Chapter Twenty-One
Chelsea
Challenge: Try a new cultural experience
We drove to Richmond on Christmas morning. Bas had told me so much about his family, they’d become epic characters I couldn’t wait to meet. I knew the names of his brother and sisters, in chronological order by age. I knew to take off my shoes when I came in the house. I was prepared to have my eardrums shattered from the layers of conversation. And I knew we’d be eating. A lot. I was looking forward to that, of course.
Bas worried his family would overwhelm me, and I intended to do whatever it took to make sure he had no need to fret. As we drove, he said, “My sisters will love you, but Ma can be a tough sell with girlfriends.” He shot me a nervous glance. “Or friends.” He’d also told me that with my coloring and bossy ways I could almost pass as Greek. He let slip, “I may have insinuated a little bit that your mom was Greek.”
As far as I knew, my mom was Irish. Still, whatever got me through the door. I wanted his family to adore me because it was important to Bas. Did he sense how much it meant to me, too? I didn’t expect to be folded in like a fourth sister, but even being a welcome guest in a family structure as rich and loving as his excited me.
The girlfriend comment, though…
He and I had fallen into a comfortable state of limbo. I’d heeded Dr. Rubin’s advice to open up, but we were still in the early stages. Instinctively, I knew we were heading somewhere. Bas had changed in some significant way. He’d become more patient, more attentive, more amazing. Before Thanksgiving, I’d been white-knuckling a romance I was in no way ready for. Now our friendship felt natural, like we’d known each other for years, and he found ways to melt my fears, gently, painlessly. It scared me to think of forging a long-term commitment still, but for the first time in my life, it also felt possible. Given enough time.
But if there could ever be a future for us, I needed to impress his family.
He’d neglected to tell me what we’d be eating, so the smells that greeted us as we entered his parents’ house surprised me. For some reason, I’d assumed it would be the same as everywhere else. Not that my mom and I had done anything traditional for the past decade at least. It pleased me to realize this was going to be anything but the usual Christmas dinner.
Bas froze in the mudroom and gave me a scared-little-kid grimace. “This is it,” he said, ominously. “God, I hope you’ll love this and won’t want to kill me.”
I touched his arm. “It’s gonna be great.”
The kitchen looked like a restaurant. Every conceivable space on the counter and table had something crammed onto it. A woman, maybe ten years my senior, moved nonstop, chopping, spicing, stirring. An older lady who had to be Basil’s mom stood at the kitchen table kneading a fat ball of dough. The two women resembled each other with their thick, dark hair. So far, I could see where Bas came from, even if he claimed he was the resident misfit.
The older woman stopped as soon as she saw us. Her hands flew up to her face, spraying flour into her hair. “You came. I started to think you were lying in a ditch somewhere. Why didn’t you call?”
I tried not to laugh. Bas had not exaggerated the drama.
She came over and gave him a beast of a hug. Bas winced and smiled at me. “I did, Ma. Last night.”
She turned her attention to me. “And this must be Chelsea?” She grabbed me and pulled me in as well. I had to bend down a bit to allow the shorter woman to put her arms around me.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Stavros.”
She backed up and held both of my forearms. “Call me Demi.”
As if.
The younger woman said over her shoulder, “You might as well just call her Ma. She won’t answer to her name in this house.”
Basil’s mom got a saucy look on her face, appraising me like I was a bowl of cream. “It wouldn’t be bad to start now, right?”
Bas adorably palmed his forehead. “Ma. Don’t make this awkward.”
When in Rome. “Do you need any help, Ma?”
She beamed. Bas sighed and seemed to relax.
Demi addressed the woman who’d given me the sage advice. “Ana, where’s Zoe? She’s supposed to be rolling the dough.” She left the kitchen, hollering, “Zoe!”
Ana took advantage of the slight lull to introduce herself. She wiped her hand on her apron and held it out to me. “We’ve heard a lot about you. Your pictures don’t do you justice.”
Bas looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and hide. I shook her hand, returning the compliment. “Bas always says such lovely things about you. He showed me a video of you singing. You have a beautiful voice.”
She waved the compliment away with a sheepish look at Bas. “That was ages ago.”
I added a mental name tag to Anastasia. One sister down, three siblings to go.
As if he read my mind, Bas took my hand. “Come on. I want you to meet Nicky and Gaia.” His brother and oldest sister.
He led me to the living room where some teenage kids were playing video games and didn’t even look up to say hello. Outside of a shopping mall, I’d never seen so many kids in one place.
When we headed down the hall, a couple more kids assaulted us, screaming, “Theo Basil! Did you bring us presents?”
“They’re in the car. I’ll bring them in later.”
He snatched at them, but they dodged him, laughing. One little boy tried to climb up his back. Bas knelt down and clasped the kid’s hands over his shoulder, stood, and spun around. There was barely any room, and the kid’s shoes scraped against the walls, leaving a mark. The other kids yelled, “Me! Do me, Theo Basil!”
He set the dizzy kid down and said, “I will, if any of you can tell me the Greek root of the word ‘gyrate.’”
That seemed to scare them away, and they fled. All except one girl of about ten. “I can, Theo Basil.” She waited for him to tell her to go on. “It’s easy. The root is ‘gyr,’ and it means ‘ring.’”
He nodded. “That’s good, Elektra. Can you think of another word with the same root?”
She bit her upper lip, and her right toe twisted into the carpet. Then her face brightened. “Gyro!”
Bas laughed. “Nice job. Climb up.”
Her mouth spread into the most beautiful smile, showing all her teeth. “Thanks, Theo Bas!”
After he deposited her back on the ground and she ran off, I had so many questions. “Is her name really Elektra?”
He shrugged. “Yes, why?”
“She’s a ten-year-old girl, not a supervillain.”
“You’re going to want to cover your shock when you meet my cousin Zeus.”
I laughed. But he didn’t. “Oh, you’re not kidding.”
He counted off on his hand. “Hera, Hero, Cosmo, Iphigenia, Ajax.” He switched to his other hand. “Then the saints: Michael, Anthony, Nicholas, George, Sebastian.”
I snorted. “And Basil. Now I don’t find your name so odd.”
“You thought my name was odd?”
“Different. I’ve never known anyone with your name. Makes me think of food.” Never a bad thing. “Why do they call you Theo?”
“It means uncle.” He frowned at that for some reason but then urged me to continue.
We made it another couple of feet down the hall before his mom crossed our path, trailing yet another woman, younger than Ana, closer to my age. She introduced herself as Basil’s youngest sister Zoe, but their mom harried her to get back to the kitchen. “If you don’t roll out the Christ’s bread, we won’t have any for dinner.”
Bas snickered. “That would be blasphemy. Her bread is so good, you’ll decide to marry me on the spot.”
Then his mom spit on him. Not just once. Like three times. “Ptu! Ptu! Ptu!”
He laughed. “Ma, I’m only joking.” He winced at me. “She’s warding off the evil eye.” As his mom disappeared down the hall, jabbering something in Greek with hands flailing, he explained, “So I won’t ruin my chances of getting married.”
“Okay.” I double blinked, and the color drained from Basil’s skin. He must have seen the panic settling into my eyes.
“This might have been a mistake.” He sighed. “We’ve barely scratched the surface.”
We went downstairs to find a bunch of men building a dollhouse. Bas nudged one. “Nicky, you finally got what you wanted when we were kids.”
Nicky stood, rubbing his back. “This motherfucking—” Then he saw me. “Uh. Hi. You must be Chelsea.” Nicky looked like an older, more mature, yet softer version of Bas. Handsome still, but he didn’t seem to have started out with the same unfair raw materials as Bas. His eyes were dark but less kind. He had frown lines where Bas had laugh lines. While Bas glowed with charismatic energy, Nicky’s sallow skin and slouched shoulders exuded exhaustion.
Bas introduced the other dollhouse builders as Ana’s husband Michael and his own dad, Zander.
Bas pointed at another guy, sitting at a card table, observing everyone. “That’s Gaia’s husband, Nick.”
Of course. I stifled a laugh.
I turned to greet his father, anticipating the same boisterous welcome I’d received upstairs. Unlike Nicky, Zander had aged gracefully. His seasoned face showed years of experience, good and bad. The gray in his hair gave him an air of elegance and wisdom.
Welcoming, he was not.
He didn’t nod or greet me in any way. He didn’t insist I call him Dad. His eyes didn’t even lift to acknowledge me.
My stomach knotted.
Did he know I’d hurt Bas before? That I’d probably hurt him again? Did they all know? Was this his way of protecting his son from me?
Wise man; shunning me now would probably save everyone time. I clenched my fist to banish those self-defeating thoughts. I had to try to gain this man’s approval, for Basil’s sake at least. I stretched out to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr.—”
Zander glanced once at my proffered hand before he turned back to the dollhouse. “Nicky, can you grab those instructions?”
The tang of blood tinged my tongue from biting the inside of my cheek, but Zander’s cold rebuff couldn’t touch the level of menace I’d endured from my own dad. I could weather incivility. The fatherless girl deep inside rose to Zander’s challenge, hoping to prove myself, to gain his respect. No wonder Bas had spent so much of his life feeling like he couldn’t measure up.
Bas squeezed my wrist, reminding me of our greater purpose. He’d warned me one or the other of his parents might be rude, good cop/bad cop. I prayed that’s all this was, a temporary test of my mettle. He’d said it was better to win over his mom, which I had. I’d win over his dad, too.
I relaxed my tight jaw and smiled as sincerely as I could manage.
Bas tugged me. “I’m just passing through, Dad. I wanted Chelsea to meet Gaia.”
His brother ran a thread of glue across one edge of a tiny window. “She should be upstairs. Did you check the kitchen?”
“You can be such a caveman, Nicky.”
Nicky chuckled. “And yet you know I’m probably right.”
“Yeah, we’ll check again.” Bas waved at the other Nick as we left the basement. “Hey, Nick.”
“Hey, Bas.”
He seemed to realize I’d hit maximum saturation. Instead of taking me to the kitchen, he asked, “You wanna see my bedroom?”
“Definitely.”
We climbed another flight of steps, and he opened the door onto a high school museum. I ran my eyes over all the documented evidence Bas had once been a teenage boy. The requisite trophies and ribbons and comics lined his shelves.
I loved this preserved history. When I’d left home, my mom told me to remove anything I wanted to keep, then she threw the rest away. My room was now storage.
Bas leaned against the doorframe. “Dinner won’t be ready until forever if they’re still making the bread. I can get you some coffee or—”
I saw a yearbook on a bookshelf and made a beeline for it. I sat on his bed, flipping pages. “Oh, this should be good.”
He jumped beside me. “Hey, no, no, no.” The mattress sprang, up and down, as he frantically reached around me to try to snatch the yearbook, but I hunched over the pages while I scanned the names.
“I found you!” I giggled. “Oh, is this your senior year?”
“Give it.” His arms surrounded me from behind as he attempted to wrest the book from my grasp.
Triumphant, I turned around to face him. “Weren’t you a little hottie?”
Then I saw the look on his face. We were sitting on his childhood bed, and his arms practically enveloped me. My laughter dropped like a stone. “Oh.”
He sat, tensed, like he might be accused of a crime he hadn’t committed. It was written all over his face that he hadn’t planned this. I should have gotten up right then, but he was right there.
All of a sudden, it was like the past month had never happened, like we’d never taken sex off the table. My heart beat double time, and I felt like I was breathing through water.
His movements slowed. His eyes fixed on mine, dilated, and his hands on my arms tightened, held me fast, drew me to him. I didn’t tell him to stop. He didn’t ask me if he should.
I could have run, but I didn’t. My hesitation must have read like permission.
He hadn’t bothered to shave, and a shadow of scruff covered his strong cheekbones. The need to touch his soft-scratchy skin overwhelmed me, and of its own accord, my hand lifted to his cheek and traced his jaw. My thumb dragged slowly across his lower lip, caressing that small part of him I fantasized about endlessly, wanting more than anything to kiss him again, wanting to cross the line we’d drawn.
His mouth opened, inviting, and his tongue ran sensuously across the tip of my finger, loosing a million butterflies. God, I’d missed this.
My free hand slid around to touch the tantalizing muscle on the side of his neck. My grip tightened, kneading his skin. With both hands, I clawed his hair, twisting my fingers in, forcing him closer to me. Then his mouth was on mine, sucking my lips, scorching my entire body with need. He whispered my name, like a wish.
His hands sprang to life, exploring the fabric of my shirt, searching for an opening, and then he found his way inside, along the edge of my bra, under the lace, his thumbs on my nipples, and I moaned.
I shoved him over and ripped his shirt free of his pants, pants that now prominently strained below his zipper. The moment I laid my hands on the dark line of hair pointing straight into his pants, a voice called up the hall.
“Basil!”
“God dammit,” he groaned.
Flustered, I took control of my breathing and laughed. “Yeah, God dammit.”
He sat up and adjusted his pants. “Someone’s going to knock on that door any minute. I’m sorry.”
I bit my lip. I was also sorry and very, very frustrated.
He stood up and muttered, “Fuck me.”
“Now?” I joked.
I’d never seen his eyes so dark before. I wondered if mine matched.
We needed to talk about what had just happened. My undeniable attraction to him had never subsided, and he barely hid his desire for me. The promise that we both still craved each other so much was pushing us to a point where we’d need to redefine our relationship sooner or later, or we were going to wreck our friendship. Maybe it was time to take a risk on something more.
Once we were alone again, we’d have an honest conversation about where things went from here.
Tonight .
We got up and left his room. Zoe had come searching for us and was halfway up the stairs when we turned the corner, looking every bit like a couple of people who needed to get a room. Zoe took us in and shook her head. “Ma wants to know if you want to help with the dolmades? She likes yours best.”
Bas descended the steps two at a time, and I pitied whoever had to take the brunt of his emotions. Probably whatever dolmades were.
Zoe lagged behind and laid a finger on my arm to delay me. “It’s obvious Bas cares a lot about you.”
She was the sister closest to him, so I wanted her on my side. “Bas is a gem. I care about him, too.”
“I’m glad you’ve stayed friends. I can see why he likes you.” Her hand squeezed tighter. “He’ll always be my baby brother, so I worry about him, you know?”
She didn’t elaborate further, but her meaning was clear: please, don’t hurt him again. It gave me pause. If I changed our status quo before we were ready, we could ruin a really good thing. How would I know we were ready?
I couldn’t answer her unspoken request, so I told her what I knew to be true. “He regards your opinion so highly. He’s lucky to have you in his corner.”
At that she smiled, and we made our way downstairs.
Thank God, dinner at the Stavroses was tantamount to a sexual experience. The table had all kinds of stereotypically Greek foods like feta cheese and kalamata olives distributed everywhere. After Basil’s dad cut the Christ’s bread with a benediction, we were served something called avgolemono—an eggy lemon chicken and rice soup. And my God. Amazing.
I recalled Bas showing up at the coffee shop, enticing me with food, and explaining how lemons symbolize love, fidelity, and good luck.
Gaia pointed a fork my way. “Chelsea, has Bas ever told you about the time he got in trouble for egging the neighbor’s house?”
“What? No!” I didn’t even want to stop eating long enough to speak, but I had to hear stories about Bas.
Everyone at the table burst out into various exclamations remembering whatever trouble Bas had gotten into. Gaia continued, “Bas was what, fifteen?”
Bas peeked out from behind a palm. “I was eleven. Do you have to tell this story?”
Gaia kept going. “It was Halloween, I think. I have no idea why he decided to egg their garage, but he got caught red-handed.”
Bas grumbled. “It was a dare.” He glared at Nicky.
Nicky raised both hands in protest. “Don’t drag me into this.”
“What happened?” I tore off some of the bread and popped it in my mouth, savoring it.
Basil’s dad broke in. “He spent the next several weeks scrubbing, then painting their garage and doing their yardwork—”
Bas finished, “—and cleaning their gutters and hauling their garbage cans.”
They all laughed at his expense, and I joined in the mockery, making sure to bat my eyes and flash him flirty smiles so he’d know I didn’t mean it. The entire time they teased him, I watched his face for signs he’d had enough humiliation. Part of me wanted to put an end to his suffering. But he never grew angry, despite obvious embarrassment.
Instead, he dished back. “Of course, we won’t talk about the time Dad poisoned the neighbors’ crabapple tree.”
His dad roared, “That thing was a menace.” But he wiped his eyes, obviously delighted by the ribbing.
The laughter at the table was so joyful, I felt a stab of envy that Bas got to be a part of such a huge and loving group of people.
I couldn’t believe this was his normal life. He’d told me about his family, but he’d always made it sound like the comedic version of mine: something he’d survived in his youth. It surprised me to see him surrounded by such gregarious people who clearly loved him and trusted him enough to abuse him in the most honestly hilarious ways I’d ever seen, like a celebrity roast.
Meanwhile, Basil’s mom served more food from the kitchen. It never stopped. She and Ana had made roasted pork and fried potatoes. Then there were the dolmades Bas had created—an herby rice mix stuffed inside a grape leaf. I’d never had that before for some reason, and it made me wonder what I’d been doing with my life.
I ate and observed. I’d listened to Bas gripe affectionately about his family, so I took a chance when his dad had a mouth full of food to get a word in edgewise and ask him about a topic near and dear to his heart: Greece.
“Where is your family originally from?”
Zander puffed up. “I grew up in the beautiful seaside town of Voula. Demi lived farther inland. Her family came into town to go to my church, and that’s where we met.”
Basil’s mom proclaimed, “And Bas has still never seen our home.” She shook her head. “Promise me you’ll make the time to visit your yia yia when you’re there.”
Bas shot me a panicked look. It was fleeting, but I didn’t miss it. I sat stunned, confused, convinced I’d misheard, even as his mom continued to rattle off family members and landmarks he had to see, like she was building him an itinerary. Food stuck in my throat, and I reached for my glass of water while I processed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put the puzzle pieces together.
“You’re going to Greece?”
His lips pinched together, and I could see him formulating a response, but before he could speak, his mom carried on, unfazed. “He’s leaving next week. We’re all so excited.”
The air expelled from my lungs with an oof .
Was he planning on telling me?
I turned away from him, toward his beaming mother, to change the topic or else I was going to cause a scene. Asking about foods and traditions worked like magic. I held up the dolmade I’d just bitten into. “What are in these?”
Bas cleverly kept his mouth shut so his mom could tell me all about how they were normally made and what other fillings one might use. When I praised them as “unbelievable,” she lifted her chin with a proud grin and said, “Basil made these.”
Bas ducked his head and blushed as if he wasn’t supposed to hear his parents’ praise. He wasn’t off the hook, but I decided that conversation could wait. In the back of my head, a voice was reminding me that Elizabeth and I would be going to France in January. Maybe he didn’t want to be left alone in Charlottesville. It would be a good time to go. I couldn’t blame him.
His dad boasted, “Our people have been eating dolmades since the time of Alexander the Great.”
The kids at the table groaned at the introduction of a history lesson, but I saw another chance to pander and asked, “Why did they start to eat them?”
Zander laid both hands on the table and proceeded to recount the siege of Thebes in 335 BC. Bas rolled his eyes, and his siblings began squabbling over something else, but I planted my elbows on the table and listened intently.
The more I asked him about Greek history, foods, traditions, the more he warmed up to me. Before the last course, Zander said, “She might be more Greek than you, Bas.” Bas gave me the side-eye, and I knew the compliment had been meant more as a teasing dig at him than a true acceptance of me.
Then one of the adorable nieces ran to the kitchen and brought out a shortbread cookie thing called koulourakia for dessert. It melted in my mouth.
It brought a tear to my eye to be included in such an amazing experience. Nobody treated me like an outsider. Well, Basil’s dad didn’t welcome me with open arms right away, but he wasn’t mean. Just suspicious, I gathered. It was especially meaningful to me, since my mom hadn’t bothered to call all day. I considered calling her, but I couldn’t swallow that much of my bitterness. Instead, I pretended Basil’s family was mine, that I’d grown up with too many sisters and parents who chided me as a form of love. And loved me unconditionally.
When we finished eating, Bas fought off scoldings from both parents for wanting to head back home before it got too late. He ducked out to his car and returned like Santa, distributing gifts for the kids.
His mom brought out a box filled with wrapped presents and set it down in front of Bas. I saw my name on a label and felt embarrassed I hadn’t brought them anything myself. I hadn’t anticipated being a recipient on such short notice. Bas saved me an awkward moment by telling her, “I placed our presents under the tree.”
I expected him to bring them over so we could all open our gifts, but he took the box out to the car and returned. At my obvious confusion, he said, “We exchange gifts on New Year’s traditionally. But…”
My throat constricted. “But you won’t be here.”
“I won’t.” His eyebrows rose. Apologetic or abashed? “My flight is the next day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My words came out soft, almost a whisper, and I realized I wasn’t mad at him anymore. He hadn’t betrayed me in any way, but he’d kept something secret, like after everything, he didn’t fully trust me.
His dark eyes studied me, but before he could answer, Ana said, “It’s Saint Basil’s feast day.”
“What is?” I asked, glancing at the table arrayed with the remains of our huge dinner. “Today?”
“January first,” she clarified. “Saint Basil is like Greek Santa Claus, leaving gifts on the doorstep.”
I couldn’t help nudging him. “Saint Basil, huh?”
Bas blushed. “Friends call me Basil the Great.”
“Basil the Deceiver,” I needled.
He sagged. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“I just thought—” I didn’t know what I thought, and Bas stood there, expression open, waiting for me to finish my sentence. “I thought we were friends. You could have told me,” I finished lamely.
His face clouded over. “We are friends. But so long as that’s all we are, I need to make plans that won’t always involve you.”
It cut, but he was right. I’d given up any claim to him in November when I chucked him. Maybe when we both got home from our trips, we could sort things out.
Zoe came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with eight shot glasses filled with ice and a clear liquid. She said, “Surely you have time for one drink.”
Bas handed one to his mom, then one to me, then the rest of the adults reached out and took one. Bas declined, saying, “I’m driving.”
Zander said, “Nonsense,” shoved a glass in his hand, and said some expression I’d never heard in my life. It sounded like ya mas . Bas shrugged and tossed back his drink, as did the rest of the clan, so I did as well.
Ouzo. I recognized the liquorishy liquid immediately, but it had been years since I’d had it. The lights dimmed, and music began to blast through unseen speakers. Next thing I knew, Bas pulled me up onto my feet. “Dance with me?”
I shook my head, acting coy, and he smiled a playful grin, tugging me into the mayhem. Then we joined in with the rest of the family, spinning, clapping, and laughing. I moved to a rhythm I’d never known, passing in and out of Basil’s arms.
After another round or three of ouzo, he pressed me close against him, his hands on my back, his forehead on mine, and asked, “So? What do you think of this madhouse?” with a nervous inhalation.
“I love your family.”
“Even my brother?”
“Even Nicky.”
A smile stretched across his face, and he swayed slowly with me as if in time with a song playing only in his head.
As the ouzo worked its way through my system, putting me at ease, I fell into his rhythm, eyes closed, dwelling on what I’d learned about him today. I began to question everything.
If Bas came from such a strong family, with parents and siblings who’d married happily and for keeps, maybe he’d inherited and internalized some of that. Maybe he could deliver on forever, if I’d let him.
Or maybe I was looking for an excuse to get into his pants. I really wanted to get into his pants.
I looked around the house where he’d grown up, surrounded by uncomplicated love, and a powerful supernova burst in the center of my stomach. I wanted this. I could reach out and touch the life I’d never believed existed. When Bas leaned down and kissed me, I felt wanted and loved. I felt like I could belong.
If there was one man on the planet who was worth the risk of heartache, I’d found him. I honestly believed he felt the same about me.
He was right here. Right now. And I worried I was going to lose him.
I looked up to find his deep brown eyes searching mine, and I would have given anything to read his thoughts. I could read his body easily enough. What he wanted was frustratingly obvious. Delicious. Powerful. Passionate. If I said the word, he’d be mine.
I wanted to say that word. I wanted to trust him to take that step into the future with me, but he was ready to head off to Greece. We stood on a precipice, and the slightest push would send us tumbling into something uncontrollable. When that happened, I wanted to make sure he’d be there to catch me.