“I will not say this all again, Ermione.” Her face pinched, she casts a hasty glance toward the living room. “And he knows. I told him after Prodromos passed, and never once before. It was not . . . Your theio—your father—and I were, how do you say it? Together?” At my shallow nod, her lips flatten. “Only one time.”
“But you said he was American!”
Her cheeks flush with color. “I lied, koritsi mou. Because I was ashamed of my cheating, and Yianni and I were only just married. We were . . . Prodromos was a kind man, Ermione. A gentle, funny man, and yet my parents picked his brother instead for me. You know that our marriage was arranged.”
My breath comes fast and swift, and I’m thankful to Nick because without him, I’d be flat on my ass in shock. “Did Theio—did Prodromos know . . . about me?”
Shame chases its way across her features. “Óxi, no.”
I swallow, and it hurts. God, it hurts. All these years, I saw him, my real dad, and neither of us ever knew. He taught me how to ride a bike. He sat with me while I braided his hair and used butterfly clips to hold the dark, curly strands in place. I was the last person, outside of my grandparents, to sit with him in the hospital just before he passed. A drunk-driving accident—and not his fault.
I’m desperate for the rage to come. I’m desperate for anger to sharpen my tongue and say spiteful things. In the end, I only ask the one question that matters most: “Did you love him?”
Mama bows her head and her shoulders rise with a sharp breath. “I loved the idea of him, and I wanted . . . Koritsi mou, it is all I wanted for you to meet someone nice, someone who will treat you well and love you, someone who reminds me of . . . someone who reminds me of Prodromos.” Her gaze tracks from me to Nick, as though wondering if I’ve found the nice, Greek boy she’s always wanted for me. “I have not shown you the best love.”
But I tried.
I hear those three words even though she doesn’t say them out loud.
That’s the thing about secrets: they fester and they ooze with toxins and they infect every person around them.
I’m done being infected, even if that means removing myself from the inner Pappas circle. Except that you really are a Pappas. The news of my birth is shocking, and yet somehow not shocking at all. I’ve always seen Baba’s controlling nature. I’m not sure why today of all days my mom thought it fit to finally tell me who my real father is.
And that’s okay. It has to be okay, I repeat to myself.
“No,” I finally say, “you haven’t.” Because it’s clear to me that my mom is fighting demons that only she can battle. No matter how I was conceived, I’m hers. Mother or not, blood ties or not, I can’t go down in the flames alongside her. As for Theio Prodromos, I’ll mourn his loss when I’m back in the safety of my home. “I want you to know, Mama, that I’m thankful—because if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be me, and I love me.” I reach blindly behind me, seeking Nick’s hand. Relief swallows the restlessness as soon as our palms kiss, his heat engulfing me. “I hope, one day, that you might be willing to share that best kind of love with me. I’m always here to talk, even if . . . even if it’s about Baba. You can be happy, Mama. You can be so much happier than you are now. And if you need me, I’ll always listen.”
Because that’s what true families do: they forgive and they learn and they adjust.
I hope, one day, that my parents will realize that they’ve driven everyone away. Deep down, I wish that my mom will see that an arranged marriage can be unarranged. She’s already given herself three decades to a mean bastard, but that doesn’t mean he’s entitled to another thirty years of her time.
Quietly, I tug on Nick’s hand, our signal that it’s time to go.
“I love you,” he murmurs to me, “and I’m proud of you.”
“Proud enough that you’ll let me convince you to stay home for the rest of the day and watch Lord of the Rings with me?”
“One bowl of popcorn or two?”
I wink at him, feeling the broken pieces of my heart mold back together—because of him. “Is that even a question? Two, of course. So we have backup after we demolish the first.”
We almost make it to the front door when I hear my mom shout, “Ermione, are you and Nick . . . together?”
I raise my gaze to the man himself. His pewter eyes glitter with good humor and love, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt so lucky in my life. “Naí, Mama. You told me to find myself a good, nice Greek boy, so I did. Only, he’s not always so good and he’s not always so nice, which means . . . he’s my perfect match.”
Epilogue
One Month Later
Celebrity Tea Presents:
Is that an ENGAGEMENT RING on Mina Pappas’ finger?
Dear Reader, it should come as no surprise that the Put A Ring On It franchise is in meltdown mode. With the show about to begin airing on TV late next month (ahead of schedule by THREE months, mind you), it only makes sense that they want their contestants on lockdown. There are a few problems with this, the first being that runner-up and resident Adonis, Nick Stamos, has flashed the network the middle finger by not only proposing to his girlfriend, Mina Pappas, but by broadcasting it on social media.
We’ve seen the ring, and I’ll be the first one to say . . . it’s pretty but not as glittery and obnoxious as I’d hoped? Set in rose gold, the marquis stone is made of amethyst. Small diamonds decorate the intricate band.
The gem’s creator, a man who would like to remain anonymous, but who can be found in Bethel, Maine, of all places, told Celebrity Tea, “I think I remember them coming in! But, honestly, the shop is so busy in February, that I can’t be too sure. As for the price of the gem, I can’t specify but I can tell you that nothing goes for more than $200 in my shop. I like to keep our prices low for the guests.”
So, there you have it. Not only has Stamos put a ring on Mina Pappas, but second runner-up Dominic DaSilva has issued a restraining order on a certain member of the press—not I, dear reader—and Savannah Rose, America’s darling, has retreated from the limelight completely.
The tea has been spilled, Dear Reader, and I know that I’m just dying to know what will happen next.
Epilogue
Nick
One Year and Four Days Later . . .
“She’s here, right?”
“Jesus Christ, Stamos, ask me that one more time and I’m going to introduce your pretty boy face to my meaty fist.”
I don’t bother to look up at Vince from where I’m studying my reflection in the floor-length mirror. My clammy hands make it difficult to pin the damn boutonniere to the lapel of my wedding tux, forcing my best friend to swat my hands aside so he can do the honors himself.
“You’re sweating like a whore in church,” he grumbles.
“Technically we are in a church.” It’s the same Greek Orthodox church as the one Brynn stood me up in. I wanted to go for another one, but Mina put her foot down. It’s within this building’s walls that we attended Greek school together for years. We danced yearly at the festivals and reeked of gyros and souvlaki when it was our turn to serve the food. It’s the church we attended every Sunday for mass, our families sitting beside each other, while Effie sandwiched herself between me and Mina so we wouldn’t kill each other. It’s our heritage, and our community, and I’ll be honest—I’m not one to tell my fiancée no.
In about thirty minutes, she’ll be your wife.
I swallow past the nerves and avert my chin so Vince can work without poking me with the pin.
“Stamos, man,” Billy says, “do you need some water or something?”
The group of them hover like mama birds: Bill, Mark, Vince, and Dominic DaSilva.
But it’s my sister’s voice that pulls me out of the funk. “Your nifi looks beautiful, Nick.”
Nifi. Wife.
I turn to my sister and clear my throat before I make an utter fool of myself. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Mina right now? You didn’t leave her alone, did you?”
Effie laughs, punching me in the shoulder before pulling me into a hug. “Lord, you’re a nervous wreck. She’s with Ma and Katya right now. Kyria Pappas—am I still supposed to call her that, now that she’s getting divorced?” Her nose scrunches. “Anyway, she’s gathering up the flower girls and putting everyone in their place. She keeps popping in to check on Mina, though, and I’m pretty sure I saw her stuffing a box of tissues into that big ol’ purse of hers.”
Mina’s relationship with her mother in the past year has been a slow progression. Weeks’ long stretches of silence turned into short chats on the phone, before becoming dinners and “family” nights where she regularly comes over for a movie and some popcorn. It’s not perfect, but it’s been better since her mother asked Yianni Pappas to move out of the house. When he caused a commotion and the neighbors called the cops, Mina and her siblings laid down the law: either their mom dropped her unhealthy marriage or they would drop her.
The ultimatum worked, even though it’ll be a test of strength for me to avoid beating the man’s face in when I see him today. Mina issued his invitation, but on the strict condition that if he even attempted to talk to his almost-ex-wife, he’d be forcibly removed.
By me, apparently.
I can’t say the thought doesn’t leave a giddy smile on my face. After years of him making Mina feel like crap, I’d be more than happy to return the favor. Tenfold.
The papas, or priest, pops his head into the room. “Time to get in your places. Effie, Ermione is waiting for you in the limo. Dimitri, you too.”
My sister plants a quick kiss on my cheek, and then she and Mina’s brother hightail it out of the room. My best man—Vince, because the bastard would let no one else have the title—claps me on the back and announces, “Let’s do this thing.”