Two-way Street

77 Days Before the Trip, 6:07 p.m.

Courtney’s dad is onto me. We’re having dinner out at a Greek restaurant, and I can tell he wants to kill me. Okay, so he doesn’t want to kill me, but he knows I know he’s banging my mom.

“You have to try the souvlaki,” Courtney says, reaching across the table and taking my hand. I hold her hand, trying not to freak out. Jesus, this is awkward. Definitely on my top ten list of things I don’t ever want to do. “Number Three: Have dinner with your girlfriend and her dad, when said dad is having an extramarital affair with your mom, which your girlfriend doesn’t know about.” It really should be some sort of list on Letterman. “Top Ten Things You Never Thought About Happening, But Should Try to Avoid at All Costs.”

“That sounds good,” I say. I have no fucking idea what souvlaki is. It sounds disgusting. But I’ll try it, because Courtney’s dad is here, and he’s from Greece, and I’m trying to make a good impression.

“I hope you’re hungry, Jordan,” he says, smiling at me across the table. That’s the other weird thing. He’s acting like nothing is wrong. I wonder if maybe he has no idea who I am. But that would be impossible. He knows my last name. And he saw me the night I came in and found him feeling up my mom. Maybe he doesn’t know my mom’s last name. And maybe that night he was just so intent on banging her that he doesn’t really remember what I look like. Maybe they haven’t talked since. Maybe they broke it off.

“I am hungry, sir,” I say. Courtney rolls her eyes next to me. Of course I’m going to “sir” him. I have to kiss his ass for many reasons, not the least of which is that even though I haven’t told her yet, I think I’m in love with his daughter.

Courtney’s dad (“Call me Frank,” he said when we got here—Frank! Ha, fat chance!) motions the waiter over and starts talking to him in Greek. I wonder if they’re talking about taking me outside and doing away with me. I don’t think the mob is in Greece, though. The Sopranos are definitely Italian.

“He’s ordering appetizers,” Courtney says, as if she’s reading my mind. She’s wearing a black skirt and a long-sleeved pink shirt, and when she leans in close to me, I can see the black bra she’s wearing underneath it. Despite all the stress, I feel myself starting to get turned on.

The waiter turns to me and asks me in a thick Greek accent what I’d like. I order the souvlaki since Courtney recommended it, and since she said it, I already know how to pronounce it.

“Salad?” the waiter asks, smiling. He’s about twenty-two and he looks like he’s in pretty good shape, but I know I could take him. If it came down to that.

“Yes, please,” I say, figuring salad is safe. Salad is good. Salad is just lettuce. With dressing. Although maybe it’s some kind of funky Greek salad. Even so, Greek lettuce is better than some unknown shit. I’ve never thought of myself as a picky eater before, but now I realize it’s basically because I subsist on hamburgers and pizza most of the time. I’m probably going to die before I’m thirty.

“Whachu leek feetaumbla dreez?” the waiter says. At least, that’s what it sounds like he says. Who the fuck can tell with his accent? Courtney and her father look at me expectantly. Fuck.

“What kind of dressing do you have?” I ask, proud of myself for inferring that was probably the question he asked.

“No,” Courtney says, squeezing my hand and trying not to smile. “He asked if you want feta cheese. On your salad. They only have one kind of dressing here, the Greek house dressing.”

“Oh,” I say, shrugging. “Sure, I’ll take the feta.” I have no idea what feta cheese is.

Courtney and her dad give their orders, and the waiter clears the menus and leaves.

“So,” Courtney’s dad says. He picks up a piece of pita bread and dips it in some kind of cream that’s sitting next to it. He pops it in his mouth and chews. I have no idea how the dude can be so calm, given what’s going on right now. “I hear you’re going to BU, Jordan.”

“Yes, sir,” I say. I wonder who he heard it from—Courtney or my mom. Although I’m not sure how comfortable my mom should feel talking about my life right now, since I haven’t talked to her in weeks. For all she knows, I’ve scrapped this BU idea and have decided to head to Vegas and become a professional poker player. “That’s wonderful,” Frank says, smiling like it’s anything but. He hates me.

The waiter sets our salads down in front of us, and I realize very quickly that the whole feta cheese thing was a horrible mistake. It looks gross and it smells gross, like old socks. And it’s in chunks. I don’t like anything that’s in chunks. Chunks remind me of unpleasant things. Like vomit.

“Jordan’s majoring in accounting,” Courtney says in an effort to make me look good. In actuality, I’m going in undeclared, but I’m leaning toward accounting. I have no idea why, other than my dad is an accountant, and I feel like I need to do something to make him happy now that it turns out my mom is cheating on him.

“Nice,” Frank says. He takes a bite of his salad, including a piece of feta. “This cheese is unbelievable. How’s your salad, Jordan?”

“It’s really good, thanks,” I say. And it is really good. Except for the cheese. And except for the fact that I have no appetite.

“You’re not eating the cheese,” Franks says accusingly.

And you’re fucking my mom, I want to say back. But I don’t. I take a bite of the cheese. It falls apart in my mouth. I try to swallow it without tasting it, like a pill, and almost choke.

“You okay?” Courtney asks, handing me my water.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“So tell me more about this Miami trip,” he says, looking right at me. “Courtney says you two are planning to go next month.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, trying to convey in those two words that we are going to hang out only, not to have sex ever. Which is true. I’m not expecting sex at all. Not even a little bit. Okay, so I’d be happy if it happened, but I’m not planning on it. Courtney’s a virgin. As far as I know, she wants to stay a virgin. At least for a little while, anyway.

“And where will you be staying?” he asks, looking at me closely.

“My dad’s best friend from college has a house there,” I say, wondering if he’s going to give me shit about the fact that there will be no parental supervision. “And he goes to Europe for the summer, and lets me use the house whenever I want.”

“How generous of him. It sounds like it’s going to be a fun trip,” he says, shooting me a look over the table that basically means, “If you put a hand on my daughter, I will shoot you.” Which really isn’t fair, since he’s feeling free to feel up my mom at any opportunity.

“Yes, sir,” I say. I sound like a broken record.

“I’ll be right back,” Courtney says. She pushes her chair back from the table and stands up.

“Where are you going?” I ask, suddenly panicked. Why would she leave me alone with her father? Is Courtney insane?

“To the bathroom,” she says. She kisses me on the forehead and then disappears.

Once she’s cleared the area, Frank looks at me like I’m a piece of gum on his shoe.

“Listen, Jordan,” he says. “This situation is only as difficult as you decide to make it.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. Who does he think he is? Some kind of threatening hit man? Or Dr. Phil, warning me that I have my fate in my hands? I push the feta cheese around my salad with my fork, resisting the urge to throw it at him.

“I mean that this doesn’t have to be an issue,” he says. He wipes his lips with his napkin and sets it on the table. “I have no problem with you, Jordan. I have no problem with you seeing my daughter. The only problem we’re going to have is if you decide not to be discreet.”

Decide not to be discreet? Is this guy for real? The word “discreet” sounds so gross, like some kind of ad for hookers. I might not be pleased with my mom right now, but she’s definitely not a hooker.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, just to be a dick. I start taking the feta cheese off my salad and dropping it onto my bread plate.

“Yes, you do,” he says easily. “And I want you to know that I’m going to be the one to tell Courtney and her mom what’s going on. Not you.”

“You seem really sure of that,” I say, continuing to throw the feta cheese onto the bread plate, spearing each piece and pretending it’s Frank’s head.

“I am,” he says. “Because if Courtney finds out from you, I’ll make sure you never see her again. Hell, I won’t have to make sure of it. She’ll hate you for keeping it a secret from her for this long.”

I don’t say anything because I know he’s right. I had my chance to tell Courtney when I first found out her dad was the one who was having an affair with my mom, and I didn’t. And now, because she had this preconceived notion that I was kind of a dick, if I tell her now, it’s going to come off like I am a dick. But maybe…maybe if I keep my mouth shut, if I don’t tell her I knew, if her dad does eventually tell her, we can deal with it together. We can help each other through it.

“Whatever,” I say. “I’m not going to tell her.”

“Good,” Frank says. He takes a bite of his salad and licks the dressing off his lips. “I really do think that’s the best way.”

“Hey,” Courtney says, returning to the table. “What’d I miss?”