the same time, two weeks off was the best I could do.

  When Dolly was pissed, she liked to get everyone around her riled up. Seething over something together is more satisfying than silently fuming in your own corner. On the flight to Athens, she declared I must be suffering some sort of chemical imbalance for not being more upset with Isabelle for firing me as her maid of honor. By the time we were flying over England, the diagnosis changed to microdeckia (not playing with a full deck of cards) because I wasn’t livid at being replaced by a hired professional (yes, there is such a thing as maids-of-honor-for-hire—guaranteed not to topple off platforms or choke on water at inopportune times). When she didn’t get the response she wanted, Dolly mumbled something about my genetic makeup and babies switched at birth. Then she fell into a deep, blissful sleep (well, blissful for me).

  She seemed impressed by the opulence of our surroundings as we followed Hannah through the onyx-floored foyer to the elevator.

  “Everyone else is at the safety briefing,” Hannah said. “I’ll show you to your stateroom and we’ll get you up to speed once you’ve settled in.”

  “May I have a look at that?” Dolly pointed to the clipboard Hannah was holding. It had a list of all the passengers and their rooms:

  AFT DECK:

  Cabin One, Owner’s Suite: Kassia and George

  Thomas’s parents.

  Since they had chartered the boat, it was only fair that they get the biggest suite.

  LOWER DECK

  Cabin Two, VIP Suite: Nikos and Thomas

  The best man, a.k.a. my future husband.

  And the groom.

  Cabin Three: Rachel and Joseph

  My aunt and uncle.

  Cabin Four: Naani and Isabelle

  My grandmother and my cousin, the bride.

  Even though Isabelle and Thomas were getting married, sharing a room before they tied the knot was a big no-no. Both sets of parents liked to pretend their kids had never slept together. I guess that’s fair. You don’t want to think about your parents having sex either. Ever.

  Cabin Five: Dolly and Moti (pronounced with a soft ‘t’)

  I smiled at Rachel Auntie’s handwritten note, the reason Hannah pronounced my name correctly.

  Cabin Six: Teri and Sofia

  Teri was the hired maid of honor. I met her at Isabelle’s bridal shower. She was also a professional hair and makeup artist, which worked out great for Isabelle. That left Sofia as the mystery guest Isabelle had been talking about.

  Six cabins, twelve passengers, all paired up and ready to rock and roll (hopefully not in a motion-sickness kind of way). It seemed fittingly symbolic—two cabins for the groom’s side and four cabins for the bride’s side. In other words, Isabelle managed to negotiate double the share. Thomas would do well to heed that ratio when it came to everything else—double the maintenance, double the drama. On the flip side, Thomas managed to hold on to the biggest staterooms for his side of the family, so maybe he wasn’t a complete pushover.

  “Thank you.” Dolly handed the clipboard back to Hannah.

  “You’re welcome,” Hannah replied, as she ushered us into our suite. “One of the deckhands will drop in shortly with your bags. I’ll stop by later to help you unpack and give you a quick tour of the yacht. We’re waiting on a delivery for Isabelle and one of the passengers, Sofia, is yet to arrive. Once they’re here, it’s anchors up!” She mini-hopped out of the room like she couldn’t contain her enthusiasm.

  “Wow.” Help you unpack? Had I known, I would’ve rolled my bras up more carefully.

  I plopped on the sofa and surveyed the cabin. Sliding doors with a private balcony on one side and an en suite bath on the other. We had two twin beds, a wall-mounted TV, a fridge, snack cabinet, and a double closet. The bathroom was just as spacious, with double vanity sinks, a heated towel rack, shower cubicle, toilet, and a soaking tub. Every amenity had been thought of, including an iPad to control the thermostat and entertainment system.

  Dolly lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. “Moti?”

  “Yes, Ma?”

  “I’m sorry for what I said to you on the plane earlier.”

  My heart softened like it always did with the slightest bit of affection from her. “It was a long flight. We were both tired.”

  “So, this Nikos fellow, with the three thumbs. Is he as rich as Thomas?” She turned on her side and faced me. “Can you imagine? My Moti ending up with someone like him? You can’t be your plain, boring self on this trip. Guys like mystery, adventure, someone who’s worth the chase. You should take a few tips from Isabelle. She knows how to play her cards right.”

  All the warmth seeped out of me as my plan to get together with Nikos was twisted into something ugly.

  “I’m not interested in him for his money, Ma. I’m interested in him because he’s the only one I can be with, without feeling like I’m going against your wishes—”

  “Moti!” The door to our cabin flew open and Isabelle swept in. “I’m so glad you’re here. My wedding dress needed alterations and the tailor is here with it, but they won’t let him into the shipyard. Would you mind collecting it from him? He’s waiti
ng on the street. In a silver Toyota Yaris.”

  I wanted to ask what a Toyota Yaris looked like. Instead, I found myself nodding.

  Silver.

  I just had to look for a silver car and a man with a big white dress.

  How hard could it be, right?

  Wrong.

  I located the car, but it was parked on the other side of the street. After three close calls, I realized zebra crossings in Greece were nothing more than a bunch of pretty stripes designed to lure you to your final resting place. I was completely invisible to the drivers and motorcyclists. To make matters worse, I’d rushed out without my shoes and my feet were hopping like popcorn on the hot asphalt. On the plus side, my hippity-hoppity dance got me noticed by a driver who slowed down and stared long enough for me to cross.

  Getting back to the other side of the street with a voluminous wedding dress was even more difficult. I waited for one of the locals to cross and then used him as a human shield. As I made my way back to the yacht, I caught sight of Nikos standing on one of the outside decks. The afternoon sun glinted off his hair as he leaned against the rail. He looked carefree and relaxed, like hanging out on exclusive boats was something he did every day. Wait. He did. At least according to his social media.

  I pushed aside a twinge of insecurity. Maybe I was setting my sights too high? Maybe I really should take some lessons from Isabelle. Three months and a shitload of self-help books don’t fix self-esteem issues.

  There were puddles everywhere, from people power-washing their boats and dinghies. I skirted a big, muddy one around the marina, carefully holding Isabelle’s dress up. My shoulders were starting to ache from the weight, when a guy on a motorbike zoomed past me. I barely had time to register the blur of his yellow helmet before my mouth opened in a silent scream.

  Noooooo.

  Stop. Now slow it down and play it at 50 percent, in that deep, low pitch.

  It’s the kind of sound that pairs well with a slow-motion fall in a movie, like when the hero sees someone about to be shot and takes the perpetrator down. In this case, I saw myself about to be shot. By Isabelle. Because this guy, this idiot, this moron on a motorbike, left a tsunami of dirty water in his wake.

  I gasped the split second before it hit me. I should say us, because at this point, Isabelle’s dress was a living, breathing thing I had to protect. With my life. I huddled over, rolling it up and shielding it with my torso.

  Take me. Take me instead.

  The water hit me like a tail slap from a humpback whale, drenching my clothes, my hair, my face.

  Pit, pat, pit, pat. It fell off as I straightened. It took a few seconds before I could bring myself to look at the wedding dress.

  Oh, Sweet Mother of All That is Holy and Sweet.

  It was still spotless and white beneath the clear plastic bag. The good tailor had the foresight to knot the bag, so it was sealed at both the top and bottom.

  I hugged the dress. The tailor. God. Everyone that needed to be hugged, and set off for the boat again.

  I’m coming, Abigail Rose II.

  Hannah and a couple of the crew members jumped when they saw me—barefoot, drenched, and looking like a zombie rat.

  “Are you okay?” Hannah cried. “What happened?”

  The other two crew members got busy cleaning up the mess I was dripping all over the floor.

  “Can you please dry this off and get it to Isabelle?” I handed Hannah the wet bag with the wedding dress inside it. I would’ve done it myself, but I couldn’t chance Nikos seeing me like this.

  I took the elevator down and peered into the hallway when the doors opened.

  Yes! All clear.

  Tiptoeing to the theme song of The Pink Panther, I was about to step into my suite when I noticed Dolly standing outside one of the other staterooms, her ear pressed to the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shhh. They’re having a big fight.”

  “Who?”

  “Joseph and Rachel and Isabelle. What happened to you? Why are you…” She trailed off as the voices on the other side of the door escalated.

  “Stop eavesdropping, Ma.”

  “It’s not eavesdropping if you can hear it out in the hallway. You missed the whole thing. The shit hit the fan. Big time.”

  I could hear Joseph Uncle and Isabelle shouting. Rachel Auntie was sobbing.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “We were all hanging out in the salon when Joseph said he had a gift for Thomas’s parents. He came back up with a huge heart-shaped box filled with underwear and presented it to George and Kassia. He said it wasn’t much, but it was his way of thanking them for the cruise. Isabelle was utterly humiliated. She was livid Joseph didn’t check with her first. Apparently, she’s been too ashamed to tell Thomas and his parents that her father sells underwear for a living. She said he’s a successful entrepreneur and left it at that.”

  “All my life!” Isabelle was screaming inside. “Laal chadi, pili chadi, neeli chadi.”

  Red panties, yellow panties, blue panties.

  “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of explaining what you do to everyone.”

  “What’s wrong with what I do?” Joseph Uncle said. “Covering your privates is an honorable thing. I’m providing an excellent, humanitarian service, and I make good money doing it. Why should I keep it from anyone? You have no problem walking down the street with bags full of stuff from La Perla. Why is it okay for you but not for me?”

  “Because! It’s not the cheap, polyester stuff you sell, Dad.”

  “Let me set you straight. The cheap, polyester stuff put you through college. The cheap, polyester stuff paid for your car. And your hair. Your nails. Your bags. Your shoes. The cheap, polyester stuff keeps a roof over our heads. And you’re telling me you’re ashamed? Now? Because you’re all set, and you don’t need your father anymore? This is the thanks I get?”

  “You should’ve told me what you planned to do. What are Kassia and George going to do with a bunch of neon thongs? What are they going to think?”

  “If you’re so concerned about what they think, why don’t you just leave me out of it? Why bother inviting me? I didn’t come here to be humiliated by my daughter. In fact, I’m getting off this boat right now.”

  “Joseph!” Rachel Auntie spluttered. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. If she’s so ashamed of me, she can get someone else to walk her down the aisle because I sure as hell won’t be doing it.”

  “You can’t!” cried Isabelle. “You can’t back out now!”

  “Jose—”

  “You.” Joseph Uncle cut Rachel Auntie off. “This is all your fault. Always siding with her, always spoiling her. And now this. She insults me, belittles what I do and you’re still siding with her.”

  “I’m not siding with her. I’m just trying to stop a bad situation from getting worse—”

  “Get out of my way. Both of you. Where’s my bag?”

  “Dad. Stop!”

  “Joseph.” This time there was steel in Rachel Auntie’s voice. “Our daughter is getting married. You are not getting off this boat and neither am I. I know you’re angry, but—”

  “I said get out.” Joseph Uncle swung the door open. Dolly and I took a guilty jump back. He scowled at us and then glared at Isabelle and Rachel until they left the cabin.

  We were all squirming in our skin when he shut the door on our faces. A few awkward beats passed before Rachel Auntie knocked on the door.

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked, when Joseph Uncle cracked the door open a slit.

  “No. But you can go bunk with your darling daughter. I want nothing to do with either of you.” The door clicked shut.

  A moment later, it opened again. “And get rid of this. I got it for you and Thomas, but it’s obviously not wanted.” He thrust a clear, plastic, wedding-ring-shaped tube into Isabelle’s hands and slammed the door. It looked like an inflatable pool ring, filled with matching His
and Hers underwear in black and gold. The ‘diamond’ part was stuffed with personalized accessories—luggage tags with the couple’s initials, a fridge magnet with their photo and wedding date, a handwritten note congratulating them. With love from Mom and Dad.

  Rachel Auntie started crying again.

  “Let’s get you some water.” Dolly steered her into our stateroom. “Just give him some time. He’ll cool off.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening!” Isabelle wailed. I caught a glimpse of Naani as Isabelle walked into their cabin and broke down.

  I stood in the empty hallway, my wet hair still plastered to my forehead.

  Now what?

  I looked right, then left, then right again. All the doors were closed. I could feel them pulsing with their own energy.

  Cabin Three: Joseph Uncle (Raging Red)

  Cabin Four: Naani and Isabelle (Breakdown Black)

  Cabin Five: Dolly and Rachel Auntie (Bawling Blue)

  I don’t know what the colors are for being insignificant or forgotten, but whatever shades were spilling out of me in that empty hallway were inconspicuous and invisible.

  “Moti.” The door to Bawling Blue opened and Dolly peeked out. “Can you get Rachel’s stuff from her room? She’s staying with me. At least until Joseph cools down.”

  I made a sign of the cross before knocking softly on Raging Red.

  No answer.

  I knocked again.

  “What?!” The door remained closed.

  “Uh… Joseph Uncle, it’s Moti. Can I get Rachel Auntie’s things from your room?”

  There was some scuffling. Then Joseph Uncle opened the door and handed me a half-open, hastily stuffed bag. “Tell her she can come in and get the rest when I’m not here.”

  I carted the bag back to Dolly. “Can I come in and change?”

  “Now’s not a good time, Moti.”

  “But where am I supposed to sleep if Rachel Auntie is in our cabin?”

  “It’s a big yacht. I’m sure they can find something for you. Just go ask.”