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Vini, vidi, vici, right? I came, I saw, I conquered.
“Trying to amputate my arm, Ermione?”
Er-me-o-ne.
“For future record, I take two spoonfuls of sugar in my coffee. A guy likes a little sugar when it’s being offered.”
Because if there’s one thing I’ve always known, it’s that if I’m the moon, sullen in the darkness and content in my solitude, then she’s the sun, setting fire to everything in her path.
“Hire a hit man to kill off whoever wrote that article about you? I’m creative, as we both know, but I need to know what I’m working with here.”
“A girl like you would be bored by me, Ermione. And a guy like me . . . you’d burn me without thought.”
Growing up, I was called dumb, stupid, slow. I know now that I had a severe case of undiagnosed dyslexia. It made learning hard, reading harder. But in my adult life, I’ve been called worse: reckless, bad, slut.
He’s a rule-follower. Nice guy, Saint Nick. And I’m reckless, at least according to all our family and friends.
There are so many reasons, starting and ending with the fact that nothing else would bring my father more joy than a Greek son-in-law for his Greek daughter. So perfect, so completely nauseating. And what if he turned out to be just like your dad? Controlling, stifling. A shiver slithers down my spine.
“It all goes back to one teeny-tiny, pink bikini bottom.”
“There I was, a young, impressionable teenage girl, and I thought . . . Greek men are legendary in bed. That’s what everyone says, or, you know, at least Cosmo does. It has to be because...
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“Imagine my surprise when I caught sight of the reality after we all went swimming.”
“It’s called shrinkage. I can promise that—” “No promises required.”
“I’ll email you all the details for the renovation.”
Not-a-hug, Mina P.S., I know how much hugs don’t do it for you. Hope this works instead.
P.S., What gave you the impression that I don’t like hugs? P.P.S., For the record, not all Greek men are tiny down under.
P.P.P.S., Care to cut my hair tomorrow while we’re at it? Pro bono, and all.
P.S., In over twenty years, you’ve hugged me exactly two times. I suppose I’ll have to wait till the end of my thirties to earn another. Although I remember them being rather . . . limp. I’m sure they’ve improved since then . . . P.P.S., If you say so. P.P.P.S., YES. How do you feel about going bald? Wanna pull off the Vin Diesel look? You could rock it.
P.S., Girth. De-virgining (de-virginizing?). Limp. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were sending subliminal messages about my dick. P.P.S., For the record, I’ve had no cause for complaint where the latter’s concerned. P.P.P.S., Shave my head and I’ll put in the worst glitter wallpaper you’ve ever seen in your life. That’s a promise.
P.S., I know there’s a secret part of you that loves my mouth.
“I know that you used to get bullied in high school because you collected Barbies. Some asshole saw you at Toys “R” Us when he was there with his little sister.”
“It wasn’t like . . . I mean, it’s not like I played with—”
“You practiced cutting hair on them. I remember, Ermione.”
“I remember when he came in to school one day with a black eye and a busted lip.”
“I wanted to feel bad, you know? I’m against violence, no matter if someone deserves it. Maybe the bully is being bullied at home—or maybe that’s my brain making excuses for their inexcusable behavior. But after months of putting up with his asshole comments, I straight up walked around on cloud nine for days after seeing him like that.” “Weeks.” “What?”
“You walked around for weeks lookin’ like you’d been hand-delive...
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“I’d never felt so pleased wi...
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“You didn’t,”
“Did you?”
“How would you put it?”
“Oh, yeah . . . that Saint Nick doesn’t gossip. Sounds about exactly what you’d say to me, nickname and all.”
“If the shoe fit...
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“One of these days you’ll see that being a good guy doesn’t mean I can’t be a little bad.” “Do you want to be bad?”
“Óxi, Mina mou.” No, my Mina.
Koukla mou,
my doll.
“Why be bad when being good is so rewarding?”
“C’mere.”
“Éla edó.”
“Naí.” Yes.
“Filakia!” Kisses.
Her steadfast attitude is one thing I admire about her.
Did Mina choose this place because it was all she could afford? Or did she see the beauty in the ruination and want to be the one to bring it back to life?
Even when we were younger, she had a way of making a person feel seen, even appreciated. It makes sense that she’d bring that same attitude to a dilapidated building.
Her T-shirt rides up her back, exposing her bare ass to me and to God and to anyone else who cares to take a look. And, in that moment, I care. A lot. More than I should. About the lush curve of her ass, the nip of her waist, the tattoo that covers her right butt cheek.
