Moti on the Water

by Leylah Attar

  It was a black lump on a white couch.

  He noticed.

  He swam up to the edge of the pool, rested his elbows on the rounded lip, and eyeballed me.

  I would’ve un-mummified myself, but I might’ve ended up rolling off the couch like a log, so I remained in corpse pose.

  “I’m almost afraid to talk to you.” He tilted his head and smiled. “Every time I say something to you, you take off.”

  “Well…” I unraveled myself slowly, hoping he wouldn’t notice all the fidgeting going on under my shawl. I would die if he thought I’d been out here touching myself. “If it’s any consolation, it’s not you. It’s me.”

  I forget how to breathe around you and suck all kinds of things down my throat.

  “That’s usually a line reserved for when you’re breaking up with someone.” He flashed his perfectly aligned teeth. “I don’t think I’ve ever been shut down before I could even begin.”

  No. Why would you? Look at you.

  Shirtless Nikos. Moonlit Nikos. Water-slicked Nikos.

  “Come join me,” he said. “The water’s perfect.”

  Okay. A moment here, please.

  A man with three thumbs was flirting with me.

  Let that sink in.

  The probability of this miraculous moment happening in my lifetime was mind-boggling.

  But I couldn’t sidle up to him because I was terrified of drowning. Ever since I could remember, Dolly had banned me from the water. No swimming pools, no oceans, no baths, no puddles.

  Oh Dolly. I know you were trying to protect me. I know you were afraid, but if someone tells you your child is going to die in the water—and you believe them—what’s the best thing you can do for both of you? You get her swimming lessons. You teach her how to swim. That’s what.

  “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” I said, finally free of my shawl and sitting up.

  “So, go get it. I’ll wait right here.” He winked.

  Score 1 for Moti. Subject has indicated his interest.

  “It’s not in my room. I didn’t pack a swimsuit for the trip.”

  “So, get in without one.”

  Score 2 for Moti. Subject is in active pursuit.

  I walked over to the pool and raised the hem of my dress. The higher it went, the higher Nikos’s brows lifted. We got to my thighs until I stopped and sat next to him, my feet dangling in the water.

  “Tease.” Nikos grinned. His half-submerged body beckoned under wavy lines of water. “We’ll have to get you a bikini. We’re going to be anchored in all kinds of secluded coves and nooks. Trust me, you don’t want to miss it.”

  I wasn’t sure if it meant swimming with Nikos or nooky with Nikos. Maybe it was his way of referring to it—you know, his thingamajig.

  Trust me, you don’t want to miss it.

  “I have a pretty little bluff picked out for next week. Perfect for diving. Get yourself a swimsuit by then.”

  I should’ve told Nikos I didn’t swim, that just sitting with my feet in the pool was stretching it. Diving off a pretty little bluff and hurtling to my death was really not my thing. I should’ve told him, but I didn’t. Because Nikos raised my hand to his lips and kissed it, as if to seal the deal.

  “You and I are going to have a lot of fun on this trip,” he said.

  Considering the only other single passengers on the boat were my grandmother, my mother, and my mother’s estranged friend, the pickings were slim for Nikos. Still, I had to rise to the challenge. Guys wanted adventurous, outgoing, fun girls, not mummified lumps staring at stars.

  “It’s a date,” I said. Maybe I could keep him occupied enough to forget about diving off cliffs. Or maybe he could dive off a cliff and I could clap so hard, he’d want to do it again, and forget about me getting in the water. At some point I’d have to explain things to him—the real reason I didn’t know how to swim, which meant Ma Anga would come up, and then the thumbs and… Oh God, this was going to be so awkward.

  I’d dug myself into enough of a hole for the night.

  “I’m going to turn in,” I said. “Goodnight.”

  Nikos pouted when I swung my legs out of the water. “So soon?”

  “It’s been a long day.” I laughed and picked up my discarded shawl. He didn’t know the half of it. “See you tomorrow.” I congratulated myself for pulling off a graceful exit. No stumbling or slipping and more importantly, no choking.

  Score 3 for Moti.

  Life was looking good until I got to the crew deck. It was a little past eleven. Apart from a few crew members who were on night duty, everyone else was in bed. That meant Alex would be in the cabin. I opened the door slowly, with the kind of caution reserved for public washroom stalls—you know, where you’re praying you don’t end up locking eyes with someone sitting inside. He wasn’t there. Both bunk beds were empty and the bathroom was dark.

  I washed my face and brushed my teeth in lightning mode. As an only child, I wasn’t comfortable sharing my space with anyone, let alone a stranger. An arrogant, eyebrow-cocking stranger who wanted to feed me fish with eyes.

  I slipped into a T-shirt and shorts. No point wasting my sexy-but-effortless-but-itchy ensemble on Alex. It looked like the bottom bunk was mine, because a breakfast card with my name was on the pillow.

  Please tick your preference and hang outside on your doorknob.

  The choice was staggering—everything from cinnamon mascarpone pancakes, to blueberry French toast, to savory pies, to a blank section for custom requests. I picked the omelet, indicated egg-whites only, my time preference, and stuck it on the door.

  I had just turned the lights off when Alex arrived. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, taking a deep breath. Then he started dropping his clothes—his T-shirt, pants, God knows what else. Thankfully, it was too dark to see…until he turned the light on in the en suite. There he stood, bare-bottomed as the day he was born, tan lines stark against his skin, splashing water on his face. He undid his hair and turned around, his thick hair tumbling around his shoulders, naked silhouette outlined against the frame of the bathroom door.

  I squeezed my eyes and pulled the covers up to my chin. As if I was the one that needed covering up. He let out a string of Greek curses when he saw me. I heard some thudding and hopping as he retrieved his underwear. Or his pants. Hopefully, both.

  “What are you doing h—”

  “How dare you—”

  Our sentences collided, and I got the distinct impression I’d caught him off-guard. He’d been expecting an empty room.

  “Didn’t they tell you I was going to be here?” I blinked, the covers still clutched to my nose.

  “Had I known, I would’ve turned on all the lights and given you a proper show.”

  We glared at each other. He had a very nice butt. Okay, nice wasn’t the word. He had a spectacular butt—round and firm. Unlike mine, it was smooth and dimple-less, which made me glare at him harder.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, arms folded across his chest. Pants on, shirt still on the floor.

  “It’s not out of choice. Trust me.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. Depends. Captain Bailey said it was okay until things get sorted out.”

  He continued focusing his laser gaze on me, as if I’d vaporize if he persisted long enough. “This is what you wanted to talk to her about?”

  I nodded.

  He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “Hannah was saying something, but I had my earphones on. It might’ve been this.” He motioned to my bunk bed. “I saw the breakfast card on the door, but I figured it was one of the crew fooling around and putting in an order.”

  It seemed safe to come up for air, so I let the covers slide off my face.

  “The top bunk is bigger,” he said, picking up his T-shirt. “You’ll be more comfortable there.”

  “I like being on the bottom. You get on top.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled, and I felt
my color rise as the double meaning sank in.

  This time, he shut the bathroom door as he got ready for bed. It was only after he climbed into the top bunk that I finally relaxed. Slipping my hand under the pillow, I felt the cool, smooth surface of a playing card.

  Goodnight, Three of Spades.

  Without a window, the room was pitch dark. We had anchored, so the ship was quiet, but it wasn’t completely still. I could feel it bobbing and swaying on the water. It was a gentle, soothing motion, but I wasn’t used to it. I drifted in and out of sleep, strange dreams floating through my head. Around dawn, my stomach chimed in. The three small potatoes I had for dinner weren’t cutting it. My tummy was reminding me that it was dinner time in Chicago.

  I ignored it.

  It growled.

  I flipped to my side.

  It growled louder.

  Some people will tell you that hunger is a sensation. Lies. Hunger is the mother of all emotions. Angry? Check how long it’s been since you last ate. Tired? You probably didn’t have enough to eat. Bored? You’re eating the same thing—same place, same time. Pretty much every disaster in human history can be traced back to the lack of a burrito.

  I tiptoed out of the cabin and made my way to the kitchen—or to use the proper term—the galley. Why you can’t call a kitchen a kitchen on a boat beats me. I was hoping to ask one of the night crew for a snack, but no one was around. There was a plate on the counter, under a glass dome. I walked over and uncovered it, feeling a little guilty. What if it was the Captain’s snack? Or whoever was keeping watch? Maybe just a nibble? Surely, they wouldn’t miss a nibble.

  I picked up the half-folded piece of paper propped against the plate, and recognized the bold, upright strokes from the note Alex had sent me at dinner:

  Caramelized pineapple.

  I gouged out all the eyes.

  Have it with a drizzle of honey from Kythira, where the air turns purple with thyme. You’ll hear the song of bees ravishing its wild herbs and blossoms.

  Some Greek yogurt to balance the flavors, and crushed maple walnuts for texture.

  PS: Baby pineapples are the most adorable fruit you’ll ever see. Don’t worry. This was a full-grown adult.

  I glanced at the note, then at the plate. Alex had clearly left it out for me. A peace offering for the fish fiasco? Had he received my message, loud and clear? Or had he anticipated I’d get hungry again? Either way, the dollop of yogurt looked like a white flag. It was a simple, unassembled dish—two sticky-sweet slices of pineapple in the center, the rest arranged artfully around a white plate.

  I swirled my finger in the coppery, viscous honey and sucked it. It was bright and aromatic—the sweetness almost savory, unlike the honey I was used to. The aftertaste was undeniably pleasurable—like the buzz of a long-awaited kiss. Gratifying and zingy.

  I ate the honey slowly with my fingers, suspended in its matrix like a bee caught in a vat of amber nectar.

  Peace offering, my ass. Alex set a trap, and I fell into it.

  I dipped my finger in the yogurt and sampled it with the tip of my tongue. It danced a tangy, velvet tango with the honey. How odd that a few licks of honey and yogurt managed to silence my stomach. I wasn’t ravenous for food anymore. I was ravenous for taste.

  Picking up the pineapple with sticky fingers, I bit into it and savored the chewy caramel crust around its edges. Something hot and spicy jolted my taste buds. I opened my eyes and noticed flakes of chili clinging to the pineapple. It was like someone had just pulled an unexpectedly erotic move on me. I’d never had a food orgasm before, but standing in the galley that night, with moonbeams streaming through the window, my taste buds quivered in a state of heightened arousal. A few more bites and I slammed both palms on the counter while my mouth silently screamed, Yes. Yesss. YESSS.

  I hadn’t even gotten to Alex’s nuts. His maple walnuts, that is. But I was sated and full and happy and loopy. I stumbled back to my cabin and fell into the most restful sleep I’d had in months.

  I woke up to a high, green island with picturesque bays and fruit trees running down to the sea. Kea—the first of the Cyclades islands on our itinerary. Southeast of Athens, the Cyclades were a cluster of islands scattered across the azure waters of the Aegean Sea.

  Even though the sun was barely warm, the yacht buzzed with the excitement of the first day of a trip. Deckhands were launching the tender—a small boat designed to ferry crew and passengers between the ship and ports of call. A crew member was clearing plates from the table. Another was mixing drinks at the bar.

  Already? What Time O’Clock did I wake up?

  I was halfway through my breakfast when Nikos slid into the chair beside me. His green eyes took on the sparkling hues of the sea.

  “Kalimera, glikia mou,” he said.

  Good morning, something. I would have to look up glikia mou on the English/Greek translation app I downloaded.

  “Kalimera, Nikos.” I raised my coffee in a morning salute.

  “We’re going diving today. Some spectacular shipwrecks in the area. They have wet suits onboard. Isabelle, Thomas, and Teri are getting fitted. You up for it?”

  Dammit. The no-swimsuit excuse wasn’t going to cut it. “I’ve never gone diving before.”

  Diving is bullshit. You finally learn to swim, then you want to stay submerged. What kind of nonsense hobby is this, Nikos?

  But we weren’t married yet, so I filed it under Future Projects With Future Husband.

  “Come anyway. You can do some snorkeling. One of the deckhands is taking us out in the boat. Captain Bailey said he’s a professional scuba diving instructor. Maybe he can give you a lesson while we’re out there.”

  Maybe he can roll me up in bubble wrap instead, because that’s the only way you’ll get me to a diving site in the middle of the sea.

  “I’m going to sit this one out. I’m still a little jet-lagged.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Captain Bailey’s shadow cast over our table. “Could I have a word with you, Moti?”

  “Sounds like you’re in trouble with the big boss.” Nikos winked at me and took his cue. “If you change your mind, come find me. You’re going to be bored as hell with no one but oldies to keep you company today. No disrespect, Captain Bailey.”

  “None taken,” she replied, as Nikos blew us a kiss and took off. “So how did you manage in the crew quarters last night?”

  An image of Alex’s bare butt flashed before my eyes. “Fine. Not bad at all.”

  “I talked to your mother. The situation with your uncle and aunt hasn’t changed.”

  Great. Another night in the cramped bowels of the ship.

  “I don’t mind taking the same bunk again. I mean, it’s just to sleep.” I flashed Captain Bailey a convincing smile and realized I actually meant it. I’d slept surprisingly well after my midnight snack.

  “Fine.” Captain Bailey nodded. “Come see me if you need anything.”

  “Well…” I gazed at the clusters of white houses set into the surrounding hillsides. “I was hoping to check out the island. Is there anyone who can take me ashore?”

  “Chef Alexandros will be leaving soon. He’s picking up some supplies for dinner, so you’ll be on your own while he’s at the market. Unless one of the other guests want to join you.”

  “I’m okay going solo, but I’ll see if anyone else wants to join.”

  “You have half an hour.”

  I watched Nikos, Isabelle, Thomas, and Teri take off on the small boat, until they were tiny specks against the horizon. I’d lost a full day with Nikos, but better safe than dead. It was nice to soak up the sun and scenery while I had breakfast. I always enjoyed eating outside—al fresco. I liked the expression al fresco. It sounded like a multi-national conglomerate of fresh air, run by a benevolent man named Al. One of my co-workers told me Italians sometimes used the term to mean that someone was ‘in the chill,’ a.k.a in prison.

  I certainly wasn’t eating like I was in prison. My breakfast
came exactly as I’d requested and it was delicious. Alex was behaving, or maybe he just wanted to avoid having to make extra snacks for me. I gobbled up the last bite and made my way to the salon.

  Joseph Uncle and Thomas’s father, George, were playing cards. Naani chatted with Fia, while Dolly and Rachel Auntie went over wedding stuff with Thomas’s mother.

  “Kalimera,” Kassia said when she saw me. “Did you have breakfast? You need to eat more. Look at you. All skin and bones.”

  I’m pretty sure she would’ve said the same thing to a sumo wrestler at the peak of his bulking diet.

  “Kalimera, Kassia. Kalimera, everyone.” I dropped a kiss on Naani’s cheek. “I’m headed to the island if anyone wants to join me.”

  “Poh,” said George. “Nothing but bees and mule tracks out there. Wait until we get to Hydra, where I was born. Then you will see what a real island looks like.”

  I laughed. “I look forward to it.” Thomas’s parents had an opinion about everything.

  “I would love to join you, Moti,” said Fia. “I’ll go grab my camera.”

  Dolly harrumphed from her corner, still pissed she had to share the same planet as her. Fia shot her a venomous parting look. The air hissed between them.

  “This is wrong.” George threw his playing cards on the table. “We’re ruined.”

  It took me a minute to realize he was referring to the game he was playing with Joseph Uncle, and not what had gone wrong between Dolly and Fia in a galaxy far, far away.

  “We’re missing a card.” Joseph Uncle spread out his cards, and the two men peered over them.

  “The Three of Spades,” George said.

  Oh shit.

  “Hannah, where is the Three of Spades?” He turned to one of the crew hands, who was definitely not Hannah.

  “I’ll get you a new pack.” She darted out of the salon.

  “Can you believe this?” George moaned to Kassia.

  “Ti na kanoume tora?” She shrugged. “What are we going to do now?”

  Not satisfied by her level of sympathy, George turned to Joseph Uncle. “Thousands and thousands of Euros, and this is what we get. A used pack of cards.”