Where the Stars Still Shine(63)

“Wow. Not so much the goddess at the moment,” I say, as Alex opens the passenger door for me.

“Not so much,” he agrees, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“Thanks for teaching me how to snorkel. And, you know …”

He presses his forehead to mine. “Let’s not talk about that, because I spent the rest of the drive coming up with new and interesting ways to kill someone. I’d rather just kiss you.”

I circle my arms around his neck. “That sounds like a much better use of your time.” My lips meet his and he shifts me tighter against him. I haven’t had many days worth remembering so I’m reluctant for this one to end. “Maybe you could come over. You know, later.”

“Already planned on that.”

“Good,” I say, kissing him once more. “I should probably go. I told Greg not to count on me for dinner, but he’d probably like it if I showed up. Thanks, um—thanks for understanding why I don’t want to tell him about—”

“I don’t really understand,” Alex interrupts. “I still think you should tell him, but … it’s your decision and I can respect that.”

My stomach knots as I think about Yiayoúla’s scheme to reunite him with his mother. And I realize I have the chance to warn him about what’s going to happen tomorrow.

“Alex—”

“Oh, shit,” he says, his voice low. “We are so busted.”

I turn around to see Tucker come sailing down the block on training wheels, his head covered in a huge white bike helmet that makes him look like a miniature alien. Behind him is Phoebe, pushing Joe in his stroller, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Hey, Phoebs.” Alex greets his sister as if she didn’t just see us making out. I wish I could be so nonchalant, but I can see the questions in her eyes and I don’t want to have to answer them. I look at the ground and say hello.

“Uncle Alex!” Tucker slides off his bicycle and launches himself into Alex’s arms. “You were kissing Callie on her mouth.”

I wish I could melt right into the cracks between the sidewalk, and when I glance at Phoebe, her face seems to suggest she’s wishing the same for herself.

Alex laughs. “Yeah, buddy, I was.”

“Are you gonna have a wedding?”

“No, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know, okay?”

“But—” Tucker looks confused as Alex lowers him to his feet. He’s about to ask another question when Phoebe interrupts him. “Tuck, we need to get home to start dinner for Daddy. Remember I said you could snap the beans?”

“Bean snapping!” he cheers, forgetting about the kissing. Tucker climbs back on his bike and pedals away.

“You can help with dinner, too.” Phoebe looks first at me, then turns to Alex as she starts after Tucker, who has already disappeared around the corner. “Go home. We will talk later.”

As I hurry after her, my phone vibrates in my beach bag. I dig it out to find a message from Alex.

Kali tihi, theoula mou.

I text back, asking him what it means, but from around the corner I hear the rumble of the engine as he starts the truck. Phoebe doesn’t say anything as we walk to the house. When she unbuckles Joe from the stroller, he wriggles out and toddles over to me, grabbing my hand. “Up, Peach.” I carry him into the house.

“We should probably start with the bread because it needs time to rise,” Phoebe says, as I follow her into the kitchen with Joe still in my arms. She sets Tucker up at the table with a bag of green beans and a colander. He snaps off the ends of the beans, pretending they are puny humans and he is the Incredible Hulk.

“Do you always make everything from scratch?” I ask, as Phoebe takes a large container of bread dough from the refrigerator and pulls off a generous lump.

“Not everything,” she says. “But I love to cook, so I try.”

“Down.” Joe squirms and I lower him to the floor. “Cook.”

He opens a drawer filled with plastic food and throws a cucumber, a waffle, and a can of grape soda into a toy pot. Phoebe chuckles. “He has his father’s skill in the kitchen.”

“What, um—what do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Grab five potatoes from the pantry,” she instructs. “The peeler is in the drawer beside the sink.”

“I don’t know how to peel potatoes.”

Phoebe places the blob of bread dough on a wooden pizza paddle and takes a moment to show me how to scrape the peeler along the potato skin.

“My mother taught me how to do this when I was just a couple years older than Tucker,” she says, and I bristle, thinking she’s making some sort of judgment against my mom. I can pack a suitcase in less than five minutes, I can wash my hair in a rest-stop sink, and I know all the words to all the songs on Pearl Jam’s first album, but my mother has never taught me any practical life skills. “I loved peeling apples the best,” Phoebe continues. “I would challenge myself to do it in one continuous strip. Got pretty good at it, too.”

She hands the potato and peeler back to me, and I continue on my own. It’s not as effortless as she makes it seem.

“I was not one of the popular girls,” she says, as she kneads her fingers in the dough. Her braided silver ring and sparkling diamond wedding band are lying on the counter beside her. “I was raised traditionally, so I was the girl who cared about getting good grades, willingly went to church on Sunday mornings, and played clarinet in the marching band. Your mom, though—”