Two more thoughts occurred to me. One, her mother—whoever and wherever she was—was missing out on the most beautiful daughter in the world. And two, Brooke and her daddy were lucky to have each other. Thinking about this got me a little misty. It also made me angry that her mother had walked away. What kind of woman would do something like that?
Mama looked my way. “You okay, Athena?”
“Yes.” I drew in a deep breath, doing my best to look composed. “Getting hungry, though. That food smells delicious.”
“I agree.” Stephen looked for a moment like he might leap from the couch in search of the kitchen. Thank goodness he didn’t have to.
“Did I hear someone say they were hungry?” My father entered the room, still wearing his Super-Gyros apron. “I’ve prepared a feast fit for a king. Hope everyone likes lamb. Oh, and I have the most beautiful vegetable dish. Can’t wait for you to taste it.”
Brooke turned up her nose, but I could almost see Stephen salivating. “You don’t mind if we stay for dinner?”
“Of course not. You are our guests. We’ll have dinner and visit. And then you’ll stay for dessert. Hope you like baklava. Athena’s is the best.”
Stephen turned to look at me with a narrowed gaze. “I think I remember someone saying we might end up holding a duel to see about that.”
“You bake too?” my father asked.
“He’s the baklava king,” Brooke said with a confident smile. “Nobody makes it like my dad.”
Wow. That was the first time I’d actually heard her say something nice about her father, and it had to do with cooking? Interesting.
“Really.” My father looked back and forth between us. “Maybe we’ll have the two of you duke it out at the restaurant someday. How does that sound to you, Stephen? Ready for a Greek Iron Chef challenge?”
“I’m always up for a challenge, trust me.”
Ugh. He had to say that. Those words reminded me that his latest challenge could very well be to take over my job.
Deep breath, Athena. No point in worrying about that tonight.
After putting Zeus in the backyard, we sent Brooke to the restroom to wash her hands. I took advantage of the opportunity to share my thoughts.
“She’s a beautiful girl, Stephen,” I said once she was out of earshot. “And a real sweetheart too. Not quite what I pictured, from your description.”
A sad expression registered in his eyes. “I feel like a real heel for sharing all of her negative traits before telling you how precious she is to me. It’s just that you never know what you’re going to get with her, so I always like to warn people. I don’t want anyone to take her sour attitude personally.”
“Haven’t really seen that side. I’d expected her to be moodier, based on your description.”
“I know. It’s so weird. One minute she’s pouncing like a lion, the next she’s as gentle as a lamb. So confusing.” He scratched his head. “There’s no place for me to go to get a degree in mothering. You know? I can only teach her what I can teach her, which ain’t much.”
I reached to pat his arm, once again caught off guard by those impressive biceps. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve taught her a lot. It’s clear she’s her father’s daughter.”
“You think?” As he spoke the words, his eyes brimmed with tears.
“I do. And I see a lot of potential there. Maybe she really will grow up to be a vet. Or maybe she’ll be a comic like her dad. Or maybe a combination of both—a vet with a sense of humor.”
“Now, that I can’t picture.” He grinned. “But I’d love it.” Another sad look passed over him as he whispered, “Honestly, I’d just like to see her smile more. She’s been so . . . down.”
“Bring her around here more,” I said. “We’re a laugh-a-minute bunch. I think we’ll loosen her up.”
“I might just take you up on that.” The look that followed was so tender it pricked my heart. For a moment there, I could almost envision Stephen and Brooke coming over for dinner. Hanging out with the fam. Playing with my sister’s kids. Spending time with the cousins. Eating baklava.
Brooke came out of the bathroom, took one look at the two of us standing so close together, and gave us a knowing look. “Someone has a crush.”
“Oh?” Right away, I realized I still had my hand on Stephen’s arm. I pulled it back. “We were just talking.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Come,” my father hollered from the dining room. “The lamb is getting cold.”
As I led the way to the dining room, I tried to push aside the embarrassment that had risen at Brooke’s proclamation that I had a crush on her father.
Or did she mean that he had a crush on me?
Either way, the idea left me feeling discombobulated. Thankfully, my family didn’t pick up on my embarrassment. They entered the dining room in their usual boisterous way, loading up the table with all sorts of yummy delights.
We sat, my parents on opposite ends, my brother and I on one side, Stephen and Brooke on the other. As my father bowed his head to say grace, Brooke stared, wide-eyed. Not that I was looking, of course. After the prayer ended, she shook her head.
“What is it, honey?” I asked.
“You’re just . . .” She shook her head.
“Just what?”
“Like a TV family. Ya know?”
My father snorted. “Hardly.”
“No, really.” She gestured to the large oak table and the china cabinet that sat nearby. “Do you know how many people would kill to have a real dining room table in their house? And people sitting around the table talking about dumb stuff?”
“How do you know we’re going to talk about dumb stuff?” my brother challenged her as he sliced the lamb. “Maybe I have something brilliant to say.”
She rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time. “Because TV families always talk about dumb stuff. They sit around and talk about things that don’t matter, but that’s what makes it all so . . .” She sighed.
“So different?” my mother tried.
“So crazy?” my father chimed in.
“So perfect,” she whispered.
We could’ve heard a pin drop at that one. The silence lingered beyond the point of comfort, and I eventually broke it by clearing my throat.
Mama, probably nervous, began to pass the food. Before long, every plate was full, and contented sighs filled the room as we began eating. Still, I couldn’t let the opportunity to say something pass me by.
“We do talk about dumb things sometimes, honey. And just so you know, we’re far from perfect. But I also want you to know that I’m really grateful to have my home and my family . . . and my heritage.”
Okay, I could tell from the yawn that I’d lost her at the word heritage. Maybe I’d taken it one step too far. Still, I think she got my point. And I happened to agree with her father—she needed to understand and appreciate her heritage. One day it would mean a lot to her.
“When I grow up, I want a house like this,” she said. “One with a dining room table and lots of people around it.”
I caught the look of panic in Stephen’s eyes. Clearly, the man didn’t own a dining room table. I’d venture to guess they made do with a couple of barstools, or maybe a small dinette. I’d never claimed to be a psychiatrist—though I’d written lines for one on the TV show—but I’d have to say the kid longed for something more. She clearly wanted a family environment. The table was just a symbol of all that was missing in her life. In that moment, I prayed she would get the very thing she longed for. In God’s perfect timing, of course.
My brother, who’d always been a little slow on the draw, shrugged. “You think the table’s full now. You should be here when the rest of the family shows up. This room is so full—and so loud—you can hardly hear yourself think.”
“There are more of you?” Brooke looked mesmerized by this news.
“Yes, we have a sister, Larisa,” I explained. “And she’s married to Angelo. They have
three kids—Mia, Becca, and their baby boy, Thad.”
“I met them at the shop,” Stephen added.
“Wow.” Brooke grinned. “I like kids.”
“How do you feel about older people?” Niko asked. “Just wait till you meet Aunt Melina. Now there’s a family member you won’t soon forget.”
“What’s up with Aunt Melina?” Brooke asked. “Is she crazy or something?”
“Not really crazy,” I was quick to say. “Just has her own personality. Different. But in a loving way.”
“Did I meet her?” Stephen asked.
“She was at the shop the other day,” my father explained. “Melina is my older sister. She’s in her early seventies. She . . . well, she has a few struggles.”
“You couldn’t miss her,” I added. “She’s a little hunched over. Always carries around a coffee mug.” Filled with booze, but it’s probably too soon to explain that part.
“Ah. I do remember her.” A look of recognition passed over him. “She seemed nice. Very old world.”
“Yes, Melina’s only been in the States for three years,” my father said. “She’s still acclimating. I think this transition from Greece to L.A. has been difficult. Harder than she anticipated, anyway. But I’m prayerful she’ll adapt before long.”
God bless you, Babbas. You’re such a good man, and such a great brother to Melina.
“So you’ve never been to Greece, Stephen?” my father asked.
“Only in my imagination. My nona—my grandmother—came to New Jersey when she was in her thirties. My mom was born here and never saw Greece. Neither did I, except in the stories Nona told. I feel like I’ve been there, though. They were some pretty vivid tales. I could almost see myself there.” A wistful look followed. “Still can. Like I said, it’s going to happen.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “I’ve been dying to go all my life, but I’m almost afraid it’ll be a letdown after the big buildup. From the stories my parents and other relatives have shared, it’s a heaven-on-earth sort of place.”
“And so many of the smartest people came from Greece,” my father threw in. “Plato. He was a student of Socrates.”
Brooke rolled her eyes.
“And Aristotle,” my mother added. “A scientist and scholar.”
“And what about Archimedes,” my brother added. “He was a mathematician and an engineer.”
“All Greek,” Mama said with a smile. “The smart ones always are.”
Brooke groaned. “Okay, enough already. I get it. All the smart people are Greek.”
“Well, not all, but it certainly doesn’t make you less intelligent to be Greek,” I said, then gave her a wink.
My mother dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “I think it’s kind of a shame that none of our kids have gone back to the place of their ancestors. One day, perhaps.” She put her napkin back in her lap and offered a coy smile. “Right now my daughter needs to focus on getting married and having babies. There will be plenty of time to travel later.”
I stopped just short of smacking myself in the head at that proclamation. Thanks a lot, Mama. Glad to know you’re laying down all of your plans on my behalf.
Brooke looked my way. “Speaking of kids, I’m dying to meet your sister’s. I love working with children.”
“She’s great with them,” Stephen said. “And with animals too. Obviously.”
Brooke’s eyes lit up. “How old are the kids?”
“Mia is three, Becca is two, and Thad is a baby, as I said. He’s just at that sitting-up stage. Do you like to babysit, Brooke?”
“Oh, she’s not really old enough to do that alone,” Stephen said, looking more than a little alarmed at the prospect.
“I am too.” She scowled at her father, then crossed her arms over her chest and slunk down in the chair. “If someone would give me a chance. It’s not like I’m a baby. I’m almost twelve.”
“I have an idea.” My mother clapped her hands together. “You could come over here and help me with the kids when I’m babysitting. You would be a big help to me, especially if they wanted to go swimming. It’s always such a challenge to handle three of them when there’s just one of me.”
“You have a pool?” Brooke’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Of course,” my father said. “Doesn’t everyone in Southern California have a pool?”
“Not us.” She gave her father another look. “The dumb house my dad picked doesn’t have one.”
“We’ll have a house with a pool someday,” he said. “One thing at a time. We were lucky to find a rental so quickly.” He looked my way and shrugged. “It was a fast move. Once Rex made the offer, I got here as quick as I could. Figured we locate temporary housing, then eventually settle into something else for a long-term stay.”
I was starting to feel bad for the poor guy. He couldn’t catch a break, could he? No dining room table. No pool. What next? Would we find out he had no dishes in the cabinet? No food in the cupboard?
Nah. Nix that last one. Brooke had said he could cook. They probably had a traditional Greek kitchen. Just no table to sit at.
I didn’t have long to ponder these questions because the phone rang. Mama rose to answer it. When she returned, I could see the puzzled look in her eyes.
“That was Milo.”
“Mean-Athena’s Milo?” my brother and I asked in unison.
“Does he want the dog back?” my father asked. “If so, he’s more than welcome to come and get him.”
“No!” Brooke’s voice had a nervous ring to it. “We’re taking him.”
“Okay, okay.” My father gave her a smile. “I can see you’re in love with that measly mutt. I won’t send him back to Greece just yet.”
“Milo didn’t want the dog back, anyway,” Mama said. “Though he did ask about him. He gave me the most surprising news. Apparently he’s applied for citizenship.”
“Wow.” I could hardly believe it.
“He wanted to know if we could spend some time together,” Mama added. “He sounded a little lonely.”
“What did you say?” I asked.
“I said yes, of course. He was in love with my aunt, after all. I could hardly turn him down. In some ways, we’re almost like family.” She paused to take her seat. “Well, we would have been, if she hadn’t broken his heart. I’m still not sure I understand all of that, but I do feel we owe him a visit or two.”
“Wait . . . your aunt?” Stephen asked. “The mean one? The one who gave you the dog?”
“Yes.” Mama fussed with her napkin, placing it in her lap. “It’s so strange. I always thought Milo broke Aunt Athena’s heart, but he told me it was the other way around. Seems strange that a man would pine after a woman like that.” She shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t really know her after all. I guess appearances can be deceiving.”
Across the table, Brooke rolled her eyes. Her gaze met mine and she quickly shifted it to the baklava. “Can I have one? I need to see if it’s as good as my dad’s.”
“Sure, honey.” My mama passed her the tray. “But prepare yourself for the best.”
Brooke nibbled the yummy goodness, then gave me a look of admiration. “Mmm.”
“Traitor.” Stephen scowled at her. “How could you?”
“Sorry, Dad, but she wins. This is amazing.”
She quickly gobbled down the rest, then licked her fingers and reached for another piece. When she finished it, I gave her a high five, and the loveliest smile lit her face.
When Zeus started yapping again, the resulting sparkle in Brooke’s eyes reminded me of a photograph I’d once seen. What was it again? Ah yes. A picture Mama had taken of me in sixth grade, just after winning my first writing award.
Girls always smiled when they were in their element.
And right now . . . well, right now I felt like smiling.
A week after Zeus went to live with his new family, I received an email from Stephen with photos attached. I laughed at the one of Zeus in an apr
on in their kitchen, but the one that really got to me was one with Brooke and that crazy mongrel rolling around on the living room floor together. The joyous expression on her face left me speechless.
I thought about it all the way to the studio that morning. The same dog that had brought my family such angst had apparently been just the ticket to pull a somber preteen out of her funk. God certainly had an interesting way of turning things around. I had to wonder if Mean-Athena was looking down from heaven at that eleven-year-old girl, remembering my mother at that age. Perhaps this was all part of some great heavenly plan to make up for how my aunt had treated Mama.
I pulled my car into the studio parking lot, grabbed the usual Monday morning bag of leftovers, and made the usual walk to the back door of the Stars Collide set, still deep in thought about Zeus and Brooke. As I approached, a man with a camera in his hand hollered out something I couldn’t quite make out.
I turned to face him, perplexed. “I’m sorry. What?”
He leaned against the side of the building and messed with the lens on his camera. “Looking for that comedian. Stephen Cosse. You know, the guy from Vegas?”
“Ah. Not sure if he’s here yet.”
“Dying to get an interview with him,” the guy said. He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. When he did, I could see the armpit stains on his shirt. Nasty. “If he’s here, would you send him outside? Might be a twenty in it for you if you do.”
“Excuse me?” I paused and shook my head. “You’re a reporter?”
“Well, I, um . . .” His gaze shifted to the bag in my hand. “That smells good. What’ve you got in there?”
I ignored his question. “How did you get on the lot? I don’t see a press badge or anything. Did you check in at the front gate? Not just anyone can come back here, you know. You have to have a pass.” I put on my police cap and went to work, giving him a lecture about how no one could come onto the property without authorization.
Hello, Hollywood! Page 9
