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“No. Your secrets are safe with one another.”
She smiled.
“Your name’sTheka,“ she said it like a Greek word. “Means ten. The number ten. In Greek,” said the woman across. “Almost sounds Greek. You almost look Greek.”
“I’m from Appalachia. Melungeon heritage. A mix of everything.”
“Your father?”
“I never knew him.”
“Mmm,” the woman said, appraising. “I’m Kyriaki.”
“Keedi—”
“Kiki,” she offered, stressing the last syllable. Not like the anime witch. “Chrysanthi, in pink. And Angie and Anna are washing the pans. We come here to bake for festivals and bake sales. You come too, now. You’re presvytera. We’ll teach you.”
“Of course.”
“Dec, you in here?” Gus swung into the kitchen. “Ah. Kiki,ti yinete?”
She answered in Greek and his eyes flashed to me mid-sentence. He was nodding.
“Polí kalla.Hi, Yia-Yiá,“ he hugged his grandmother. “How are you?”
I smiled asI watched him. He always tried to shift the conversation into English to include me. He did it with his grandparents and mom and the parishioners. It was a little indication that he didn’t want to leave me out, and it always made my heart swell. At home, he was a different person. Sometimes I forgot he was Greek. I didn’t think of him as a priest, rarely noticed the collar anymore. He was just Gus.
But I loved these little glimpses into this other side of him. The side he never forgot because he was born to do it. And it was really hot watching him speak Greek. Especially when I knew the conversation was about me and I got to be a fly on the wall and watch him squirm and blush and keep his composure as their spiritual father. Yia-Yiá said something while patting his chin that made his cheeks glow.
“Ne, ne, efharistó, Yia-Yiá.”
Yes, yes, thank you. I knew that much.
“Are you ready?”
“No.” I smiled.
“What are we waiting on?” He hopped up on one of the countertops and plucked out a large chunk of walnut from the mixture, popping it into his mouth. I rarely saw him so at ease. So playful. He felt safe here, in his community. At church. Even the classrooms and the hall were special to him.
“I’ve got baklava in the oven, and I need toput the syrupas soon as it comes out.“ I shrugged, pointing to his grandmother, who was gabbing with her friends.
He bent forward, hooked a finger in the waistband of my skirt, and dragged me closer to him. His breath tickled my ear as he spoke, but he kept his hands to himself. “She speaks English just fine, you know. Don’t let her trick you.”
“I think it’s sweet. I don’t mind a little immersive language learning.”
“She’s going to turn you into her familiar spirit if you’re not careful. Make you drive her to the grocery store and take her to all her doctor’s appointments.”
“The grocery store I can do. I’m usually working during doctor’s hours.”
He glanced up briefly. The old ladies seemed to be in the middle of an argument and not paying much attention to us. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and held his hand on my neck too long for a priest to do in front of his congregation. Married or not.
I stepped away. Smiling, but shaking my head. “You might not think they’re watching us, and they might not be watching you. But they’re watching me, and I intend to be a good presvytera.”
“How good?” His eyes glittered.
I bit my lip and glanced at his lap. “How welldoesthat rasson hide your cock when it gets hard?”
He hopped off the counter and stood straight, only lowering his head to whisper into my ear.
