Page 23 of Holding Out for a Gyro
“It’s Greek. Made with lemons and olive oil.” He dragged his teeth across his lips, like he had more to say but wasn’t sure. “Lemons are…”
“What?”
He huffed out a breath with a laugh. “Well, lemons symbolize love, fidelity, and good luck. Also, they’re very delicious.”
“So when life gives you lemons?”
“Squeeze the day.” He rolled his lips into his mouth, fighting back a laugh.
I stepped back, pointing at him accusatorily. “You set me up.”
“I’m sorry. I only have pickup limes.”
“Stop.” I glanced at Natasha, who was working the register, tosee if she was laughing at this, but she just looked haggard. I needed to get back to work before Todd reprimanded me again.
I lifted the two containers so I could move them to the fridge. “Thanks, Bas. This is above and beyond.”
“When do you get off work?” he asked, and I sighed. I thought he’d understood I wasn’t capable of giving him whatever it was he seemed to want from me.
“Bas, I appreciate this gift, but—”
He held up his hands, all innocence. “It’s just that I’m making salted-caramel banana pudding. I’d really love a guinea pig. And if you wanted to check off thatveganday, I can feed you dinner.”
Elizabeth and Iweregetting so close to adding potential vacation spots across the ocean. I’d never been to Europe. It was a dream.
Secretly, I loved having an excuse to say yes to spending more time with Bas, even if it was scary to let him insinuate himself into my life.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “No pressure, but have you tried the Thai peanut noodles?”
I hadn’t. “Are they new?”
“Something I’m testing out.” His mouth curved up, like he thought he was coaxing me into a decision I’d made when he asked me when I got off work. “Along with a coconut curry soup.”
Fuck me. “I get off work at six.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. I’ll meet you here.” With a wave, he headed out the door, and I apologized to Natasha as I got back to work, buoyed by a flicker of anticipation I ought to have quashed.
It was dangerous, this game we were playing. Bas had an easygoing charm that made me want to let down my guard, but I’d been sucker punched by preening men before.
One of my earliest memories, when I was nine, was the day mydad came home from work, celebrating a raise or a bonus. He picked me up and kissed me and said, “Chelsea, how would you like to go to Disney World?”
I could picture my mom twisting a dish towel in her hand, worrying. “Wayne, how can we afford that?”
My dad pulled out a wad of cash and let it fly. I ran around picking up fives and tens, laughing. It looked like play money. I’d never seen so much in my life. It seemed like a fortune. Disney had been a child’s dream I’d never even allowed myself to entertain.
Dad stood there like a hero. I ran over and hugged him, burying my face in his stomach, lavishing him with love. I was so happy.
That was the first time I remember him ever shoving me. Not hard. He knocked me away with the back of his hand and said, “Jesus, Mel. You’re raising a cocktease.”
I didn’t know what that meant. I thought it was a kind of dog for years. But the words stuck, and one day I understood them.
Of course, we never went to Disney. That promise had been completely empty, calculated to win him momentary praise. Maybe he’d actually wanted to make us happy. I never knew if he intended to follow through. He came home the next week with a widescreen TV. I would have loved that TV if I hadn’t known what it had cost me. I was nine, though, and naively asked him, “What about Disney, Dad?”
He was showing off the TV to his friends. They were drinking and snickering. He puffed up his chest and said, “Disney is for princesses, Chelsea.”
They all laughed at that.
I went to my room, pulled my Jasmine dress off the hanger, and stuffed it into the trash. My mom came up later and rocked me. I remember she said, “Hush. Hush,” but I wanted to scream.
