Chapter Ten #2
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “You definitely didn’t deserve that garbage. Sounds like Kyra’s insecurities ended up all over you somehow.”
Melanie bridges the air between us to squeeze my hand with hers. I secretly hope she’ll never let go, but she drops her fingers after a moment. “Who knew high school could be so dramatic?”
“It should come with a warning label,” I agree. I was so ready to leave this all behind in middle school. Although, based on how my dad’s book club went this year, I’m starting to worry that drama never stops haunting us.
“But we made it through,” Melanie says. “That’s gotta be worth something.”
“I’m proud of us,” I agree.
We make our way to the ferry. It’s a little one, with the ride lasting only thirty minutes.
I quickly learn that smaller boats only mean more seasickness.
The waves hurl us around the sea (lightly rock us in our seats), and every motion sends a sickening jolt through my stomach.
Melanie spends the half hour sympathetically patting my back while I bravely limit my complaints to only one a minute.
It’s a relief to get onto the sweet, dry land of Delos. Where I might stay forever. Because I’m certainly never getting on a ferry again.
“So, what’s your coming-out story?” Melanie asks me as we get off the ferry. It’s dry, not just in the “we’re not on water anymore” sense but in the literal brown tinges of the tallgrass that sways in the slow, sea-salted breeze.
It’s a classic lesbian first-date question.
Not that this is our first date.
I mean. Oh my god. Not that this is a date at all.
“Pretty straightforward,” I say with a shrug. “My parents have always been supercool about it. I don’t think they were particularly surprised. I talked a lot about how pretty Keira Knightley was after seeing Pirates of the Caribbean.”
Melanie laughs. “That’s an incredible lesbian awakening.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking a little bow. “Yours was that guy, right?”
“Embarrassingly, it did take dating that boy for me to realize that they are simply not for me,” Melanie says. “My parents were fine, but I think my grandma might never get over not planning my and Dimos’s wedding. She definitely had a whole secret floral arrangement picked out.”
“Maybe she can use them for my sister, get both of them off our backs,” I suggest, and Melanie laughs.
We make it off the dock and onto the main stretch of beach. The whole island of Delos is an archaeological site dedicated to the remains of its ancient history. No one lives here, and we have to tour entirely on foot.
I love it already.
We pause to reapply sunscreen. The midday sun is beating down on us, and the archaeological sites where we’re going to spend the day visiting offer no shade.
Brown grass crunches underfoot as we make our way up the path.
Little lizards dart across ahead of us, scrabbling to find shade among the small rocks strewn around the grass.
Melanie follows up her reapplication with an incredibly dorky straw hat that I find unbearably endearing.
“Okay, that’s adorable,” I say.
She tips the edge of the hat at me, and the whole thing bounces. “Sun safety is always sexy. Keep this front of mind.”
I laugh as I follow her toward the Theater Quarter, where we examine the remains of what were undoubtedly the fanciest houses on the island back when it was populated.
Still unsure about where I’m going with my project, I stop to photograph everything, from the details of the slate slabs paving the narrow streets to the pillars framing the courtyards in some of the homes.
“Sorry,” I tell Melanie as I pause to take yet another series of photos, this one documenting the details of a bright blue mosaic floor. “I know this can’t be the most exciting thing for you.”
“Please don’t apologize,” Melanie says, brushing me off. “First of all, we’re literally here for your project. And secondly, I can’t imagine anything cuter than watching you be all absorbed in your work like this.”
I duck my face behind my phone so she can’t see my blush. “I don’t know. Have you seen you in that hat?”
When I stand and fall into step beside her, I let our fingers intertwine. Both of our palms are sweaty from the relentlessness of the sun, but I don’t mind. Her skin warms mine in a pleasant way that’s different from the heat of the day.
We linger awhile at the House of Dionysus before heading over to the Theater of Delos.
It’s an impressive amphitheater that could seat upwards of five thousand spectators.
The ancient stone seats curve in a semicircle around the stage.
The rows are worn from years of serving the audience of the theater and from the winds drifting across the space.
Theaters are quickly becoming my favorite sites to visit.
The idea that people have been telling one another stories for this long always gets me choked up.
“Do you think they had cast list drama in 200 BCE?” I ask Melanie, and she snorts.
“There’s a Kyra in every theater,” she assures me.
We pass through the Terrace of the Lions. It’s a continuation of the paved path we’ve been following but with impressive stone-carved lions roaring over us from their pedestals. They seem stuck out of place, standing proudly amid these tallgrasses and a few lean trees.
We end our tour with the Sanctuary of Apollo, which is now largely in ruins, save for four columns standing watch over the space where the temple once stood. Apollo was Artemis’s twin brother, born on this island to hide their mother from Hera’s jealous rage after Zeus fathered them.
Classic Zeus.
When we finish with the outdoor sites, we reach the museum. Slipping through its glass and into the cool interior is a relief. Melanie walks me through the exhibit, doing her best impression of a tour guide to make up for her lack of knowledge of the island as a whole.
“And here we have another broken statue,” Melanie says when we pause in front of a marble bust. “It’s very old. Please take notes.”
I giggle my way through the museum, though my laughter dies in my throat when I realize it’s time to get back on the ferry of death and doom.
We’re supposed to head straight home and have dinner on the ferry ride to Naxos, but, as Melanie points out when we finally get back onto the steady land of Mykonos, where’s the fun in that?
“Whereas the fun in Mykonos,” she says, “is incredibly easy to find. I’ll just tell my mom we missed the ferry. It’ll be fine.”
My inherent fear of getting in trouble spikes for a moment, but it’s quickly quelled by the sounds of Mykonos nightlife picking up around us.
Lively chatter fills the streets as dinnertime packs the tavernas, and music floats in the air as the nightclubs come to life.
It’s easy to nod my head and follow Melanie to dinner.
The taverna bustles with activity—and, more importantly, with cats—and we agree to split as many dishes as we can.
“What’s your dream life?” Melanie asks me after we order.
I laugh at the broadness of her question, and she raises her eyebrows at me sternly.
“I’d love to travel, spend my life researching.
Working an elusive position in academia that pays all the bills and won’t suck my soul out,” I say.
She nods, her big brown eyes staring deep into mine, and I find myself blurting out more without thinking.
“And I guess…in my dream life, I’m not so trapped in my head all the time.
I can be free, sometimes, of the constant worrying.
Not waste so much of my life proving to myself over and over again that everything’s okay. Maybe even believe it.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever admitted that to anyone before.
Not even Liam. I’ve complained to him about Paige since my parents made me start going to see her, but I haven’t admitted that sometimes the way she talks about obsessive thought patterns sounds like she’s been inside my brain, sees what happens there.
“That sounds like it sucks,” Melanie says softly. “I’m sorry you deal with that.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. “What’s your dream life like, then?”
“Free too,” Melanie says. “Of all the expectations, you know? I guess maybe not free of other people’s expectations existing, because that’s out of my control entirely, but free of caring about them so much. They weigh on me so heavily now.”
“I get that,” I say. I know what it’s like to carry mental weight everywhere you go. “It must be exhausting.”
Melanie nods, and for a moment, I can see the tiredness flash in her eyes. She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, a now-familiar gesture that makes me smile.
“Well, here’s to our dream lives, then,” she says. I meet her eyes across the table, and it’s easy to smile back. Easy to think that, just maybe, it’s all within reach.
—
After dinner it should be easy to get on the ferry and go back to Naxos. Not just easy but increasingly urgent.
But the sun is setting, and we can hear the waves crashing against the sandy shores of the beach, and who are we to ignore the undeniable call of the evening?
So we miss the next ferry, giggling as we make our way down to the beach.
It’s golden at this hour, the sinking sun casting a pale pink glow on the slow-moving water and the quickly cooling sand.
The beauty of the earth comes alive under the setting rays, the pale colors of the day’s last light softening the edges of the world.
I sink into an ease, letting the harsh light of day melt into the cool, whispering twilight air.
This time it’s my hand that reaches for hers, and by the time we’ve reached the sandy expanse of the beach, our fingers are intertwined.
I can feel her heartbeat drumming in her fingertips, racing against my skin.
It creates an electric tingle between us, one that makes me afraid of meeting her eye.
Deepening the connection that’s already simmering between us feels akin to throwing myself off a cliff without knowing what awaits at the bottom.
Besides, the sunset draws both our eyes to the horizon. We watch the sinking of the light in silence, our hands saying everything they need to.
Of course, my brain is coming up with a lot more to say.
My heartbeat thrums under the weight of the warnings pressing against my skull.
You should be running away from this moment.
What are you doing? Why are you here? The ferry left, and now you’re stranded here, and everything is about to be ruined, and there’s nothing you can do about it. A headache blossoms at my temples.
I try to refocus on the moment, blinking as the first stars of the night emerge. They dot the inky twilight. The first shimmer of the rising full moon hovers over the horizon opposite the just-sunken sun.
“What are you thinking about?” Melanie asks me, probably unaware of what a loaded question she’s asked.
“Just…” I pause, taking in the sky. “How beautiful tonight is.”
Probably a safer bet than admitting what’s actually flashing through my brain right now.
I’m right. Melanie’s face lights up.
“It really is,” she agrees. “I’m glad I got to spend today with you. Just the two of us.”
She adds this last part shyly, like she’s not sure about saying it out loud.
It makes me realize fully, for the first time, what I’ve been putting her through this summer.
Taking two steps forward only to run away from her as soon as this thing between us starts to feel too real—only to show back up the next day as if nothing happened.
It’s no wonder she chose to run away herself that night on the boat.
I’m hit with a rush of gratitude for her, for this night, for the full moon that’s slowly rising above the sea and hitting everything with its shimmering silver light.
Melanie herself shines, and I can’t quite tell if the shining is coming from the moon or from within her. Or maybe it’s coming from me, and I’m finally seeing things clearly.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I tell her.
And I’m the one who leans in first.
Our lips meet, and the softness of her undoes me. The world around us silences until it’s only the two of us left standing here. Her hand slides across my lower back, pulling me closer. Which is exactly where I want to be.
Her smile when we break apart carries the light of all the stars above us.
“I thought that would never happen,” she admits. We’re still close enough that my nose brushes against hers as I laugh.
“I’m glad it did,” I whisper.
When we kiss again, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Like we should’ve been doing this the entire time. I want to kick myself for how much of it I’ve wasted.
But then she tilts toward me again, my fingers twining into her hair as I pull her closer to meet the softness of her lips with mine. Her touch is enough to ease my worries about the time we’ve lost.
And it’s okay. We have a moonlit beach walk and an entire ferry ride back to make up for it.