CHAPTER 5
NINA MARCHESI
“We’re done!” my mother declares, clapping her hands together.
The hours that passed after I returned home from delivering the cookies to the association felt like a triathlon. First, we tidied up the shop until it was ready to reopen in two days, after the Christmas holiday.
Then we crossed the back corridor that connects it to our house and prepared it for Christmas night—even though we don’t plan to spend it here, because it would be absolutely dreadful to have to do all of this tomorrow.
Once everything was finally in its proper place, we headed to the kitchen, and that’s where the work truly never seemed to end.
Cookies, doughs, and roasts enough to feed a battalion were prepped for tomorrow’s lunch—even though we don’t intend to host more than five people.
But when it comes to food, my mother is the embodiment of excess.
So when I lift my hands to the sky, I truly thank whatever powers may be for the fact that we’re finally finished.
“All right. Go get ready,” she says, untying her apron.
I bite my lip.
I hide my hands behind my back and tilt my head, testing the ground.
“I think I’d rather not go,” I say very slowly.
My mother literally freezes mid-motion. She’s bent over the kitchen counter and lifts only her head to look at me.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t think I want to go.”
“You think?”
“I’m sure.”
“Since when?”
Since this afternoon—but I don’t say that.
The truth is, I wasn’t ready to face the Fantastic Four. I knew they weren’t boys, no matter how much people insisted on calling them that. I’d seen photos, damn it.
I also knew they’d be at the party and I was excited to go despite that—but I didn’t expect to have to interact with them. I thought I’d observe them from afar, the way I did for most of my life.
The encounter at the association, however, changed everything.
Seeing them in person… Seeing him in person…
It’s ridiculous. I know it’s ridiculous. But the expectations pounding in my chest tell me that seeing them in all their adult glory flipped a switch in my head that hadn’t been touched in a very long time.
The Cinderella tale. The poor girl the rich man looks at and instantly falls in love with. These things don’t happen in real life—but Nero looked at me. He really looked at me. And just like that, I was back inside my teenage fantasy.
Which brings me to this moment—when I’m on the verge of tearing my hair out over drama that doesn’t even exist and that I’m sure only makes sense inside my head. Truthfully, it barely makes sense even there.
Scenario one: I go to the party and they ignore me, focusing all their attention—which I’m sure is highly contested—on things and people that actually matter to them.
This is the most likely scenario. In it, I inevitably come home disappointed.
It’s ridiculous, but I know myself. I know it will happen.
Scenario two: they actually talk to me. Which means I’ll be forced to talk to them.
Which means my childish fantasy—one that never should have been awakened—might grow even stronger or be completely destroyed.
And this is, without a doubt, the worst scenario, because I can’t even decide which of those outcomes I’d prefer.
“Don’t be silly,” my mother decides. “You’re going to the party. You’ll see your friends. Make new ones. You need friends.”
“I have friends!” I protest, indignant.
“Who?” I blink, my mouth falling open, unable to believe my own mother’s audacity.
“I have… I have… I have lots of friends in Athens!” I lie.
It’s not that I was antisocial or lonely during my university years—I wasn’t. I went to parties, went out with friends, got drunk for the first time, did everything that’s expected of a young woman who leaves a tiny village like Khione for a city like Athens.
Well… almost everything.
But just as I didn’t form deep friendships here before leaving, I didn’t form them there either.
There were friends—but they already feel more distant now that I’m back in Khione, even though it’s only been a week.
And that’s never really been an issue for me.
I feel like I’ll meet the right people when I’m meant to.
And with that simple thought, the Fantastic Four pops back into my mind—because that’s the kind of friendship I want for myself.
Thank you, Mom. Truly. Thank you so much.
I huff, and my mother’s brows lift.
“Great. But now that you’re here, it would be nice if you started making friends here too.”
She doesn’t argue, even though she knows I’m lying.
“I don’t need to do that today. Not at the association party,” I say, and her eyes narrow, scrutinizing.
I shift my weight uncomfortably and turn my face away, avoiding her gaze.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just don’t feel like going,” I lie again.
“Nonsense! I know you, Nina. You came from me. You were pretending not to care, but you were excited to go. Up until today. What happened during the day? You got to the shop this morning and—”
“All right! All right! I’ll go! I’ll go!” I interrupt in panic as she starts verbally retracing my steps, terrified she’ll uncover the root of the problem.
For the love of God. This is embarrassing enough without anyone else knowing. I don’t need anyone else aware of my latest spiral—especially my mother. I love her, but I do not want to have this conversation.
We had exactly one awkward conversation involving boys when I was fourteen, and that embarrassment alone was enough to last a lifetime. We are definitely not having that conversation now.
“I’ll go to the party,” I repeat, and my mother smiles, satisfied.
“Good. Then go get ready.”
***
The feelings churning in my chest aren’t exactly welcome, but I don’t know how to avoid them as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, admiring the long dress with its structured bodice and flowing tulle skirt.
The terracotta color warms my skin, makes my hair—pulled into a medium bun that leaves only my bangs framing my face—look even darker, and my eyes even bluer.
Until yesterday, I thought the dress was perfect. Now, I find myself insecure about it. But I know it’s not really about the dress—and it’s insecurity in general that I don’t like.
I exhale slowly until all the air has left my lungs, then draw it back in just as slowly.
It’s going to be fine, Nina. You just need to go to the party, accept the reality that kindness isn’t interest, and let this Christmas madness pass.
Maybe my mother is right and I really do need a friend.
I turn away from the mirror and take a good look around the room. I wrinkle my nose.
I need to redecorate.
The teenage style—with posters plastered all over the walls, pink furniture, and stuffed animals on the shelves—definitely doesn’t suit me anymore. After Christmas.
After Christmas, I’ll deal with it. Especially because the unopened suitcases by the door tell me I need to do much more than get rid of my teenage bedroom—I need to start unpacking, for one thing.
I square my shoulders and bend my neck, preparing to leave the room as if a war awaits me on the other side.
The thought alone is enough to make me laugh at myself.
Don’t be silly, Nina. Nothing big is going to happen tonight.