Athena
Two wineglasses catch the moonlight, nearly empty after my lengthy conversation with Demetria. We’re on the loungers by the pool, lying down after Mom overfed us again.
“So, you’re going to move to New York with Julian?” I ask.
Demetria stretches her legs out and yawns. “That’s the plan. We’ll see if it works out between us, but for now, yes.”
“But what about Mom?”
She arches her eyebrows in challenge. “What about Mom? You moved away. Why should I be the one to stay behind?”
I wince, realizing how it sounded. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Didn’t you?” Her tone softens slightly. “Look, Mom has plenty of friends and family back in Greece; she won’t be short of company. If I’m not there anymore and she wants to be closer to us, she could move to New York. Or to Vegas.” She gestures around us with her wineglass. “Be closer to you.”
The thought makes me chuckle. “She would never move away from Greece.”
“Exactly.” Demetria reaches for the bottle to refill our glasses. “She complains about missing us, but do you think she’d actually leave Santorini? Her church? Her friends? Her sisters?”
“Not a chance,” I agree, accepting the refill.
Crickets chirp somewhere in the desert beyond the property line. I love that sound at night.
Demetria shifts on her lounger, turning to face me fully. “I know this isn’t your house,” she says out of nowhere.
The wine turns sour in my mouth. “What?”
“You might be able to fool Mom, but you can’t fool me.” Her eyes are piercing, seeing right through me. My baby sister is clever. “This isn’t your house, Athena.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she raises her hand to stop me.
“First, there’s no way that’s your furniture.
There’s nothing wrong with it. In fact, it’s quite nice, but it’s not yours.
” She ticks off points on her fingers. “Second, you have no idea where anything is. Third, I went into your bedroom earlier when you were at your neighbor’s, and there are clothes in there that are not yours.
I haven’t seen you wearing anything other than white since we were little, and you don’t wear heels either.
There were at least ten pairs of heels in there. ”
“You went into my room? That’s not okay, Dem.” My mind races for explanations, but Demetria isn’t finished.
“It’s not your room, so I’m not going to apologize,” she says matter-of-factly.
“And last but not least… when we got back the other night, you hesitated at the front door like you weren’t sure which key to use.
” She leans forward. “Also, the bookshelf in the office upstairs? Half the books are legal textbooks. You run a casino, not a law firm.”
Fuck. I should have been more thorough. Why did I think I could get away with this? I added books, convinced it all blended in and that neither my mother nor my sister would go into the office, let alone peruse the books in there.
I remain frozen, caught in my sister’s keen gaze. I forgot how observant she can be.
“So whose house is this, really?” she asks. “Ruby’s?”
There’s no point in denying it. I nod, staring into my wine glass. “Yes.”
“And your house is…?”
“Next door,” I admit, gesturing vaguely toward my actual home.
She laughs, not unkindly. “Why the elaborate charade? Why all the lies?”
I take a long sip of wine, buying time. How much should I reveal? How much does she already suspect?
“Also…are you gay?” she asks directly.
I nearly drop my glass but manage to set it down on the table with trembling fingers.
My heart pounds against my ribcage, blood rushing in my ears.
I’ve imagined this moment for decades—one of my family members asking the question outright—but in my imagination, I was always prepared.
I had calm responses, practical explanations.
Now, faced with the reality, all those rehearsed words evaporate.
“Athena?” Demetria prompts gently. “It’s okay. I’ve suspected it for years.”
I stare at her, speechless. “How?”
“You’re my sister.” She laughs softly. “And you’ve literally never dated a man.”
“Mom doesn’t know,” I whisper.
“No, she doesn’t. Though I wonder if she suspects and just doesn’t want to confront it.”
“You won’t tell her, right?” I don’t remember the last time I put on a pleading tone toward anyone, but here I am, bowing down to Demetria.
“Of course I won’t,” she says. “That’s up to you.”
I rub my temples, trying to process what’s happening. After decades of careful evasion, of half-truths and redirections, this is both terrifying and oddly liberating.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I ask.
Demetria shrugs, tucking her legs under her on the lounger. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. And then as the years passed, it just became this unspoken thing between us. I didn’t want to force it out of you.”
“But you just did.”
“And it was about time, don’t you think?” she replies dryly.
I chuckle and shake my head as I don’t even know what to say to that.
“So this house swap…” Demetria continues. “Why? Is it because there’s something in your house you didn’t want Mom to see?”
I hesitate. “My house has certain…adaptations that would be difficult to explain,” I say carefully.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Like what? A secret sex dungeon?”
I choke on my wine, coughing violently and Demetria laughs, reaching over to pat my back.
“Oh my god, I was joking! Do you actually have a sex dungeon?” Her eyes widen.
“Something like that,” I say, thinking on my feet. I can’t tell her the truth, so I’ll go with the sex dungeon.
I watch my sister's face cycle through shock, disbelief, and finally morbid curiosity. Of all the ways I imagined coming out to my family, discussing fictitious sex dungeons by the pool wasn't on the list.
"So that's why you swapped houses?" Demetria asks, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I've got to say, I'm impressed. Most people just hide their porn collection when family visits."
"I'm an overachiever," I deadpan. "Always have been."
Demetria bursts into laughter. "Oh my god, Athena! All these years I thought you were this boring workaholic, and meanwhile you're like the Christian Grey of Las Vegas."
"Please never say that again. I have standards."
“I bet you do.” She settles back, watching me with newfound curiosity. “So can I see it?”
I grimace. "What? No, of course not. Absolutely not."
"Oh, come on! I won't judge," she presses. "Just a peek."
"Demetria, no. This conversation is making me nauseous."
She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Fine. I'll stop asking about your secret lair of debauchery on one condition."
I eye her suspiciously. "What's that?"
"You tell me what's going on between you and Ruby. You like her. I can tell.”
“I do,” I admit. “But it’s not that simple.”
“Because you’re in the closet?”
“I’m not in the closet per se. Well, I am in Greece, I suppose. And here, I don’t publicly flaunt it either, but my friends know.”
“Then what’s the problem? You’re not in Greece.
” Demetria makes everything sound so simple.
She’s always had a different perspective than I do—more straightforward, less encumbered by the weight of expectations.
But then, she wasn’t the one growing up gay in a family where that identity could never be acknowledged, feeling the constant pressure to hide an essential part of herself just to maintain the peace.
“I’m fucked up,” I say. “I’m broken inside and so is Ruby.” I pause, chewing my bottom lip. “Besides, it’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to love, it…scares me.”
Demetria regards me thoughtfully. “Two people who understand brokenness might actually fit together better than those who’ve never been shattered,” she says. “Like those Japanese bowls repaired with gold—the cracks become part of the beauty.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand. There are things that have happened… There’s so much you don’t know.”
“Then tell me now,” she says, taking my hand. “All these years, you’ve been this…enigma. My brilliant, successful sister who keeps everyone at arm’s length. I want to know you, Athena. The real you, not the edited version you show the family.”
My throat tightens as I look at her—really look at her—and see the sister who’s always been there, waiting patiently for me to let her in.
I take a deep breath, feeling something shift inside me, a door unlocking that I’ve kept bolted.
I didn’t think this would ever happen. I’m about to spill it all to someone who shares my blood.