Seven Days of Friday (Women of Greece Book 1) (17 page)

V
ivi calls John
.

He asks lots of questions, but not one of them is “Does Melissa need me there?” or, “Do you need me to come?”

Does he say: “I’ll be on the next flight”?

Nope.

Just: “Keep me up to date.”

Vivi doesn’t tell Melissa, doesn’t put his ugly colors on display.

M
ax takes
her all the way to the cafeteria for coffee. Sits her down with a cup of American Joe and a piece of brown cake.

“John really is a good father.”

Vivi says it like she’s sort of stunned – which she is.

“Maybe he didn’t know what to say.”

She knocks back a forkful of brown crumbs. Is the cake meant to be chocolate or just chocolate-colored?

“Still,” she says.

“I understand,” he says. “I do. But he’s going through your divorce, too. And maybe he didn’t know the appropriate thing to say in that moment. Yes, Melissa is his daughter, but what does he do about you?”

“The part where Melissa is his daughter automatically overrides our differences. I would drop everything and go to her.”

“Maybe he thinks you would feel hope if he comes, and that would prolong the pain.”

“That’s not it,” she says, because she’s trading with inside knowledge.

“Whatever your husband did or didn’t say, you did the right thing. The good thing.”

“What if he uses it against me?” Vivi looks down at the cake. Definitely no chocolate in that thing. “He met someone else and dumped me – what do I do if he takes our daughter, too?”

Max goes quiet. Then: “Was he cheating?”

“Unequivocally, yes. For years, I think.”

She won’t look at him. That’s how it goes when the other partner cheats. They fucked up, but you’re the one buried under a pile of shame. It’s like they put up a billboard telling the world you’re not good enough, you’re not special, you’re not worth fidelity.

Logically, Vivi knows John is the fuck up. Emotionally?

Welcome to Loserville, population: Vivi Tyler.

“Vivi,” Max says. “I need to tell you something.” The man looks haunted. His brother nailed that observation. There’s no time to fret about whatever he’s about to spill, because he’s saying it, slapping it on the table between them. “I’m with someone. A woman. And it’s expected that we’ll marry soon.”

The “Oh” in her head is flat, disappointed. But by the time she says, “Oh, you’re engaged? Congratulations!” she’s managed a quick repair job and the words bounce out.

Vivi, Vivi, what did you expect?

Yeah, not this curl of disappointment.

L
ife is good
.

He has money to live and money to grow.

Work is satisfying.

And soon he will have a beautiful wife.

Keep on telling yourself that, Max.

M
elissa says
, “You look
like my grandparents’ bathroom.”

The days are smearing together. She’s using the shrink’s outfits as a kind of calendar. Today Dr Triantafillou is neck-to-toe pink. Pink jeans, pink ruffled top, pink Converse sneakers.

She’s the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Okay, so it looks pretty great. Melissa can’t wait to seize complete control over her own wardrobe. Mom always wants her to dial it all the way down to boring.

“Thank you, Melissa,” the shrink says.

Melissa tilts her head. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“You’re always polite. Maybe their bathroom is the most hideous thing ever.”

“Is it?”

“It depends what kind of mood I’m in.”

“What kind of mood are you in today?”

Shrug. “Today I like their bathroom. And I miss it.”

“Why do you miss their bathroom?”

“There’s a proper toilet, for one thing. And there’s this window that gives you a great view of the neighbor’s backyard. They have this cool dog.” Another shrug – she’s full of them. “I just really like their dog.”

“Pets are great company. And they’re good for your body and mind. Have you ever had a dog?”

“No. Dad is allergic. Or so he says.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“Why would I? He pretended to love my mom for years, when he’s secretly gay.”

No reaction.

“Your mother found you in the bathroom, that night, didn’t she?”

Melissa nods. “I guess so. I wasn’t exactly there.”

“Mentally or . . .?”

“I hit my head and passed out.”

“Has that ever happened before?”

“You mean the other times?”

The shrink nods. “If you’re comfortable talking about them.”

“No.” That’s a “No” to both.

“I’m polite,” the shrink says, “because it costs nothing and it feels good. I could take your comment as an insult or a cruel observation, but why? The things you say are a reflection of you, not of me or how I dress.”

The thing about Dr Triantafillou is that she takes a lot of back roads getting to the point. Melissa wonders if this is a shrink thing or a Dr Triantafillou thing.

“You always wear nice things,” Melissa says.

“Thank you.”

“I cut myself because it felt good and it cost nothing.”

Dr Triantafillou leans forward in the farting chair. “But it did cost you, Melissa.”

N
ext time
she’s white and gold. Very sophisticated. Very European.

Melissa says, “Do you have those big sunglasses that eat up half your face?”

The shrink smiles. “They’re in my office.”

Melissa closes her eyes. “I figured.”

“Are you interested in fashion?”

Shrug. “I guess. I like how different clothes make people different.”

“I like that, too. Every morning I look in the closet and ask myself who I want to be today. It’s an illusion, of course. No matter what we wear, we are still who we are.”

“You’re, like, the joy police,” Melissa says.

“Do you want to be someone else?”

Stupid question. Who doesn’t want to shove their feet into someone else’s shoes? Yeah, Melissa wants to be someone else. But she’d settle for being herself with the sadness stripped away.

“Maybe that’s why Mom was drinking that night,” she says. “To be someone different for a while. Someone shiny.”

T
hree people in the
room
: Vivi, Max (as Dr Andreou), and Dr Triantafillou. The two doctors present Vivi with her options.

It’s a no-brainer.

Vivi says, “Let’s go with Plan A.”

Both doctors nod. They’re glad Vivi Tyler chose the first option. Neither of them believe Melissa Tyler is a danger to herself; what happened rattled her cage – and hard. But they don’t play the lottery with children’s minds and lives, so . . .

“Let’s compare schedules,” Dr Triantafillou says, “and we’ll find a time that works for you and Melissa.”

F
our days
later the hospital sends Melissa home. Vivi makes her first outpatient appointment with the psychologist before going up to the ward. Melissa hasn’t mentioned the psychologist yet, but she’ll chirp when she’s ready.

It’s frustrating, all this tiptoeing on eggshells, but she’ll do anything to help Melissa. She’s banking on the new house helping.

Turns out Melissa’s happy-cool about leaving. She wants to go home, but she doesn’t want to make it look like she gives a damn.

She’s shining bright when Vivi takes her down to the parking garage, instead of out front to get a cab.

“You got a car?”

“We got a car.”

Vivi hits the remote. The VW’s lights flash.

“Sweet!” Melissa says, flopping back in the seat.

Wait until she sees the house.

Melissa looks chill, rested, relaxed with the breeze running wild through her blonde hair. Not all tense and pinched, the way she’s been for months now. She’s too thin, though, like she’s over being a girl. Galloping towards womanhood.

Vivi is all frayed nerves, teeth chewing that bottom lip into a meat doily. The tension is killing her.

They cruise. Melissa fiddles constantly with the radio, checking on the dozens of independent stations. Happens all the time, people jumping on the airwaves to blast an album or two, before fading away until next time the inclination strikes.

Then Vivi eases the car past the turnoff to her aunt’s place, and Melissa says, “Hey, you’re going the wrong way.”

“Am not.”

“How come we're not going to
Thea
Dora's house?”

“Because we're going somewhere else.”

“Not another doctor!”

Vivi laughs. “It's so much better than that.”

“How much better? Better than ice cream?”

“Nothing's better than ice cream.”

“So, it's not better than ice cream . . . Is it frozen yogurt good?”

“It’s close to ice cream, but it’s not chocolate or cake. Or chocolate cake.”

The wheels skid on the dirt road. Vivi kicks it down a notch so they don’t dislodge any organs or wind up in a ditch. The excitement is making her twitchy behind the wheel. Making her Greek, she thinks.

No more cool from Melissa. The girl is jumpy, practically bouncing on the seat. She’s five and it’s Christmas Eve; seven and it’s the day before Disneyland.

Slower, slower.

Vivi cuts the engine outside the cottage. “This is it,” she says. “Not as good as ice cream, but pretty great.”

Melissa stares at the cottage, with its white stucco and big, big yard. Her eyes are donut round.

“This is ours?”

“You bet.”

“So, we're staying here?”

“Considering I've already paid for it, the answer is yes.”

“Good,” she says. “I want to stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. But you should have asked me first.”

“You're right.” Vivi measures her words, tries not to spill the wrong ones. “I should have.”

“Whatever.”

Melissa doesn’t waste time. She’s out of the car, racing across the yard. Then she stops.

“Is that a dog?”

Inside, Biff is singing the song of his people.

“Probably just the neighbor's dog,” Vivi says.

“What neighbors? This is, like, nowhere.”

Smart kid.

Vivi says, “Catch,” and tosses her the keys. Melissa opens the door and Biff comes barreling out. Round and round, chasing his own tail, then he’s all over Vivi, until he realizes she’s not alone.

Spotting the stranger, he sits, head tilted, waiting on an introduction.

Melissa wiggles her fingers. “S'okay, I love dogs.”

Biff looks to Vivi for confirmation; he doesn’t just believe. “Go ahead,” she says. “Mel’s the one who’s going to spoil you rotten.”

The gypsy dog pads over to Melissa, leans on her like she’s furniture.

“Can we keep him, Mom?”

“I don't know,” Vivi says.

“Please?”

“Maybe.”

“Pretty please with two cherries on top?”

“Three cherries,” she says.

“Deal!”

Laughing, Vivi kneels beside her daughter and their new best friend. This moment is so much better than ice cream.

M
elissa’s got
something on her mind.

“Mom, if I tell you something will you promise you won't be mad?”

“Sure,” she says carefully. She came this close to losing her daughter; no way is she going to screw it up now.

“They made me talk to a shrink.”

“I know. Did you find it helpful?”

Biff rolls over. Legs stuck up in the air, he could be road kill. Melissa takes the hint, gets busy scratching.

“She wanted to know if you get drunk a lot.”

“Try never,” Vivi says. “Why did she ask that?”

“I don't know. Something about you being drunk when you took me to the hospital.”

She looks at Biff. He’s chilling in his happy place. “I wasn't drunk that night. I'd had maybe half a dozen sips out of one of those small bottles of
retsina
.”

“Okay.”

“Mel, when have you ever seen me drunk?”

“I said okay,” she says, with a boatload of attitude.

But Vivi’s pissed – not at Melissa, but this quack who already has Vivi strapped to a cross.

“I'm going to call her and give her a few pieces of my mind, then I’m going to demand they find you someone else. Her focus is supposed to be you, and not whether or not I had half a glass of wine at a family get-together.”

Melissa’s face crumples. “You made another appointment for me to see Doctor Triantafillou?”

Vivi doesn’t tell her the part where they gave her exactly two choices, and she picked the one she and Melissa could stomach. It was lock her up or let her go on psychological probation.

“Dr Andreou said he wants you to see her as an outpatient. I was following his advice. I thought it was a good idea, to give you someone objective to talk to.”

“Why did you do that? I don't like her. Why do you have to turn everything in my life to shit?” Off she goes, running. A door slams; apparently she figured out which room is hers.

The door opens.

“Biff?”

The dog looks at Vivi, then he’s gone, too.

I
t’s
like Christmas up
in here.

Vivi unwraps the sticky wax ring. Everything she needs is in this room, right down to the gleaming white toilet.

Melissa and Biff watch from the doorway.

“Gross,” she says.

Vivi laughs. “What’s grosser: ripping this thing out or squatting to poop?”

“Eww, that's so . . .”

“Gross?” she offers.

“Yeah.”

It’s been a week since they moved in, and the Tyler women have been maintaining a quiet, fragile truce. Melissa speaks in monosyllabic words and Vivi grovels.

She’s been busy this week, repainting the walls, replacing the old shower fixture, painting the ceiling a fresh, clean white. It’s a whole new room – one she can live with. No more squatting.

Now it’s time to right an oh-so wrong. Vivi gets to work with the pry bar and hammer. She taps and the ceramic yields an inch.

Biff woofs

“You don't get the last word,” Vivi tells the mutt.

Probably he wants another meal. Making up for lost time is Biff. His coat has shine now. He’s borderline respectable.

Corner to corner, she pries the thing loose. Dried, yellowing caulk dangles. Silly (gross) String. She dumps a bottle of bleach in the open pipe. Sayonara, bacteria.

Melissa still looks unimpressed. “Will we have to put the TP in the trash?”

Vivi considers the pipe. “Let's try it our way and see if the pipes can handle it. Small pieces. If there are any problems we'll have to do it the other way.”

Mel shrugs. “I'm going outside.”

It’s show time for the new toilet. “Sure,” Vivi says, absentmindedly. “Just stay away from snakes, and don’t eat the fruit until we know what’s edible.”

Truth is, she doesn’t want Melissa out of her sight – just in case. But holding on too tight is only going to make things worse. So, she lets her baby go, while she shows this bathroom how they do things in the New World.

Scrape, scrape, and the old wax is history. She drills holes in the floor, fastens the anchoring brackets; rocking is for chairs, not the bathroom throne. Then comes the part where she staggers across the room, arms struggling with the new toilet.

Nothing easy about it. A toilet is shaped like, well, a toilet. Curves in all the wrong places. But she wins. That toilet goes on exactly like it’s supposed to, hugs the wax ring tight, empties and refills right on target.

Hooray.

She takes a step back, then another to admire her handiwork, because from here it looks a-m-a-z-i-n-g.

Next thing she knows, her whole life is zooming by, tangled in that Friday underwear. And she’s falling, falling, and the pipe wrench is sailing across the short distance between her foot and the new toilet.

The tile floor catches her. Lucky. She’s probably only paraplegic, now. But the wrench falls hard, and that new toilet is no trampoline.

(FYI: In a rock/paper/scissors competition, metal cracks porcelain.)

She sprays the walls with curse words. All the “fuck” and “shit” in the world isn’t going to help her situation, but it feels good to let loose.

She hobbles out to find Melissa, jeans wet from the cistern. Looks like she peed her pants. Her daughter’s playing fetch with Biff. Sometimes Biff fetches the ball, sometimes he lets Melissa get it herself.

“Change of plans, Kiddo,” Vivi says. “If you want to pee you're going to have to find a bush. I highly recommend the back yard. Ask Biff. He knows all the good spots.”

“
Yia sou
, Vivi, Melissa!”

(That’s Greek for hello, but – )

Fuck. Seriously, fuuuuck.

Max is closing in on the gate, fresh off the cover of That Guy You Want to Bang magazine.

“Hi,” she calls out. “What are you doing here?”

He’s in denim and crisp cotton, and she’s in sewage. And now he knows they need to pee in the garden.

Where’s a sinkhole when you need one?

“Mom! He came to see me, didn’t you, Dr Andreou?”

He gives Melissa a hundred watts. “Of course. I came to look at those stitches.”

“Since when do doctor's make house calls?” Vivi asks.

“Since I brought a gift for your new home. How about I take you both out for
souvlaki
? If you’re not busy.”

“We’re not busy,” Melissa yelps. “Don't go without me.” She bolts into the house, Biff at her heels.

Vivi says, “Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. Today hasn't gone as smoothly as I planned.”

“She seems much better.”

God, what is it about these Greek guys? Why do they have to swagger that way? It’s . . .

Distracting.

Max is waiting for her to speak. It’s weird seeing him on her turf, looking like a man, not a doctor – and her with a blob of wax on her nose. If she crosses her eyes, she can see the damn thing.

“So far. But I'm keeping a close eye on her. Having Biff around seems to be helping.”

“Biff?”

“It's a perfectly respectable name.”

“You called the dog Biff?”

“My dog, my choice. Hey, you had your chance to keep him.”

“Whatever. I don't like dogs anyway,” he says.

She laughs at the lie. “Come in, please.

“Looks like you’re all moved in.”

“Mostly,” she says. “The biggest battle is redecorating. I smashed the toilet this afternoon. Come by tomorrow and I’ll break some windows.”

“Why don't you hire a contractor?”

“Ha-ha. No!”

Greek contractors run on Greek time, which means they’ll show up when they can be bothered, and leave on that same schedule. Thanks, but no thanks.

“Let's just say I have more faith in my own abilities.”

He looks at her and she looks at him and then she looks at the ground, while he keeps on doing what he’s doing, the way he’s doing it.

“So,
souvlaki
, what do you say?”

“Is your fiancée okay with this?”

“She’s out with friends, and I have to eat.”

He looks good – so good. Suddenly, she’s starving.

“Wait right there.”