Seven Days of Friday (Women of Greece Book 1)

Seven Days of Friday (Women of Greece Book 1) by Alex A. King

Book: Seven Days of Friday (Women of Greece Book 1) by Alex A. King Read Free Book Online
Authors: Alex A. King
turd, it’s a kind of cookie, and the wet stuff is honey syrup.
    It’s pretty much the best thing she’s ever eaten. Way better than Grams’s desserts, for sure. Not that she would ever say that aloud, because Grams can turn people to stone.
    She nibbles the cookie while Mom and her aunt talk. She can’t hear a word they’re saying, so they look funny with their mouths moving out of rhythm with the music. She makes up a little play in her head, where Thea Dora is berating Mom for being the shittiest mom ever.
    What about Dad? Does he even miss her?
    Does she miss him?
    It’s complicated. She doesn’t miss him so much as she misses old Dad. Seeing your father French another guy changes things. He dumped them for Ian. He dumped her.
    Thea is staring at Melissa, lips moving. She wonders if Thea knows she’s got hair on her chinny, chin, chin.
    Mom tugs on the ear buds, and sound pours out. After the smoothness of music, speech sounds harsh and jangled.
    “So, Melissa.” Thea Dora says it like she hitched her name to the back of a car and dragged it a few miles. Meeleessaa . It sounds weird but she kind of likes it. “Are you good in school?”
    She looks down at the plate. Empty. If they were home she’d go get another one.
    “I guess. I don't love it or anything, but I do okay.”
    “You have lots of friends?”
    Shrug. “Just the one. But since we're here now, I guess I'm down to none.” Mom's mouth droops, but Melissa doesn’t care. “ Thea , where’s the bathroom? I really need to go.”
    “Down the hall and second left,” Thea Dora says.
    She leaves and they keep talking. Probably talking about Melissa and what a screw up she is. Hey, it wasn’t exactly her idea to move here, to this . . . this . . . thriving metropolis. Heavy on the sarcasm.
    Metropolis. Cool word.
    That’s what she wants, to live in a metropolis filled with people. Blend in. Become invisible.
    Second door to the left.
    She steps insides, closes the door and lets the darkness hide her from her own critical eyes. A temporary vanishing.
    How long can she stay?
    Not long. Too long and they’ll think she’s doing number two, and that’s embarrassing. So, she can’t stay forever.
    Say goodbye to the dark, Mel. On with the light.
    She blinks.
    Something is really, really fuc –


    V ivi says , “What?”
    Her aunt is on the phone, chatting to someone in Greek. Something about Effie and soap.
    Melissa huffs.
    “I can’t hear you,” Vivi says. “You’ll have to speak up.”
    Melissa gives her the “But moooom” look, with fifteen years of exasperation dumped in those extra vowels. She tries again.
    “The toilet is broken. Remember that time you and Dad replaced the toilet in my bathroom and there was just that big round pipe underneath?”
    Vivi nods.
    Oh yeah, she remembers. She scraped away the gooey wax herself, and dragged the old toilet to the curb on her own, because John couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t risk messing up his manicure.
    “Well it looks like that. You know, a big hole in the ground.”
    “What – no toilet?”
    “Nope. Just a round hole.”
    This she has to see.
    In she goes. Light on.
    No toilet. Dead ahead is the hole Melissa described.
    Good news? It’s not broken.
    Bad news? It’s not broken.
    Vivi knows a hole when she sees one, and this once is surrounded by white porcelain. Two wavy foot-sized patches straddle the opening.
    She contemplates the physics.
    That’s not all. It gets worse.
    A small wicker trashcan sits within grabbing distance. No lid. Inside, small pieces of soiled toilet paper.
    Perfect, she thinks. Perrrrfect.
    Outside the bathroom, her smile goes back on. What the hell is she thinking, uprooting their lives, racing across the world to see what shade of green the grass is here?
    (For the record, the grass she’s seen so far is sparse and leans toward the brown spectrum.)
    Her marbles are gone.
    She looks at Melissa.
    “How hard can you cross your

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