A Bouquet of Love

by Janice Thompson

  Babbas went off on a tangent—in Greek—about how the enemy had come to our doorstep to roost, whatever that meant. If he knew the real enemy here—me—he would send me packing in a hurry. I had to find some way around this without making things worse. But what could I do, hiding behind my sister?

  As soon as Nick got the sign hung, my father pointed at it and snorted. “Look at that. No imagination at all. So what if they have a Greek pizza? They’re calling it the Venus de Milo.” He snorted again. “The Venus de Milo. That’s priceless. Do they realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

  “Venus de Milo was beautiful,” Gina chimed in. “Wasn’t she?”

  “Beautiful, yes,” Babbas responded. “Tasty, no. It’s a stupid name for a pizza.”

  “But we don’t say stupid, Babbas.” Gina’s little nose wrinkled.

  “You’re right, baby girl.” Mama gave Babbas a warning look. He didn’t seem to notice, because the next several phrases—all muttered under his breath—included the word stupid and a few more that Gina shouldn’t hear.

  We all stood in silence after that, watching as passersby responded to the sign.

  “See?” Babbas chuckled. “No one’s even paying any atten—” He stopped as a group of tourists in Hawaiian shirts pointed at the sign and then walked inside Parma John’s. “Hmm.”

  “Don’t worry, Niko,” Mama said. She slipped her arm around my father’s waist. “They wouldn’t know a Greek pizza if it jumped up and bit them. And besides, we’ve got the best tzatziki sauce on the island. Everyone knows that.”

  “Everyone?” Eva looked around our near-empty sandwich shop. I nudged her with my elbow to shut her up. I must’ve nudged a bit too hard because she stumbled to the right, which left me completely visible to the other side of the street. I crouched down behind a nearby table and pretended to pick up some crumbs, but I was just a second too late, because Uncle Laz caught a glimpse of me and waved. Well, waved for a second, then furrowed his brow, his hand falling to his side.

  Please, God, don’t let Eva sing “Somewhere over the Rainbow” at my funeral. Her pitch is awful.

  “See, Niko?” Mama nudged my father. “Those Rossis aren’t so bad. That nice man is waving at us.” She waved back, but my father pulled her hand down.

  “How many times do I have to ask you not to cavort with the enemy, Helena?” He pursed his lips and gave Laz a solid stare.

  “Cavort?” Gina tugged on Babbas’s waistband. “What’s cavort?”

  “It means your mother is dancing with the devil right now,” my father said. He turned and headed back into Super-Gyros.

  Little Gina’s eyes grew wide as she stared at our mother.

  I did my best to inch my way inside without Uncle Laz seeing me, but I felt sure he’d taken notice of me once again. Great. Now I couldn’t go into Parma John’s for fear of my father seeing me, and I couldn’t go into Super-Gyros for fear of Uncle Laz seeing me. Just one more reason to come clean with my dad and tell him the whole sordid tale. Surely he would understand. Maybe he would laugh and realize the only solution was to make peace with our new neighbors.

  Just as soon as the lunch crowd cleared I approached him. “Babbas, I want to talk to you. It’s important.”

  “Important enough to interrupt me when I’m roasting the lamb?”

  “Yes.” I sucked in a deep breath and plowed ahead. “I think we need to come up with a new solution for the issue with the pizza place.”

  “Issue?” He turned from the lamb and waved the tongs. “It’s more than an issue. It’s a matter of pride. Culture. Heritage!”

  Next thing I knew, Yia Yia had joined us and was telling a story about the Old Country. About how good Greeks always supported their own. Never betrayed the family. Great. Just what I needed to hear.

  Now fully convinced my father would not be swayed to fall in love with the Rossis, I turned to Mama. I found her finishing up a phone call. She set her cell phone on the counter and looked at me. “Well, that’s interesting news.”

  “What?”

  “Your cousin Athena and her husband are coming to the island for a visit in a couple of weeks. She seemed perfectly happy with the idea of coming. I’m so relieved.”

  “That’s wonderful.” I hadn’t seen my cousin for two years. We’d grown up spending a lot of time together, but the years had drawn us apart. I envied her life, to be honest. Her job as head writer for Stars Collide, one of Hollywood’s hottest sitcoms, seemed like a dream gig to me.

  My mother leaned in to whisper when a customer walked by. “Something’s stirring with Athena. She’s up to something.”

  “Do you think she’s pregnant?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I got the feeling it had something to do with the sitcom. Or the network. Or something like that. There’s a reason she’s coming to Galveston, and I don’t think it’s just to visit with us or talk to your father about filming a commercial.”

  “Really?” That certainly piqued my interest.

  “Wouldn’t that be awesome? Maybe she’ll bring you-know-who with her someday!” Mama let out a girlish squeal, which scared the customer, causing her to drop a block of packaged cheese.

  Babbas gave us a warning look. Better get back to work. Not that we had a lot to do, with so few customers in the place. Maybe the dinner crowd would pick up. I reached for a rag and some window cleaner and started cleaning the large plate-glass windows in the front of our store. This gave me the perfect opportunity to keep an eye on things across the street.

  I noticed that Bella’s brother and uncle had gone back inside, but the Venus de Milo banner hung proudly over the restaurant, along with all of the details of the Greek pizza Parma John’s now offered. Talk about feeling torn—I was half proud that Laz liked my pizza idea and half mortified that I’d given away a family secret. Hopefully Yia Yia would never find out. She would definitely think I’d betrayed the family, and a good Greek girl never did that.

  I eased out to the sidewalk and started cleaning the glass on the outside. With my back to Parma John’s, I should be safe.

  The familiar sound of the trolley passing by caught my attention and I turned. It stopped at the corner, just yards away. My breath caught in my throat as I saw Alex seated inside . . . staring right at me. His brow wrinkled, but seconds later he waved at me and called my name.

  Ack! Now what?

  Mama must’ve heard him. She came outside and watched for a moment, her face lighting in a smile. “That young man is calling for you, Cassia. Do you know him?”

  “Oh, I, well . . . Yes. I met him at the flower shop.”

  “He seems to be waving.” Mama waved back and shouted, “Hello there!”

  Alex got off the trolley and came bounding our way. I could read the curiosity in his eyes as he looked at me. “Hey, Cassia. I thought it was you. You . . . work here?”

  What could I say, really? The boy had caught me red-handed with a bottle of Windex in one hand and a rag in the other.

  “Work here?” Mama chortled. “That’s funny. She lives here. The whole family does. Welcome to Super-Gyros! I’m Helena Pappas.”

  This, of course, garnered a wide-eyed stare from Alex. All I could do at this point was shrug and fix my gaze on the sidewalk. Anything to avoid the obvious. Only, someone needed to make introductions. A good Greek girl didn’t stand like a statue staring at the ground, even in rough circumstances like this.

  Mama beamed when I told her Alex’s last name, then she grabbed his hand. “You’re Greek?”

  “My father is. My mother is from Splendora.”

  I still had no idea what that meant but didn’t ask for details.

  “Well then, you’ve come to the right place.” Mama gave him a pat on the back. “How would you like a nice gyro?”

  “Oh, I had one on Saturday. It was great. Best ever.” He rubbed his belly and a satisfied look came over him.

  “I must tell Niko you said that! Oh, what glorious news. Cassia has a new friend!” Mama t
ook off in Babbas’s direction.

  Alex and I lingered behind for a moment. He gave me a pointed look, and I could read the confusion in those gorgeous eyes. “This is your family’s restaurant? But you never said anything about it when we went to—”

  “Come inside.” I took his arm and pulled him toward the open door, then whispered, “Please. Don’t. Say. Anything. About. Parma. John’s.”

  He nodded and stepped inside the store, then stopped cold. His eyes drifted shut and he stood there, breathing in and out. “Oh. Wow.” Alex continued this deep-breathing routine, a delirious look on his face.

  Babbas walked toward us, his unibrow securely in place as he stared at Alex. “Everything all right over here?”

  Alex’s eyes popped open. “Oh yes, sir,” he drawled. “I’m just loving the way it smells in here. I’d forgotten how great it was.”

  “Niko, this is Alex . . . Cassia’s friend.” Mama giggled and then added, “He’s Greek.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir.” Alex extended his hand, but my father just grunted.

  “Cassia’s friend, eh?” Babbas crossed his arms at his chest and squared his shoulders, then muttered, “We’ll see about that” under his breath. “Name’s Alex, you say?” My father stressed the name, but not in an admiring way. “I have a brother named Alex.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Alex said. “I’ve always liked my name. I’m actually named after my grandfather. He—”

  “My brother is a showboat,” Babbas said. “Always trying to outdo me. He’s a puffed-up so-and-so. And you”—he jabbed his finger into Alex’s chest—“have his name.”

  “Babbas!” That was hardly fair, judging a person because of his name. Even my hot-tempered father didn’t usually stoop that low.

  The happy-go-lucky expression on Alex’s face faded immediately, and he fell silent. I didn’t blame him. Finally he said, “I can’t help my name, sir.”

  “Besides, Alex ate here on Saturday and loved our gyro.” Mama was trying hard to smooth things over, judging from her forced smile. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Ah.” Babbas’s face widened in a grin, and he gave Alex a boisterous pat on the back. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I always love to hear from a happy customer. Maybe you would give us an endorsement? I’m putting together an advertisement for the local paper.”

  “I’d be glad to.” Alex nodded.

  Babbas wrapped him in a fatherly embrace. “In that case, come on in, son.”

  Something about the way he said son brought joy to my heart. It seemed to put Alex at ease too. Before long the two fellas were fast friends. Babbas showed him around the shop, going through every detail of the business. My siblings trailed along behind them, especially Eva, who seemed a little too interested in every word coming out of Alex’s mouth.

  I half expected the handsome Greek cowboy to fold under the pressure, but he held up well and never mentioned our trip to Parma John’s once, even when my father made an ugly comment about Lazarro Rossi. Instead, Alex gave me a “now I get it” look. There would be plenty of time to fill him in on the particulars later.

  By the time they got to my father’s detailed description of our new meat slicer, I could tell Alex was getting hungry. Babbas shaved off slices of lamb and passed them his way. We almost lost the boy after that, judging from the “I’m over the moon for this stuff” look in his eyes. Babbas rambled on about the restaurant, feeding Alex all the while. Not a bad way for the guys to get to know each other. Food always had a way of pacifying the masses.

  “We’ve got the best tzatziki sauce on the island.” Babbas reached into the refrigerator and grabbed the batch I’d just made.

  Alex swallowed his piece of lamb and nodded. “Can’t wait to try it with the lamb. I’m sure it’s great.”

  “Oh, it is. Cassia makes it fresh,” Mama bragged. “Try it.” She opened the container and stuck in a spoon.

  “You like it,” Yia Yia chimed in.

  Babbas gave him another piece of lamb and he slathered it with the stuff. The whole family gathered around to watch him take his first bite.

  He ate and ate, those gorgeous eyes fluttering closed in what appeared to be complete delirium. “Oh, man. It’s great, Cassia.” He opened his eyes and looked right at me. “Must stink, though.”

  “What do you mean?” Yia Yia looked perplexed.

  Alex licked the spoon and shrugged. “Must stink that she has to make the tzatziki sauce when she’s allergic.”

  “Allergic?” Mama gasped. “Say it isn’t so!”

  “Heaven be with us!” Yia Yia dabbed her eyes with her apron and went into a lengthy prayer in Greek.

  “Cassia?” Babbas gave me a strange look. “Is there something we should know?”

  “I, um, get hives.” This wasn’t completely untrue, anyway. I did get hives the last time I ate tzatziki sauce. Of course, I’d lathered it on top of zucchini. Might’ve been the zucchini.

  You would’ve thought someone in the family had died. Yia Yia gave me a hug and whispered, “We will find a doctor. He will know what to do.”

  Babbas shook his head as if in mourning, then looked at Alex. “Still, it’s a good sauce, no? Worth risking your life for?”

  “The best, sir. And if I die, I want it to be with Cassia’s tzatziki on my lips.”

  Okay, I read a little more into that, and the wink that followed from Alex made my heart do a crazy flip-flop thing.

  My father slapped him on the back once more, this time a little harder—Welcome to the family! You’re getting smacked around now!—and then offered to show him our new state-of-the-art oven. Alex trailed along behind him, and I breathed a sigh of relief that no one brought up my allergy again. Babbas was too busy gabbing, and it was clear he hadn’t clued in to the fact that Alex and I were more than passing acquaintances.

  Until Alex gave it away.

  “I haven’t known your daughter long, sir,” he said. “But I’ve already discovered we have a lot in common, not just our love of Greek food.”

  My father took several steps in our direction, giving Alex a stern look. Yikes.

  “You two are friends?” The way my father emphasized the word told me he suspected more. “I see.”

  “Sure, we’re friends.” Alex nodded. “But I was saying we have a lot in common. We met at the flower shop.”

  “You were buying flowers?” No doubt Babbas found this idea ludicrous.

  “Oh no, sir. I’m in the flower business.”

  “Oh.” Babbas chuckled and slapped his thigh. “I see.” He slapped Alex on the arm. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to tell me you had a thing for my daughter. I worried for nothing. So you’re into flowers, are you?”

  Alex’s brows arched. “Sir, just because I’m in the flower business doesn’t mean I’m . . . I’m . . .”

  “Babbas!” I interrupted the conversation. “Alex’s family has a nursery in a small town north of Houston.”

  “Nursery?” Now my father really looked confused. “You do babysitting on the side?”

  “No, sir. The only things I babysit are roses. Well, and a host of other flowers. But no kids. Definitely no kids.”

  My father’s gaze narrowed. “You lost me back at the nursery part.”

  “Alex’s family has a profitable flower distribution company in a town called . . .” Hmm. I couldn’t remember the name.

  “Splendora, sir,” Alex said.

  “They provide a variety of species to florists all over the state,” I added. “Including the shop where I work.”

  “Actually, we’re number one in the state, sir,” Alex said. “My grandfather passed the business to my father, and he has poured his life into it.”

  “Sounds like your father and I have a lot in common.” Babbas began to talk about his passion for our family business, carrying on for quite some time.

  When he paused, Alex said, “I think that’s admirable, Mr. Pappas. Oh, and to answer your original question . . . I
might just be a little bit interested in your daughter.”

  For a moment everything went silent. Babbas looked as if he’d been turned to stone. I kind of felt like it myself. Well, all but my heart, which did a weird thump-thump thing. I looked around for something to hide behind but decided the meat slicer wasn’t big enough.

  Had this handsome Greek cowboy just publicly declared an interest in me?

  Judging from the shimmer in his eyes, yes.

  And judging from the rock-hard look in my father’s eyes . . . Alex would definitely have his work cut out for him.

  13

  You Go to My Head

  You might be Greek if you were spanked by your friend’s parents because your parents gave them permission to.

  Whenever someone in the Pappas family took up a new habit—say, bowling or golf—it usually ended up involving everyone. Take the time my oldest brother decided he couldn’t live without a skateboard. Yia Yia nearly ended up in the hospital with a heart attack the first time he took a tumble. And that time Eva decided she wanted to be a figure skater? Yeah, Babbas still joked about how she fell flat on her face in her first lesson. My family members didn’t usually grace you through the learning curve. No, they made sport of you at every possible turn.

  That was why, when I took a couple hundred dollars out of my savings account to buy a brand-new bike on the Thursday after Alex’s visit to our shop, it didn’t surprise me that my family members all took a vested interest. I would prove to them that I was still capable after all these years. Hopefully.

  Mama in particular seemed intrigued by the idea of riding. With all the bickering going on between her and Babbas lately, I had the strangest feeling that she might just climb on my bike and take off . . . permanently. I’d have to remember to buy a lock and chain.

  On the morning of my first ride, my family clustered around my new bicycle—a Mongoose cruiser in a really sweet shade of forest green.

  “What’s this, Cassia?” Babbas asked.

  One thing I never understood about parents—they always seemed to state the obvious. Like, when I didn’t finish my food, Mama would say, “What? You didn’t finish your food, Cassia?” And when I showed up late, Babbas would say, “You’re late, Cassia.” Clearly they could see a bicycle standing in front of them. Why ask, “What’s this, Cassia?”