Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) (12 page)

“What did Demo do?” I envisioned a younger version of Demetrious
Antonopolous beating the hell out of one of his groomsmen while all of his relatives looked on. It looked pretty hot, if I did say so myself. But then, I’d always had a good imagination.

She sat back in her seat. “He stood back up, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and asked Belinda if it was true. We all waited. Waited for her to deny it. I mean, nobody thought that she was having an affair. We all thought that Allan had some sort of unrequited crush on her or something. But then she admitted it. She looked right at Demo, in front of their whole wedding party and both of their families, and admitted that she’d been fooling around with Allan for a year. She said she was in love with him, too. And that she didn’t want to marry Demo, but
hadn’t been sure how to tell him.”

“Holy crap.” I didn’t know what else to say. That was pretty harsh. I’d never gotten close enough to an alt
ar to be left at it, but to get punched in the face—and the heart—by your best friend and fiancée? Wow. My heart tugged, and I rubbed at it absently. Since when did I feel spontaneous bursts of tenderness? “What happened next?”

“So Demo did what Demo
usually
does,” Yiayia said sadly. “He beat the crap out of Allan right there in the church and broke his nose and collar bone. Belinda started to cry and told Demo she hoped he rotted in hell. Allan pressed charges, the police came, and Demo spent the night in jail before they came to their senses and realized my Demo was not the ‘primary physical aggressor,’ as they put it. The church banished him for six months, and during that time, the priest who was there the night she dumped Demo married Allan and Belinda. Their wedding was on the anniversary of Demo and Belinda’s first date.”

“Ouch.” I sat back in my chair and stared up at the pictures on the wall. In most of the pictures,
Yiayia’s grandchildren were posing with the respective spouses and children, smiling brightly for the camera. In all the pictures of Demo, he was either alone, or with siblings. If those pictures—and his surly attitude—were any indication, Demo was a wounded soul.

“
All my grandson’s done since his wedding was called off is chase women,” Yiayia lamented. “Date them for a month, or a week, or just a night. He says he’s not the marrying kind, but I know better. He wants love, but won’t give himself the chance to find it. Honestly, I don’t think Demo believes he deserves love.”

My heart started to thrum in my chest. Pounding against my chest wall like a hammer, and taking my breath away. Demo sounded like me. “I can relate,” I mumbled lowly. And it was the truth. I could relate all too closely.

“That’s why you two are perfect for each other.” Her wrinkled face folded into a grin. “Two restless souls with great chemistry. It’s a win-win.”

“
Yiayia!” My face scalded, making it even harder to catch my breath. A year ago, before Lexie and Fletcher got married, and I
became so pathetic
, er, started considering settling down—
shudder—
I would have used Demo’s wounded soul as an excuse to get into his very lovely fitting Levi’s jeans. I mean, come on. The guy was gorgeous. Plus, I was still on the hunt for Yiayia’s dolmades recipe. Oh, and did I mention he was sexy?

Oh, I did?
All right, then.

But now?
Now that my two best friends were all ga-ga eyed over their handsome husbands, and raising perfect little babies with dimples and curls, and all of that adorable nonsense I usually hated… but now found completely endearing and lovely…

Now I felt inclined to actually
date
Demo. I wanted to spend some time with him. Get to know him. Talk to him. Figure him out. Make him laugh so that his glorious smile would come out to play. Meet all of his Greek relatives and listen to them yell at each other in their native tongue over a table covered in luscious, fattening food. And, yes, get him into my bed. Eventually.

Hell, I was going soft, not
dead
.

I gasped, and slapped my hand over my mouth.
Holy mother of heaven, did I actually
care
about him? What the crap is happening to me? What’s next? Scrapbooking and handmade aprons? Baby booties and child proof locks on my liquor cabinet?

Kill me now.

Yiayia looked at me closely. “You okay, kiddo?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I pushed myself out of the chair. I had to get out of here. The more time I spent with this old lady, the more I lost my grip on reality. The nice, comfortable
, sex-kitten-without-any-commitments reality I’d created for myself. “I should run. I just remembered something I have to finish up at work.”

“You look spooked,” she commented.

I am,
I thought. This was too uncomfortable. I was actually starting to itch, and not in a
go to the doctor and get an ointment
kind of way. In an
I feel something for this guy and we’ve only kissed one time
way. This was too much to handle. I needed air. And a drink. And maybe even a weekend with a delicious man with an accent that I would never see again. In no particular order.

“No, I’m fine,” I squeaked, grabbing my purse and hoisting it onto my shoulder. “I’ve got so much to do and not much time to do it.”

She watched me with a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. She looked like Demo when she did that. Dang it. “Like what?”

“I…uh…” I swiped at my brow. Good grief, was I sweating now? “I need to stop at the market. We need a flank steak, at least thirty pounds of new potatoes, fresh mint, three containers of mascarpone, a dozen duck eggs, and I have to locate some
Bitto cheese.”

Her silver eyebrows rose high on her forehead. “You going in the electric chair tonight?”

Laughing despite myself, I finally took a breath. “No, ma’am.”

“I knew it!”
Yiayia’s finger thumped on the desktop. “You like Demetrious.”

“No.” I swallowed down the emotions tickling the back of my throat. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But I only come here to see you.”

She looked unconvinced. “Sure you did.”

“And to score your recipes,” I added.

“Dream on, kid.” Yiayia pointed at my chair. “Sit back down, young lady. You’ve got feelings for my grandson.”

“No, I—”

“And he has feelings for you, too.” She grinned proudly and tapped her temple. “You see? It’s a sense. I can practically smell relationships.”

The sound of click-clacking heels halted in the doorway. “Demo has feelings for who,
Yiayia?”

Yiayia’s
shoulders dropped, and her smile faded away. “That’s Mrs. Antonopolous to you. Hello, Stacia.”

Demo’s booty call from the other night adjusted the plate of chocolate chip cookies she was carrying and waggled her hot pink fingernails. “Hi,
Yiayia.”

“Are you deaf?”
Yiayia snapped.

Stifling my laughter, I reached out and patted her wrinkled hand. “I have to run. Can you tell me what my total for the work on my car came to?” I could feel that
Stacia character shooting daggers at the side of my head with her eyes, but ignored it.

Yiayia
shuffled through the pile of invoices atop the desk. “Um… looks like it’s paid in full.”

“That can’t be,” I said, pulling out my credit card. “I owe for the labor, at least.”

“So I brought y’all cookies,” Stacia announced, pushing my cupcakes aside and plopping down her tray of cookies. I flared my nostrils at them. I could smell store bought baked goods from a mile away. Poor schmuck. “Is my Demo around?”

“It’s marked paid in full.”
Yiayia ignored her, then flipped the paper around so I could see the signature at the bottom of the page. “Signed by none other than my infatuated grandson, Demo.”

Stacia
sucked in a sharp breath. “
Infatuated
?”

That fluttery, low-oxygen feeling returned. “Well, thanks,” I squeaked.

“Don’t thank
me
,” Yiayia said in a suggestive tone. “Come back and thank my grandson with a date.”

Stacia’s
hand went to her hip. “Hey. I’m right here.”

“I know, dear,”
Yiayia told her, before winking at me. “But my grandson doesn’t like you. He likes
her
.”

Chapter Eleven

              “You know I hate complimenting you, Marisol. But this potato salad rocks.”

             
When I looked up from the salmon I was grilling, Candace’s husband, Brian, was standing before me with a plate heaped so high I wondered how he was managing to hold it with one hand. “Aw, Bri. You’re finally admitting that I am superior in a kitchen to you? I never thought I’d see the day.”

             
He rolled his almond shaped eyes and slid his Ray Bans off of the top of his head and back onto his face. “Whatever. Don’t push it.”

             
Ever since the day Candace introduced me to Brian after a football game at college, he and I were in competition over who had the ethnic cooking in the bag. He was half Chinese, and his mother had taught him everything there was to know about making homemade Cantonese egg foo young and water chestnut cakes. I tried to deflate his ego by perfecting homemade flan and green chile con carne, but unfortunately Brian was not an easily intimidated man. We’d spent the better part of the last ten or eleven years poking fun of each other, throwing insults at each other over family dinners, and trying to trip each other when we walked past one another.

We understood one another, and
I considered Brian to be a brother.

             
That is, if I had a brother who was an annoyingly self confident Asian American optometrist.

             
“Honey, leave her alone. She’s the one cooking today.” Candace put her arm around her husband and grinned cheekily at me. “Thanks, Mar. You know I would have done it.”

             
“Yeah, yeah.” I turned a salmon steak and took a whiff of the fresh mint I’d marinated it with earlier. “We all know that’s not true.” I was in charge of cooking our barbeque every Memorial Day, and she knew it. The responsibility became mine after an unfortunate turkey-vs.-deep fryer mishap. And I didn’t mind—even though I griped enough for three premenstrual teenage girls—because standing behind the grill always seemed like the place for the one single gal in the group.

             
Lexie pulled a loaf of bread from one of the picnic baskets. “Hey, kids! Wanna go feed the ducks?” A chorus of cheers rose from our group, and she grinned at me. “Do you mind, Marisol? Ian’s asleep in the stroller, and we’ll be right back.”

             
Shrugging, I flipped a salmon steak. “Sure. He’s not going to need the boob anytime soon, right?”

             
Fletcher walked by and looped his arm around Lexie’s shoulders. “As always, Marisol, you’ve got a way with words.”

             
“Ha!” I yelled, a smile tickling the corners of my mouth. “You wouldn’t know. You dumped me for her, remember?”

             
Lexie leaned against her husband. “Don’t worry. Your time is coming. I can feel it. I’m thinking…
My Big Fat Greek—
”

             
I pointed my spatula at her. “Don’t say wedding. Don’t even finish that thought.”

             
“What? You said he was a great kisser.” Candace popped a chip in her mouth and watched me while I dramatically rolled my eyes.

             
“It was just a kiss,” I groaned. “It meant nothing.”

             
“That’s the Marisol we know and love,” Brian teased, ducking just far enough away from me to avoid the swing of my spatula. “Kidding. I’m kidding.”

             
“I wouldn’t call a kiss that makes your eyes roll back in your head, followed by some free auto maintenance,
just
a kiss.” Lexie grinned at me smartly. What a brat.

             
Fletcher chimed in. “Sounds serious.”

             
“Trading make out sessions for work on your car?” Brian tossed a grape in the air and caught it in his mouth. “Keepin’ it classy, eh?”

             
“Shut up,” I hissed. “I didn’t
ask
for it to be free.”

             
“Down boy. Heel.” Candace patted her husband on the arm. Our sibling rivalry act bugged her, and she was forever on our cases to treat each other nicer. “Marisol got free auto work because the hot Greek mechanic dude likes her.”

             
“And even though Marisol is pretending to only like him to get a dolmades recipe.” Lexie narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you get it yet?” When I shook my head no, she went on. “The truth is, she likes him. Like, a lot.”

             
“No, I do not.” My heart squeezed in protest, but I ignored it.

             
“I don’t believe you.” Lexie said. “Not for one second. I think you’re going soft.”

             
I opened my mouth to argue, but Candace cut me off. “I agree. I think you’re starting to want a taste of the family life.”

             
“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself,” I grumbled. “I’m not in a hurry to start changing diapers, or anything. But…”

             
After a few seconds passed, everyone leaned forward. “But?” Fletcher asked.

             
“I don’t know.” I turned another salmon steak. “It was a good kiss. That’s all I’m saying. It made me think about things a little bit.”

             
“Like love and marriage and baby in a baby carriage?” Brian teased.

             
Again, Candace swatted his arm. “Shush.”

             
“Well, look at you guys!” I blurted. “You’ve all got kids and spouses, and I’m always by myself.”

             
“You used to say that giving up your independence would be like chewing off your own leg,” Lexie said.

             
“I know.” I bit my lip. “But, sometimes the idea of settling down sounds kind of nice. I mean, ever since you squeezed out little Ian, and you and Fletcher got married, I’ve been noticing how empty my house is every night.”

             
Candace pointed at Lexie. “I told you she’d come around.”

             
“Sucker bet.” Lexie fished a five dollar bill out of the pocket of her jeans and handed it over. “Ian makes everyone want a family. He’s perfect.”

             
“I’m not saying I want a family.” I scrunched up my face, and leaned against the table. “At least, not yet. Oh, hell. I don’t know what I want. I just know that something in my life needs to change. I need more purpose. Or some sort of meaningful crap like that.”

             
Candace tilted her head at me. “Well, is Demo-the-mechanic that purpose?”

             
Heat flushed my face. I hated being so…so
vulnerable
in front of everyone. Couldn’t we just go back to Brian calling me a whore all the time, and me insulting his manhood? Yeesh, ever since Fletcher and Lexie took the vows, I’d been acting like I was on a permanent hormonal road trip, and I was ready to get the hell off of this bus.

             
Lexie looked at Candace. “It was that kiss. It’s got her twitterpated.”

             
Candace nodded. “I know. She’s never felt like that after one kiss before. Not even with Fletcher. No offense.”

             
Fletcher shrugged. “Whaddaya gonna do?”

             
“Mar’s going soft.” Brian snorted.

“I can’t wait to see you pregnant. You’ll be hilarious.”
Lexie covered her mouth to hide her grin. “You made fun of my cankles so much.”

             
“Ugh. Can it. All of you. No more discussing my love life.” I pushed myself away from the table, and handed another loaf of bread to Lexie. “Go. Take your filthy children down to the bird poop infested water and feed the already overweight ducks. I hope one explodes all over you.”

             
“Ahhh. There’s the Marisol we know and love.” Brian refilled his plate of potato salad and called to the kids. “All right. Let’s go feed some birds.”

             
“Don’t you give my salad to the damn ducks,” I scolded as they walked away.

             
I took another whiff of the salmon, and gazed across the park at everyone’s kids running down the hill like little maniacs. They really were cute little buggers. Fletcher and Lexie’s daughter, Martha, was super smart and constantly schooling me on random facts. For instance, last time we all ate dinner together, she informed me that cows can smell aromas from six miles away,
and
that one of those One Direction boybanders has an Arabic tattoo on his chest. I didn’t even want to know how she’d found that out, but the cow fact was pretty interesting.

             
And Martha’s little brother, Ian? Well, let’s just say that up until that kid popped out, I thought that all babies were messy, smelly, loud little bottom feeders. Now every time I see that drooly little bundle of blue, my stomach aches. At first I thought the kid had given me an ulcer. But then I realized I was feeling that way because he was just so damn cute. It never occurred to me that I had a maternal instinct. I thought I’d been born without one.

             
Candace and Brian’s kids took cute to a new level. Since Brian was Asian American, and Candace was an all American looking blonde with blue eyes, the mix of the two gene pools had created children so gorgeous, I was almost certain they were actually aliens. And oddly enough, the little aliens were starting to grow on me. If I listened to them, rather than tuning them out like I usually did, they were pretty darn funny. For instance, the other day Quentin told Brian that his nose hairs looked like a forest.
That’s funny.

             
“Guess what? Guess what? Guess what? LookwhatIcandobecauseI’msograceful!”

             
I looked down at Ellie, Candace’s almost six-and-a-half-year old daughter, who was the oldest of the Chang children and usually the ringleader in their trail of destruction. She was bouncing on one foot right by the grill. “Be careful,” I warned her, putting down my tongs and gently moving her away from the sizzling grill. “You might fall and burn your face off. And then you’d never get a boyfriend, would you?”

             
Ellie stopped jumping and stared up at me, her face grave. “Mommy says beauty is on the inside.”

             
I cringed. Yikes. My maternal instinct may have kicked on recently, but that didn’t stop me from saying the wrong thing. My humor wasn’t exactly kid friendly. But I was learning. Sometimes potty humor could translate seamlessly between a thirty-two year old and a six year old.

             
“She’s right,” I said quickly. “Sorry. What I meant was, if you fall and hit the grill, you could get burned. And then who would stand around doing all that terrific jumping?”

             
Ellie’s face softened. “I can jump twenty three times in a row.”

             
“Impressive.” I smiled at her. Those eight reality TV kids had nothing on Ellie. Her little almond eyes were light and she had her mother’s button nose, the lucky little punk. I planned on shaving another centimeter or two off of my own schnoz as soon as I could get the time off. “What other kinds of tricks can you do?”

             
Ellie started spinning. “See? I can spin! Seeee?”

             
“You sure can. Good thing I made you move away from the grill. When you fall over, try to aim for that grass, so you’ll have a soft landing.”

             
Ellie cracked up and stopped spinning. She swayed in place. “I won’t fall.”

             
“Right. You look about as steady as Auntie Marisol at Madison’s on a Saturday night.” Whoops. Bringing up my favorite martini bar downtown was probably a bad idea. Once again, I cringed, adding, “I mean, because I’m tired. Just…beat.”

             
Ellie tipped over and landed on her back in the thick grass. “Oof!”

             
“Told ya.” I turned a piece of salmon on the grill, and turned off the flame. “Are you ready to eat some food that is
muy deliciosa
?”

             
Ellie looked up at me from the ground. “Are you ‘peaking ‘panish again?”

             
“Yes. That’s Spanish.” I held out my hands and tugged her to her feet. When she let go, my hands were covered in something sticky. “Let’s call everybody over to eat, shall we?”

             
A shrill cry rang out, and I noticed that Ian’s stroller was wiggling in its spot next to the table. “Oh, crap,” I muttered, shielding my eyes from the sun and scanning the park for Fletcher and Lexie.

Ellie looked up at me. “That’s a naughty word.”

“
Crap
is?” I looked down at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”