Page 96 of Hold Me Today

Her answer is immediate. “Yes, of course. Come. I will wait up for you.”

I manage to hold back all of my tears until I reach her house. It’s not the same one I found refuge in while growing up, this one much bigger and nicer, but as soon as she sees me, it’s like the time fades away. She pulls me into her embrace, and I catch her familiar scent of lemon. I don’t know how long my best friend’s mother hugs me. I don’t know how long my tears last until I feel light-headed and she’s pressing a glass of water into my hand and telling me to drink.

The last thing I do before I pass out in the spare bedroom is reach for my phone and call Nick. It’s after 3 a.m. and I’m not surprised when I get his voicemail. “Pick me up at your mom’s in the morning,” I say, my voice thick and raspy from all the crying I’ve unleashed, “Good night, Nick. I . . . good night.”

32

Nick

Ilet myself into my parents’ house the morning of our road trip to Maine. Morning light streams in through the front windows of the parlor, and I follow the sound of voices to the kitchen.

Coming here this morning wasn’t part of the plan, but neither was the choked voicemail I received from Mina in the dead of night. When I woke up and listened, it took everything in me to wait until eight, like we talked about yesterday.

Hearing her like that . . . I could almost hear her tears through the receiver, and the sound nearly broke me. And the worst of it is, I know the only people who would drive her to tears are the ones who birthed her. Much as I want to bang on my chest and break down doors and come to her rescue, I can’t do any of that when it comes toKyrieandKyriaPappas.

Mina might not love her parents the way I adore mine, but that doesn’t mean she wants me turning into the Hulk when it comes to them either. Not that I haven’t been tempted more than once this morning.

No one messes with Mina on my watch. Not that asshole from back in high school. Not some prick on the street. No one.

The minute my feet hit the kitchen tiles, my mom and dad whip around. Identical grins lift their mouths, and even though I only saw them last weekend, they rush forward to hug me. Ma takes first priority, then my dad.

“Where’sYiayia?” I ask in Greek.

“In the sunroom messing with her plants.” My dad rolls his shoulders. “You know how she is.”

Yeah, wealldo. I look toward the hallway, the need to see Mina and reassure myself she’s okay pulsing through me.

“Nick.” My mom loops her arm through mine. “She’ll be fine. But don’t . . . don’t ask her to talk until she’s ready, okay? Have a good weekend. Have some fun.”

There’s not a chance in hell I’m letting this die down. I want—Ineed—her to tell me herself that she’s okay. And then I want to know why she came here of all places, not to Effie or even to me.Especially to me. The initial hurt from this morning resurfaces. I thought we were past keeping each other at arm’s length, and it stings to know that while I’m all in with this sort-of relationship of ours, Mina might still be clinging to the idea that we’re just a fling.

Just a fling.

Have Mina and I ever been “just” anything? Looking back on our interactions with each other over the years, I don’t think so. Mina has always beenmoreto me, even if I was desperate to prove to myself otherwise.

“Niko mou,” Ma says, drawing out each syllable patiently, like the mother she’s been for the last thirty-two years. “Let it go.”

I force the tension out of my limbs. “Working on it.”

A small pause, and then she asks, “Is there something between you two?”

I could lie. They’d believe it. Mina and I have been at each other’s throats for years, always circling, always pushing—but maybe they would see right through me. Mina and I have been at each other’s throats, yes, but we’ve also shored up our differences when the other needed support.

When the other neededlove.

My chest expands like I’ve swallowed a helium balloon.

I love her. Mina. I scratch at my heart, like that’ll do something to appease the swell of emotion in my chest.

All these years, I’ve been looking for my other half, my Aleka to my George, my Sarah to my Effie. And she was right here all along. I almost laugh out of the pure ridiculousness of the situation.

Because how does a guy like me, who’s always so careful with his emotions, not realize something as monumental aslovinga woman like Ermione Pappas? I can’t even say with certainty that it’s a new thing. How can I, when I’m assaulted with memories of her in every aspect of my life? Her in that tiny bikini right before her top was washed away. Her in my arms on prom night, when I forced myself to do the responsible thing and put distance between us. Her in my goddamn bed on my wedding night, my own personal rock bottom, withI Love Lucyreruns playing and Mina—God, Mina—lending me a shoulder and a hug and an ear when I needed it.

And that night, rolling over and wanting to pull her in close.

This time the laugh comes, but it’s thick with emotion and doesn’t sound at all like me. Because, yes, even on my almost-wedding night to another woman, I caved to the desire Mina always sparked to life within me.

I didn’t touch her. I didn’t climb under the covers.

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