“Hi, Yaya,” she said with a smile as she turned on the speaker phone and pulled out of the veterinary clinic’s parking lot.
“Hi, baby. Pós eísai? Good?”
“Eímai kalá,” Effie said, aware of how stiff and off her Greek was.
“Ah! You have been practicing!” her grandmother said in her thick Greek accent.
“Don’t ask me anything else, that’s about all I have,” Effie said with a laugh.
“Okay, okay. I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you, I couldn’t remember what time you were off.”
“I got done a little early, a client canceled.”
“I see. So what are you doing? Going to Thorne’s?”
“How’d you guess?”
“χρυσό μου, where else would you be going? The boyfriend’s or work, that is all. And that is good, as it should be. I’m sure King will be happy.”
“Tho—nevermind,” Effie said.
She bit her lip. She still felt a stab at her heart whenever someone mentioned King’s name. It didn’t help that it happened all the time.
Even if Yaya wasn’t heading into dementia territory, being engaged to your ex’s brother doesn’t exactly mean you’ll never hear his name, she reminded herself.
“How are you, Yaya?”
“Oh, fine. Just fine. Remember we need more thyme. Will you pick it up? Clem, don’t forget this time, yes?”
“Yaya, this is … okay, yes. I will pick it up.”
She swallowed the protests that bubbled to the surface when Yaya called her Clem. It wasn’t the first time that Effie had been called her mother’s name, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Effie flew past the WELCOME TO GLENCO, ILLINOIS sign and reached blindly into the console for a scrap of paper. As she took Thorne’s exit and pulled up to the stop sign, she scribbled a note to herself.
Buy thyme.
Effie had no idea if they were actually out of thyme, but if Yaya got into a cooking mood, missing thyme was a full-fledged disaster. She tried to rack her brain for what the spice rack looked like the last time she’d seen it, but couldn’t remember.
“And the oregano. The one in the glass bottle this time. Plastic and glass, it makes a difference, you know.”
“Yes, Yaya, I know,” Effie said.
“Effie?”
“Yes?”
“What is it?” She heard the worry in Yaya’s voice, the hint of clarity that told her Yaya was—at least for the moment—lucid.
“Nothing. What do you mean?”
“You sound… I don’t know. Sad, maybe. What is wrong?”
“Nothing, Yaya, really.”
“Effie, I know you. What is there to be sad about? You have perfect fiancé, so polite. Good job—”
“Yaya, I’m fine. Really. I’m just tired. It was a long day at work.”
Yaya sighed. “Sadness, it is not pretty.”
Effie almost pulled directly into the rear end of a little Mercedes coupe parked in Thorne’s driveway. “Crap!”
“Effie!”
“Sorry, Yaya, I have to go. I just got to Thorne’s.”
“Only if you promise you are not sad.”
“I’m not. Promise. I love you.”
Effie slid the call off as she ran over the curb trying to squeeze the SUV into the limited space for street parking. As soon as she turned off the engine, the gray skies opened up and the downpour began.
“The sun will come out… eventually, right?” she muttered to herself.
The storm was sudden and intense. She could barely get the door open with the strong gusts of rain. Effie pulled up the hood of her jacket, a dark maroon trench coat covered in white cat hair.
She sprinted up the custom stone steps of Thorne’s brand-new condo built in mid-century fashion with floor-to-ceiling windows. Even in the North Shore affluent suburb of Chicago, Thorne’s building was a standout architectural gem. And he— well, it would be them soon enough— had the entire penthouse floor and exclusive elevator.
Effie checked her reflection in the elevator mirror as it hoisted her towards the heavens. She hated that she cared, but Thorne had made it clear more than once that he, or really his parents, expected certain things from her.
Like not coming home covered in animal fur, she thought.
When the elevator doors slid open, she reached her hand out automatically for the familiar bronze knob, but the condo was wide open.
“Thorne?” she called out. In one of the back rooms, she could hear the thump of music. Dua Lipa moaned from one of Thorne’s stereo systems. The stupid things that came with price tags so rich Effie could hardly bear to hear the about costs. Especially when Thorne bragged about his latest purchases to friends or posted over-filtered shots on Instagram.
“Thorne!” she called out again.
She made her way down the hall, one side adorned in mirrors and the other a mish-mash of photographs in sterling silver and crystal frames. She knew each of the photos by heart, including exactly where not to look.
In two of the photos, King was there. One of those photos was taken when they were still together, but of course she wasn’t in that photo. It was a family Easter brunch at Alinea in the city. But King had been wearing that shirt she had bought him, just before they’d broken up.
That’s what happens when you date two men from the same family, she thought idly. It makes family photos awkward, to say the least.
Effie let her eyes slip past the formal engagement photos of her and Thorne. Her mom and Yaya had the same ones in their little tucked away house. They were beautiful photos, but she could swear the couple in them was foreign to her. Their matching fake smiles looked picture perfect, though.
The music got louder as she approached the master bedroom with its door slightly ajar.
“Thorne?” she asked as she pushed the door open. She saw his broad, naked back perched on the edge of the bed. “What are you—”
He turned sharply just as a girl raised her head from between his legs. The girl wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as Thorne released the girl’s hair from his fist.
