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SOON FORGET
PAST
“M?τια που δε βλ?πονται, γρ?γορα λησμονιο?νται,” myYiayiasays, and I wish I could erase the fatigue from her tone.
People who do not see each other frequently, soon forget each other.
“I could never forget you,” I try to convince her, the lightness of my tone sounding foreign to my own ears, but I hear her huff on the other end of the phone and I pause outside the library. “Are you okay?”
“Why your sister not come here?” she asks, and I appreciate her attempt to speak to me in English.
“She’s just busy. You know how she is.” It pains me to lie to her, but their relationship has always been tumultuous, and I hate being in the middle of it. Our childhood was hard with such a wreck of a mother and Denise always wondered why no one stepped in to help us.
I understand her point of view, but I also understand that toyiayia, interfering meant acknowledging her daughter’s condition. And I guess she wasn’t ready to do that until it was too late.
Noting the library’s hours and how I was cutting it close, I said goodbye to my little old Greek grandmother, promising to head to Boston soon to see her.
It’s quiet inside and although I’ve never been much of a reader, the scent of books has always led me toward the stacks. But today, I’m here to pick up a book that my Interior Design Studio professor recommended earlier today.
I head toward the non-fiction section and scan the shelves until I come to the section I’m looking for.
The silence of the library has always struck me as odd, especially smack in the middle of such a cacophonous city. If I close my eyes, I can hear the traffic outside.
I fight the urge, finding the book I’m searching for just as someone speaks, their silent approach undetected until it’s too late.
“I’m sure you have some sort of idea about what you saw yesterday.” The vibrato of his quiet words mixed with the lick of his accent makes me shiver. I try to hide it as I reach for a book on the highest shelf. Before I can get it, he brushes my hand away and retrieves it from its place amongst the other design textbooks.
“You and I both know I have no trouble reaching for things,” I stare at him evenly, hating that I was so immersed in my perusal that I didn’t hear him approach me.
“You’re welcome,” is all he says as he stares at me. I can’t gauge his mood or whether I’m in as much danger of being dropped from his class as I thought I was. And I don’t thank him as I tuck the book against my chest. His eyes follow the movement, regarding me from my arms that are holding the book to my chest to my short red hair that’s pinned behind my ears.
And what can I say about Professor Pugliesi other than the fact that I’ve met more versions of him in the last 72 hours than I would’ve liked to.
“About yesterday…”
“Which part?” I ask, quirking my brow. If he’s going to corner me in the school library, I’m not going to make anything easy for him.
“I’ll start with the shock of seeing you enter my classroom.” He leans against the shelf, a moment of amusement causing his lips to turn up at the ends of his mouth. “I was shocked. And angry.”
Our exchange is whispered words and long stares and I twist my lips at the last word he utters, repeating it to make sense of it myself.
“Angry?”
“Yes. Of course.” He holds out his hands toward me. “The first woman to intrigue me and she ends up being mystudent?” His brows are drawn as he shakes his head. His thick head of hair follows his movement, and it looks so silky that a small part of me yearns to push it from his forehead, just to see for myself.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“So, you show me how much of an asshole you can be?” I offer a dry chuckle as I kick out my foot. “What a way to make me regret that night.”
He opens his mouth to say something and the pink of his tongue wetting his lips has my full attention for a second. Until he starts to speak again.
“I warned you,” he reminds me. “As far as what happened after…it was a moment of weakness.”
“One could say the same of our little movie night,” I offer, glancing around, ready to end this conversation and go about my day, as uneventful as it was shaping up to be.
But when I look back up at him, the playfulness is gone from his eyes, the crinkle at the edges no longer as prominent.
“Would you not call it a twist of fate, then…Sabrina?”
