Chapter Fourteen September 10 #2
I accept my father’s jacket, trying not to huff and puff like a baby dragon as I tie the sleeves around me.
My eyes meet Theo’s at the altar as I’m aggressively tightening the knot.
I wonder how long he’s been watching. Theo, in a seemingly uncharacteristic move, offers me a nod of understanding, like he gets it.
Like he can see that this isn’t my fault.
I’m not the villain my dad is making me out to be.
I’m just a girl who doesn’t know how to be the person my father wants me to be. Not anymore, at least.
But even Theo’s kind face isn’t enough to squash the complete humiliation and shame I’m drowning in as I walk to the baptismal font, my dad’s coat working overtime as a tent.
Once everyone has arrived, the baptism begins, and Dad, the godfather, holds Paulie as the priest recites the service from his book.
Theo stands by Father Abraham, somehow knowing what to do to assist him without being told.
I remain still, next to Dad, kissing the cross when I’m told and nodding my head to reject Satan when I’m asked.
The priest breathes upon Paulie’s mouth, brow, and chest as he says, “Expel from her every evil and impure spirit which hideth and maketh its lair in her heart.”
How does a person expel all evil and impure spirits to achieve goodness? By turning the cheek? By closing themselves off to temptation? What extraordinary alchemy would be needed to turn evil to good?
Following the baptism, Dad and I ride home together so I can change before lunch at the restaurant. We don’t speak. Fine by me. What more can he say? I already know he’s disappointed.
They never stop to think about the mixed messages they send us.
Mom encourages me and Georgie to dress up.
To “look nice.” How am I supposed to know when “looking nice” crosses the line into being dressed in a way that they don’t deem appropriate?
Especially when these aren’t my rules or guidelines.
At home, I take off my dress and throw it into a corner of my closet.
I’m so over this. I can’t believe he treated me that way, and what makes it worse is that Theo was there to witness it.
What if it gets back to John? He doesn’t need another reason to pull away.
Not when I have him where I want him. Need him.
I grab a pair of jeans and throw on a huge hoodie. In the bathroom, I wash all the makeup off my face and throw my hair into a messy topknot. Mom bought me that dress. She saw me walk out of the house in it. Make it make sense!
As I come down the stairs, Dad is waiting in the foyer. I expect him to give me a hard time for dressing so sloppily, but instead he looks relieved.
Despite myself, I’m happy to see that the ice has melted a little between us.
Why do I care so much about pleasing him, anyway?
It’s always so fleeting. And if he knew the truth of what happened between me and John—what’s happening between me and John—he’d never forgive me.
I’m not Georgie. He expects more. He expects the impossible.
When Dad and I arrive at the restaurant, appetizers have already been set out. Mom rises from the table before I can sit and she grabs my arm. She nods for my father to join us at a quiet spot by the entryway.
“What is this?” Mom asks, looking me up and down.
“Dad didn’t like my dress, so I changed.” I say it so casually. Without emotion. Like I’m some robot that does whatever they want. An AI version of myself who can never get it quite right. Much like version 1.0.
“You’re the godmother,” Mom reminds me. “You can’t show up here dressed like you just rolled out of bed.”
“She’s comfortable,” Dad says, offering me a smile.
“I’d love to be comfortable too, but we’ve invited the priest to eat with us.”
“So?” I ask. “Are you worried he’s going to gossip with the women at church about how your daughter’s fashion choices are confused?”
Mom sighs deeply. She shoots narrow-eyed glances at both me and my father.
“We are trying to make a good impression here.” She doesn’t have to expand.
I know what she means. She saw this lunch as an opportunity to prove to the priest that we are not Arab trash just because Georgie had premarital sex and got pregnant.
“Mom, he’s a priest. A man of God. He forgives people for a living. Stop worrying so much.”
“Listen to her, Mary. Is he here yet?” Dad glances back into the dining area while loosening his tie.
“He’s downstairs washing his hands.”
“Did he bring his wife?” Dad asks, as I try to slink away from the conversation.
“No. She wasn’t feeling well. He brought the altar boy with him. Theo. And his mother, Petra, Father Petropolis’s widow.”
Dad nods in understanding while I try not to freak out at having to break bread with John’s best friend in front of my entire family.
Of course, the only available seat at the table is across from Theo.
I pull out a chair and sit. He’s changed too.
No longer in his altar boy threads, Theo is wearing a crisp white dress shirt, black tie, and dress pants.
This teenage rebellion of mine is flopping as I move from one clothing-imposed insecurity to the next.
We both open our mouths to speak at the same time, then stop.
“Go ahead,” he insists.
“So, like, are you and Father Abraham besties?”
Theo laughs. Good. He doesn’t take himself too seriously.
“He’s sort of taken me under his wing. I go along with it because it makes him feel good about himself, and it’s easier. It’s also good for my mom to get out. She and your mom seem to be getting along,” Theo adds, cocking his head to the other end of the table.
“Easier than what?” I ask, as I try to ignore our mothers laughing and smiling together. My mother is good at peopling.
“Easier than letting them know the truth.”
“Which is?” I ask.
“I’m fine. I don’t need the constant supervision and check-ins.”
I want to say relatable, because all I want to be most of the time is left alone. Trusted to make my own decisions. But then again, I’m not grieving like he is. I can’t quite relate to what he’s going through, and as much as my parents annoy me, I’d never want to be in Theo’s shoes.
He spoons some hummus onto his plate and dips his pita into it. “I see you changed,” he says, raising his eyebrows. His mouth widens as he stuffs in an enormous bite.
“You don’t have to pretend you didn’t notice that whole thing at the church.”
He lifts his shoulders, unbothered, as if it wasn’t as big a deal as I’m making it out to be.
I grab a warm pita from the basket and rip it in half.
“Not that I agree with your father’s reaction, but all that stuff—the makeup, fancy clothes—it’s all a distraction. And you don’t need it.”
“Because it’s easier to say mean things to me when I’m ugly?”
“That’s not what I meant. At all.” He shakes his head, looking almost upset. “You’re not ugly.”
Georgie nudges my knee with hers under the table. I glance sideways to see a grin on her face.
My phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket. I pull it out.
Georgie: He’s flirting with you. Flirt back.
Me: He’s John’s best friend!
Georgie: He’s cuter. And Dad might actually let you date him.
Me: You think he’s cute?
“Are you texting each other about me?” Theo asks, his voice light. Playful.
“God, egotistical much?” I say, dipping my bread directly into the shared hummus bowl.
“God, table manners much?”
“Khalas with using God’s name in vain,” Dad groans from the other end of the table.
Everyone bursts into the kind of laughter that cuts away the remaining tension.
Well, most of it. I look across the table to find Theo blushing.
The contrast of the rose-colored hue of his cheeks against his porcelain skin makes him look like one of those expensive handmade dolls.
Objectively speaking he is very good-looking, but in a non-exciting way.
“So, are you Greek or…?” I ask, trying to figure him out. We attend a Greek Orthodox church but most of the congregation are Arabs.
“My mom’s Greek. My dad is…was, half Greek and half Lebanese.”
“Oh.” I nod, taking it all in. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, well, you and I never really got a chance to talk much.” He smiles. “I know I didn’t leave the best first impression on you.”
“Or thirtieth,” I say, referring to the garage band practice. Time to get our stories straight. I write out a text and clear my throat, nodding to his phone on the table.
Me: My parents can’t know about that practice.
Theo: Hello.
Me: Hi.
Me: I lied to them about where I was that day.
Theo: tsk tsk
I glance up to find him smiling down at his phone.
Me: Just don’t say anything.
Theo: I guess they don’t know about the party either.
Me: No. Or that Andie got drunk.
He looks up from his phone and laughs as his eyes meet mine. I squint at him before looking down at my phone again.
Theo: You and Andie seem mismatched.
Me: She’s my favorite person outside of my family.
Theo: Not John?
I suck in my cheeks to stop my smile from growing.
Theo: I guess I was wrong about you not being his type.
Oh god. What does he know?
Theo: Do you want him to be your boyfriend?
Me: I’m not allowed to date.
Theo: Even boys from church?
I’m biting the insides of my cheeks so hard, I’m about to take out a chunk as I vigorously type my response.
Me: Especially boys from church!
Theo puts his phone on the table and picks up his glass. He looks right at me as he brings the cup to his lips and says, “We’ll see,” before taking a sip.