19. Athena
CHAPTER 19
Athena
T he smell of bacon permeates the air and draws me out of unconsciousness. Somehow during the night, Scott and I switched positions, and I was the big spoon. Not my favorite. I don’t remember going to the bathroom but now I’m facing my bedroom door, and he’s curled around me like a heat-radiating big spoon.
At least, it better be Scott whose chest is pressed against my back, whose arm is bolted around my waist. There’s literally no chance of me moving without waking him, or at least alerting him, and from the way his nose is buried in my hair I think that’s exactly what he had planned.
Listening to his snuffly little snores as his heavy breath tickles my face is the most satisfying feeling. A deep peace washed over me last night when we lay down to sleep and is still here this morning.
And credit where credit is due, getting into bed with someone you’ve been in love with for years and not even copping a feel? This man is a fucking saint. The urge to grind against his cock struck last night but he’s right, when we do it, it’s not going to be because Apollo almost died and made me panic. Panic sex isn’t fun for anyone. And considering how long we’ve waited to even kiss, the sex needs to be just right.
A squeaky floorboard alerts me to a potential intruder, and I snap my eyes open. Artemis stands in my bedroom doorway, a small, knowing smile on his face. He doesn’t look at all shocked or dismayed to have found his big sister in bed with his half-naked best friend curled around her.
“Nothing happened.” I don’t know why the first thing I feel the need to do is defend myself and say that we didn’t do anything.
Artemis rolls his eyes. “It’s about fucking time, Hen. Breakfast’s ready.” He speaks loudly enough for Scott to stir behind me, and when he shifts his weight away from me I kind of miss being poked in the ass by his raging morning wood.
“Mmmmm.” He mumbles, still close enough to be buried in my wayward hair. “Morning, Bright Eyes.” He’s smiling before he even opens his eyes, and he presses his lips against my cheek. He tries to turn my head to kiss me, either he doesn’t know Artemis is here, or he doesn’t care.
I clap my hand over my mouth with a shriek. “I didn’t brush my teeth last night.”
Scott’s deep chuckle is somehow erotic as fuck when it makes my body and bed shake. “I know, you could barely stand so I put you to bed.” He leans toward me, and I curve my back, so my head moves away from him.
“I didn’t brush!” I flap at his face.
“Don’t care.” He opens his eyes at last and immediately clocks Artemis in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything, but his body goes rigid, but not the fun kind of stiff like his cock.
“Arte.” Is all he says, like he’s waiting for my brother to go nuclear on his ass. But he doesn’t let go of me, he holds on to me like he’s ready to fight to the death to keep his hands on my body.
Fuck. So hot.
“I said it’s about fucking time, and breakfast’s ready.” That’s all Artemis says before he turns and walks away from us.
Scott nuzzles his jaw against mine. “I’ll let you brush just this one time, Bright Eyes. Because it’s the first time. But I don’t give a fuck what you’ve eaten, whose cum you have on your tongue, or if you’ve brushed your teeth the night before. When I want to kiss you, none of that matters, and for the record? I always want to kiss you.”
My body flicks from mildly warm to inferno in a fraction of a second, this man is feral, and I kind of love it.
Somehow, we channel our self-restraint and get out of bed. He doesn’t even throw a shirt back on before he follows me out into the kitchen where Artemis is plating up breakfast for three.
We take our plates to the dining table. Well, some of us do, the boys already have half their food gone by the time we sit down, and Scott pauses, goes back to the stove, and loads up some more onto his plate.
“Athena?”
Fuck. I love how he says my name even more this morning than I did yesterday.
“Mmm?”
“Why do you hate hockey?”
Huh. Not a conversation I expected to have this morning over breakfast with the half-naked man I spent the night with and my brother, but whatever.
“Hockey players are assholes.”
Scott covers his chest with his free palm, wincing, while Artemis pauses the bacon on course for his mouth. “Excuse me?”
“It’s true.” I shrug. “The sport is so toxic, and as a woman, I just can’t get behind it.”
They both sit across the table from me, starting with perplexed expressions on their faces.
“Misogynistic, sexist, racist… hockey needs a culture reckoning. And even if it didn’t, it’s a dangerous as fuck sport, and my brothers risk their lives every time they step out onto the ice.” I take a long drink of orange juice.
I’m aware I sound like a buzzkill, but no one’s ever come right out and asked me why I don’t like hockey. They all assume I hate it because my brothers all play it, and I never did. Because aside from their penises making them god’s—and Papá’s—favourite, they are all exceptionally talented on the ice, and from the conversations I’ve had about it, people think I somehow feel inferior or intimidated by their never-ending talents.
Like having a penis and being able to skate makes them somehow celestial beings.
They both blink at me, their food going cold on the plates in front of them.
“What?”
Scott gives a low whistle. “I had no idea you felt so strongly against the game we all love so much.”
I shrug, my skin heating under their scrutiny. “I’ve never been asked. I think you guys are okay. I mean, you all have your moments, and I still have to remind you of your penis privilege on the regular, but you’re not bad people. There is some deeply entrenched bullshit in the sport, and if you deny that then you’re just idiots.”
We eat in silence for a few heavy moments before Artemis finally breaks the silence. “If it’s so bad, why don’t you use your extreme wealth and influence to do something about it then?”
I snort. “Why don’t you ? Women are tired of cleaning up your messes, guys. And y’all have stopped listening when we try to educate you. It’s time to educate yourselves and do the right thing without having to be dragged kicking and screaming.”
My voice is raised but I don’t care. I don’t care if they’ve already heard my ‘ultra feminist’ and ‘woke as fuck’ views. We’re all fucking screaming, but the world isn’t listening, and education starts at home. If my brothers are truly unaware of the beyond concerning state of the world in which we live in, or how great their privilege is simply because they all have cocks, then they need to have their heads banged together.
“It’s not our fucking jobs to police your dicks. Or your brains. We’re tired of asking you to show up for us.”
Scott looks up from his plate. “Who’s we?”
I drop my fork onto the plate with a loud clang. “Minorities.” I manage on a sigh. “Those who are oppressed simply because they aren’t a white-skinned person who was born with a dick swinging between their legs.”
He nods in response but falls quiet. It’s not the first time in his friendship with my brothers that I’ve gone off on a rant about the state of the world for people with vaginas. But it’s the first time since Scott and I decided to cross that line into something more than friends.
Is this where my ‘radical feminism’ pushes him over the edge, and he runs away screaming?
Ha. Radical . I almost snort. Like it’s somehow extreme to not want anyone else to be able to tell me what to do with my body.
Why is it that the crotchety old white guys in power are totally fine with ‘my body, my choice’ when it comes to their own demographic but not anyone else’s?
Neither man speaks again for a long time. And, while I’m secure in my views, and only ever want to be with someone who not only has my back in my beliefs but who at least understands them and who will champion my right to have them, I admit, I’m kinda unsettled.
Does silence mean they’re thinking about what I said? Does silence mean they’re shrinking into obscurity and want the conversation to change? Does silence mean shut the fuck up talking about your womb fury, Athena?
I have to force down each bite of food with hard swallows but it’s short lasting. I’ve never felt self-conscious about my beliefs before, and if Scott can’t handle being with a strong woman who has strong opinions about everything going on outside the door, then he doesn’t get to have me.
“I knew it was bad, but I guess I’m not sure how to deprogram the pieces of me that have been conditioned without me knowing.”
Despite all my girl power independence, I’m still relieved to learn he’s been thinking about what I’ve said, and not about an emergency escape route out of my apartment. At least, that’s how it seems.
“I’d like to learn a bit more.” He takes a slow and cautious bite of his breakfast keeping an eye on me like he’s afraid I might stab him or take his French toast. Depending on how this conversation plays out, it could go either way really.
“Do you have any resources you could recommend? Like, starting out, not like, academic level. Like ‘am I an accidental asshole, and what can I do about it?’ kind of thing.”
I sit up a little straighter. “I can absolutely recommend a ton of books about the patriarchy and how we should smash the shit out of it.”
He looks at me, his lopsided smile morphing into a grin. “Sounds like fun. I’m in.”
DECEMBER 28TH 2022
“You doing okay?” Savannah sits down across the little table between us and gives me the look. You know, the best friend, I’m-super-worried-about-you look.
I nod, giving cool, calm, and collected vibes, but we both know I’m not fucking okay. And I’m certainly not cool, calm, or even collected.
“They’re both okay, that’s the most important bit.” I pick up my Ariana with an extra shot and blow across the top before taking a small sip. Is there anything more decadent than the perfect cup of coffee?
I stare at her; she stares right back.
“I’ve decided I want to change the world, though.” It sounds fucking stupid as soon as the words burst out between us.
Instead of laughing, she sits forward in her chair and takes my hand. “Tell me what you need.”
There’s nothing stronger than the bond between two best friends, especially women. Need to bury a body? I got you. Extra tampon? Say no more. Want to change the world? What can I do.
It’s a reassuring feeling.
Never having friends who like me or want me for me has left me a little unsure of myself sometimes in my friendship with Savannah. Not because of money, she’s made it very clear that she’s not here for my fortune, and I believe her.
In fact, sometimes I wish she’d let me help her out, but she’s so fucking stubborn, and holding that boundary with all her might, it’s kind of hard not to be impressed by her.
I sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what I want to do in the world.” I sound like I’m middle aged and approaching a milestone birthday, about to have a crisis, but I just want to do good in the world with the privilege I was born with.
Savannah nods then falls silent for a little while. After we both drink more of our drinks, she nudges my foot under the table, her face is serious, like she’s studying me, still worried. The joy of being friends with my darling Savannah Banana is that her poker face sucks. Her expressions give her away one hundred percent of the time.
Scared? Anxious? Depressed? Excited? All right there in her eyes. Or in the subtleties of how her mouth sits as she speaks or thinks. Her ability to go from super pale to pink-faced in a fraction of a second is impressive, too.
“If you could fix anything in the world right now, what would it be?” She holds up a hand. “Don’t think, don’t analyze, just speak.” She points at me.
“Period poverty.”
She smirks like she’s just discovered the cure to a debilitating disease. “Then that’s what you champion.”
I sigh. “If only it was that easy. There are so many good causes out there. Access to healthcare, domestic violence…”
My best friend starts… laughing.
“What? What’s so funny?” Because I sure as hell know she’s not laughing at domestic violence.
“You, my beautiful, goddess of a friend. You are funny. And nothing at all like your namesake.” She pauses, mug halfway to her mouth. “Actually, I take that back. You totally are, strategic, fiercely intelligent, sharp as fuck. But this…” She gestures between us like she’s referring to our conversation.
“Championing women? How very unlike you.” She winks at me before taking another drink.
“For there was no mother who gave me birth; and in all things, except for marriage, whole-heartedly I am for the male and entirely on the father’s side. Therefore, I will not award greater honor to the death of a woman who killed her husband, the master of the house.” I’m quoting the play, The Eumenides by Aeschylus. Granted, Aeschylus was a male Athenian playwright whose plays affirm the city’s status quo, and probably his gender’s as well.
We’ll never truly know what she was like, but she gives misogyny.
When I was younger, I tried to read everything I could get my hands on about the gods my brothers and I were named after. I wanted to know whether we should aspire to be like our namesakes or not.
Turns out, most of the Greek gods were kind of assholes, but not having women’s backs? Athena crossed a line from which she could never come back from with me.
Savannah sweeps her hand, not needing to say, ‘I told you so.’
“Can’t let my gender down, you know?” I take another drink. “The patriarchy does that enough for both of us.”
She holds up her mug, waiting for me to clink mine against it. “Then let’s change the world.” Picking up her cell phone, she’s already tapping on the screen. Another second or two later, she’s hissing through her teeth. “Jesus.” She pauses. “Jeeeeeesus.”
She knows I’m neither in her brain nor looking over her shoulder, right? “What?”
“Nearly one in four students in the US have struggled to buy period products. That’s almost twenty five percent, Hen. I had no idea.” Her voice is full of pain as I nod.
“Period-dot-org, right? I read that website every time I get my period like I’m hoping the statistics will have changed in the last twenty-nine days. One in three adults, too.”
Her face falls. “You’re kidding me. Athena… please tell me you’re kidding me. One in three people who have periods struggle to afford period products?” Her voice is taking on a vague note of hysteria before resolve sets in to each of her features. “We need to fix this.”
“Don’t get me started. Twenty states still tax period products, twenty-eight states out of fifty have passed legislation to increase access to period products in schools, and some schools have been getting blasted for requiring proof of your period for it to be allowed as an excused absence.”
She snorts. “Yeah, and we know how quick and successful implementing passed legislation can be. Wonder if it would be any faster if we all started mailing our clots to our elected representatives.” She’s pissed, and there’s nothing more effective than a pissed-off woman.
She stares at my face for a long time before she speaks again. “This isn’t on a whim. It’s been brewing for a while, right?”
As much as I love finally having a best friend, I hate that she can see right through me, even when I try to keep my walls nice and high. And strong as fuck.
I nod. “Just because I’m rich doesn’t mean I’m out of touch with the real world.” I swallow. “I know that’s not how normal rich people are supposed to act, so it may seem a little weird.” I wink at her. “Difference being, I don’t have a dick, and I actually care about people.”
She clasps her heart. “I should have recorded this whole conversation, Hen. Who knew that under your prickly exterior lay a smushy, sweet-hearted woman who just wants to be tampon Santa Claus.”
I snicker. “I could totally be sexy Santa.”
She nods. “You could. And I bet with the money you’re making on your investments you could buy a shit ton of tampons, too.”
She’s not wrong. I had no idea about any of this shit until the boys educated me. Every now and then I’ll go to Apollo for advice on what to do with my portfolio. Do I have financial advisers? Of course, I’m not an idiot. But sometimes what my brother says is even more important because he knows me best.
“I’ll give it some thought.”
She nods, knowing I’m a do-er, and once I put my mind to something, I make it happen.
She slides down in her chair a little to get comfier. “And all of this came from Apollo’s accident?”
Even the mention of it sends shards of ice-cold fear into my bloodstream making me shiver.
“Sorry.” She reaches a hand across the table to give mine a squeeze. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I shrug. “You know, I’ve been upset as fuck since it happened, and a complete stereotype, Vannah. It’s made me reconsider everything. My life, where it’s going, who I’m going through it with, what I’m doing, what I’m not doing.” I knead my chest, but the pain of the last few days still splinters into my heart.
“Eh, no.” She holds up her hand. “I’m all for taking stock, but you’re not allowed to clear out your bestie, okay? I will not be replaced.” She folds her arms which pushes up her epic tits in her sweater. “Stop ogling my boobs and promise you’re not interviewing for my replacement.”
She’s kidding, but there’s a flicker of insecurity in her eyes that tells me on some level she may actually think that’s possible.
“Never going to happen. I couldn’t find a better applicant than you, bestie.”
She flicks her hair like Alexis Rose on that Gif everyone likes to use and blows me a kiss. “If anyone’s going to cure the world of anything, my money’s on you, Athena de la Pena.”
I wince at the surname attached to my name, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“And not because you’re your father’s daughter, but because you’re the smartest, most determined, and capable woman I know. And none of that’s because of your surname. Putting your privilege to work to help someone else is always a good endeavor, Hen. Father aside.” She makes a face as though there’s a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Your family is super altruistic. Your brothers have always been so good with the team and helping people out. It makes sense that you’d be a champion of women.” She nods. “I like it a lot. And if you want to hide behind someone to take all the credit for your hard work so you’re not in the spotlight.” She hooks a thumb at her chest. “I can totally take one for the team.”
There’s a flutter in my chest at the prospect of helping women on the most basic human level. It sets off a chain reaction that lights up my whole soul. I guess I’ve found what I want to do. And if I could figure out how to help the wives of cheating asshole husbands, that may be next on my list.
I can’t save the whole world, but maybe I can save someone’s world.