by Leylah Attar
“Yes, fine.” I was impressed by the conviction in my tone, considering I was crawling on my hands and knees behind the bar at this point. “Just looking for my earring.”
“Need any hel—”
“No. Nope. All good.” I coughed. “Found it. See?” I got up and held a tiny, invisible speck before him.
He raised an eyebrow, also known as the universal symbol for skepticism. I’m pretty sure people who can lift one eyebrow spend hours practicing it in front of the mirror, waiting for the opportunity to look all superior and shit: Oh really? You think you can fool someone who can do THIS?
I went for the hands-on-hips stance. Oh yeah? I see your eyebrow cock and I raise you something that makes my arms look like two pot handles.
I held it until I remembered I was supposed to be holding an earring. “Well then… I best be off.”
Alex didn’t budge. He moved closer, so close that I felt his warm exhale on my skin. It tripped a network of electric goose bumps and sent my heart racing until I realized that he wasn’t overwhelmed by the sudden, irresistible urge to kiss me. He was reaching for something on the bar top.
“Hold still.” He wiped my cheek with a napkin. It came away with a dark smudge. He wiped the other cheek and stepped back.
“Oh.” My pulse was still high, cheeks flushed, but at least I didn’t have raccoon eyes from runny mascara. “I was just…” I pointed to the stained napkin. I was just choking on a piece of crostini and missed the tears streaming down my face. But it was humiliating to explain that to someone who’d mastered the eyebrow cock, so I mumbled a thanks and dashed back to Nikos.
Damn.
Competition.
He was talking to Teri, the hired maid of honor. A perky little thing with big eyes that belonged to an anime character. Of course, her hair and makeup were flawless, given that she was a professional hair and makeup artist.
Rachel Auntie and Joseph Uncle were chatting amicably with Thomas’s parents.
“Did they make up?” I took the seat next to Dolly.
“Oh, they had a fight too?” A spark of excitement flared in Dolly’s eyes as she observed Kassia and George.
“Not them.” Although I was pretty sure Thomas’s parents must’ve had a good chin wag over the unexpected abundance of thongs in their stateroom. “Them.”
“Rachel and Joseph? No, they’re still not speaking to each other.”
Boy, did they know how to put on a show. Joseph Uncle had his arm wrapped around Rachel Auntie and she was resting one hand on his knee. If I hadn’t witnessed their blowout myself, I’d think they were the coziest couple on board.
“Where’s Naani?” I asked.
“You know how she likes to sleep early. She had dinner served in her cabin. I wish this Sofia person would hurry up. I don’t want to fill up on appetizers.” Dolly picked up another one from the platter. It looked like avocado mousse, topped with spirals of vibrant beets and carrots. “Delicious,” she said.
Weird, because Dolly hated avocado.
“You know she’s a photographer?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Sofia.” Dolly reached for another appetizer. “I still have to meet her. Apparently, she’s the reason we got off to a late start. She had to get some adapters for her equipment.”
“Huh.” It was more of a response to the way Teri was giggling at whatever Nikos had said.
I shot her a poison-dipped glare—standard protocol when you catch a girl flirting with your man who isn’t quite your man yet.
She lifted a hand to brush the hair away from her face and that’s when I saw the gold band around her finger. Teri was married.
My poison-dipped glare retracted into a bubble of relief as Nikos caught my eye and shot me a smile.
That’s right, baby. Your happiness is sitting right here.
I smiled back and crossed my legs, angling them just so. My varnished toes peeked out from under my maxi dress. I was going for the sexy-but-subtle vibe.
It seemed to work because Nikos excused himself and started coming over.
Oh hey, now. I took a lightning-quick survey as he approached.
No water, crostini, or other hazardous items in my mouth? Check.
Boobs up, tummy in, shoulders back? Check.
Windshield-wiper tongue over teeth. No lipstick or food particles lodged in-between? Check.
I wanted to half-rise, but I kept my cool.
“So sorry to keep everyone waiting.” A lady’s voice interrupted the epic moment when Nikos and I were about to reconnect.
“Fia.” Isabelle got up and embraced the tall, dusky woman. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my godmother, Sofia. She traveled all the way from India for the wedding.”
As Isabelle introduced her to Thomas’s parents, Dolly gripped my arm.
“Fia,” she said, in a half-horrified, half-glorified whisper. “It’s Fia.”
“You know her?”
“From when we were kids in India.”
“That’s great, Ma,” I replied. But apparently it wasn’t, because Dolly’s death grip was cutting off my blood supply and she was acting like a skipper who had just spotted a great white shark circling her boat.
Hannah appeared before the group. “Since we’re all here, dinner is served.” She sounded a miniature gong for effect.
Dolly let go of my arm.
“Time to eat, Ma.”
No response.
I turned to her. “Ma?”
But Dolly wasn’t there.
Dolly wasn’t to my right, and Dolly wasn’t to my left.
Oh shit. I closed my eyes a split second before all hell broke loose.
We lay her on the couch with a cushion under her legs.
“Does she have any medical conditions?”
“Poor thing. It’s probably jet lag. The time difference always gets to me.”
“Dolly? Can you hear me?”
“Is she diabetic?”
“Any heart problems?”
“Dolly, open your eyes.”
“Everybody, just…” My voice rose over everyone else’s. “Give her a minute. It happens to her once in a while. She’ll be fine.” I knelt beside my mother and rubbed her palm.
“Yes, let’s not crowd around. Give her some room.” Rachel Auntie came through with reinforcements. “Hannah, you can get dinner started. Moti and I will look after Dolly.”
After a few reassurances, everyone moved to the dining table, concerned but satisfied that Rachel Auntie and I knew what we were doing.
“I think she’s really out this time,” I whispered.
Dolly’s face was pale and her forehead was dotted with a faint sheen of sweat.
Rachel Auntie wasn’t convinced. “Come on, Dolly, that’s enough.”
“Her hand is limp,” I said.
“Let me see.”
We exchanged a look. Either Dolly was getting really good at it, or we had a real case of the faints this time.
“What happened?” Rachel Auntie asked.
“Nothing. She started acting weird when she saw Sofia.”
“God. Not this again. Dolly.” Rachel Auntie pried Dolly’s eye open. “Dolly, wake up.” As if she’d be able to hear better with one eyeball exposed.
“What’s the deal with her and Sofia?” Having a conversation with one of Dolly’s eyes bulging at us was weird. I nudged Rachel Auntie’s hand away.
“No one knows.” Rachel Auntie sighed. “One minute they’re best friends. Inseparable. Can’t live without each other. And the next, they hate each other’s guts.”
“Unghhh.” Dolly’s head turned toward us.
“Oh, thank God.” Rachel Auntie kissed the cross around her neck.
“Rachel?” My mother’s voice was soft and weak.
“Yes, Dolly. I’m here.”
“You fucking cunt.”
Rachel Auntie gasped. In all my life, I’d never heard my mother use that word.
“How could you invite Fia to the
wedding?” Dolly was coming around fast because she had a tight grip around her sister’s lace collar, pulling them nose to nose.
“Ma!” I tried to pry her fingers away.
“You stay out of it,” Dolly hissed.
“Everything okay over there?” Thomas’s father’s voice boomed from the dining table.
“Yes, George. Dolly’s come around. She’s feeling much better.” Rachel Auntie’s voice was smooth and cheerful, but in the next instant, it turned into a harsh whisper. “Let go of me, Dolly. What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You know I haven’t talked to Fia in ages.” A scuffle ensued as Dolly and Rachel slapped each other’s hands away. This time, it was Joseph Uncle who interrupted.
“Need any help getting her up?”
“No, no.” Dolly chuckled, letting go of Rachel Auntie’s neck. “I’m fine. See?” She propped herself up and gave everyone a queenly wave. “Just need a moment, that’s all.” She waited until everyone went back to their salads.
“I’m. Never. Talking. To. You. Again.” She accented each word by jabbing Rachel Auntie in the chest.
Great. Joseph Uncle wasn’t talking to Rachel Auntie and Isabelle. And now Rachel Auntie and my mother were going on strike. I stood with my back to the dining table. We were far enough away that no one could hear what was going on, but no way could I shield everyone from what was about to go down between the sisters.
“Dolly, I had no idea you still felt this way.” Thankfully, Rachel Auntie’s tone was reconciliatory. “It’s been years, and besides, it wasn’t my call. It was Isabelle’s. She needed a photographer for the wedding and with Fia being her godmother, things just fell into place.”
“How long has Fia been a photographer?”
“It’s what she does. When was the last time you talked to her?”
Dolly shook her head, the fight seeping out of her. “I wish you’d told me.”
Her vulnerability caught me off-guard—a sad softness I rarely saw. At some point in my life, I’d started thinking of my mother as Dolly. I still called her Ma, but she was always Dolly in my head. When I thought of the word mother, I thought of someone you could go to when you were hurt or hungry or sad or lonely. Someone who loved, nurtured, and cared about you. I didn’t know what Dolly expected of me, but I never seemed to make her happy. Something was broken in our relationship and I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. I wanted her to be somebody else, and she wanted me to be somebody else.
I sat and picked up a pack of playing cards from the side table. Still in their box, they were crisp, clean, and in perfect order.
As Dolly and Rachel Auntie made up in hushed tones, I shuffled the deck and picked a card.
Queen of Diamonds.
I returned it to the deck and picked another card.
Three of Spades.
Better. The Three of Spades was exactly what I needed, given the shit-shoveling day I was having:
1) Getting splashed by some moron on a NASA-fueled motorbike.
2) Losing my room.
3) Choking in front of Nikos. Again.
4) Having Dolly faint. For real.
Wait. That was four. But I liked three. Three was odd. Three was the number haunting my life. Three was the number of thumbs I looked for. Three was me.
I slipped the Three of Spades into my dress pocket.
“Are you feeling well enough to eat?” Hannah asked Dolly. “Or should I have the chef prepare something light for you?”
“I’m fine. I’ll have what everyone else is having.” Dolly rose and smoothed her hair. “Come, Rachel.” She held her hand out and they walked to the table as if they hadn’t just been clawing at each other like wildcats.
Family. I smiled and followed, taking the only empty seat remaining—across from Fia. Whatever the animosity between her and Dolly, it didn’t extend to me because Fia smiled warmly and introduced herself.
“Pan-fried Barbounia and Naxian potatoes on a bed of wilted greens,” Hannah said, as she placed a gold-rimmed plate before Thomas’s mother.
I had no idea what Barbounia was—it sounded like a harpoon-wielding pirate who shouldn’t be allowed on board. But the way Kassia beamed, I couldn’t wait for mine.
“Is mine gluten-free?” Isabelle asked.
“It certainly is,” Hannah replied, serving the rest of the table.
“I asked for organic,” said Nikos.
“All your preferences have been taken into account,” Hannah said. “Enjoy.”
I was looking forward to my first real meal of the day. Prepared to order by an executive chef. On a private yacht. If the appetizers were anything to go by, I was in for a real treat. My anticipation turned into disbelief, then shock, then downright despair as everyone started digging in. I stared at the beautifully presented dish before me and gagged. Three small, red-skinned fish, their tails pinched together stared back at me. Atop a pyramid of three potatoes. Three was turning out to be the theme for the evening.
“Hannah?” I called. “Could I have a word with the chef, please?”
“He’s busy preparing the next course, but I can relay your message.”
“Maybe I can send a note?” It seemed like the more diplomatic thing to do.
“Sure.” Hannah handed me a pen and notepad. The table seemed eerily quiet. I looked up, expecting all eyes on me, but they were all focused on their dinner.
No fish heads, sheep heads or any heads, I wrote. Or tails. Could you please substitute something else? I also requested no potatoes.
Hannah left with my note, and I wondered what could’ve gone wrong. Alex had reeled off my likes and dislikes as if he knew them inside out. Isabelle had her gluten-free meal. Nikos was enjoying his organic stuff. How could Alex have forgotten my preferences in the span of a few short hours? I could just shut my trap and eat the greens, but this was not a onetime thing. The only meals I was going to get for the next two weeks would be prepared by Alex. If he thought I was acting spoiled and entitled, so be it. Besides, having my dinner stare back at me was giving me the creeps.
I turned the plate around so the barbounia looked at Fia instead. She’d put aside her fork and was eating the rosy fish with her hands. Thomas’s father was doing the same. Rachel Auntie was licking her fingers. Nikos had his eyes closed. His lips glistened as he chewed. Teri stared at the line of his throat while sucking on a cleanly picked line of thin, delicate fish bones. Thomas stroked Isabelle’s wrist absently, a sated, glazed look in his eyes.
What the hell is going on? I glanced at Dolly. Given her recent agitated state, I was sure she hadn’t succumbed to whatever weird spell everyone else seemed to be under.
“Chef Alexandros asked me to give you this.” Hannah handed me a piece of paper before I could appraise Dolly.
I unfolded the note and read:
This morning, as the sun rose over the water, I saw fishermen pull a net full of barbounia from the sea—red and pink with flashes of gold. I thought, What better meal to serve on the first night than this fine, fresh delicacy? They are sweet from their diet of minuscule shrimp, with an earthy, buttery texture. I prepared them with a simple dusting of flour—fried crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside, and still smelling of the sea. A dash of salt and a squeeze of lemon are all they need. I thought about serving yours headless, without the bones, but it would take away from the experience. And it would be a shame if you didn’t taste the potatoes at least once while you’re in Greece. They are sourced from a small farm in Naxos. I know food. I know how to cook it. I know how to serve it. Try it. If you don’t like it, I have rice cakes.
Great. A chef with an attitude. He hadn’t forgotten my requests. He’d chosen to ignore them.
I crumpled up the note and thanked Hannah.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Fine.” I managed to muster up a smile.
Not only was I stuck with Alex’s culinary whims, I was also stuck as his roommate. It di
dn’t help that everyone around me was intent on licking their plates clean. So much ooh-ing and aah-ing, you’d think they were at an orgy. I picked up my fork and speared a potato with an eye roll.
It’s just dinner, folks. Fried fish and a bunch of…
Potatoes. Naxian. From the island of Naxos. Maybe that’s why they were melting in my mouth like sweet, sweet heaven. I tasted herbs, olive oil, the kick of something tart and the grit of coarsely ground salt and pepper. So simple yet so divine. Curse Chef Alexandros for reminding me how much I loved potatoes. I speared the wilted greens next. They were wilted. They’d already given up. They had to taste like shit, right? Wrong. They complemented the potatoes perfectly with their earthy texture and dusky bitterness.
I fought the urge to close my eyes and savor each bite. No way was I falling under Chef Alexandros’ spell. His magic was turning us all into putty and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit. I might’ve finished everything on my plate, but I didn’t touch the fish-that-still-looked-like-fish. I was sending a message, clear as a marine flare on a dark, empty night.
You can serve it, Chef Alexandros, but I don’t have to eat it.
I would’ve loved to see the look on his face when Hannah took my plate back to the kitchen.
Return to sender.
I went up to the sky deck after everyone retired for the night. I wasn’t ready to say goodnight to the stars. Away from the city lights, they were bright and dazzling. I lay on my back, marveling at how something as simple as looking at the night sky could fill you up.
There was a splash as someone dived into the pool. It was lit from the inside and glowed with blue-green luminescence.
So much decadence. A pool, on a boat, on the sea.
I wondered how they kept the water from sloshing all over the place when the seas got choppy. A big-ass drain? A cover? My thoughts were interrupted by the dark figure slicing through the water in quick, sure strokes.
Nikos.
I should’ve been pleased to see him—alone, under the stars, on a warm June night. Instead, I felt a flash of annoyance. I liked my alone time. My brain had switched from conversation mode to solitude. I lay silent under the cocoon of my dark shawl, hoping he wouldn’t notice the mummified lump on the outdoor sofa.
