Framing Giovani

By Rachel Dib

Since the last thing I needed was to draw negative attention to myself while visiting my girlfriend’s family, of course my brother had to knock over a decorative vase.

I stared down at the ceramic shards and uttered a Motervian curse.

Jorgaa knelt and dipped a blue finger into the scattered powder. Though he’d agreed to don a human form during his visit, he’d declared Earth skin tones too drab for his liking and had stuck with our Motervian azure. “What do you think this powder is?”

I shook my head. “This will doubtlessly be one more thing Sofia holds against me. With my luck, that pot will be some Grecian family heirloom.”

“Worse than that. Either Sofia’s grandmother had a jar of drugs, or…” Jorgaa plucked a golden square from the rubble and turned it for me to see. “Or you spilled grandpa.”

Reading the engraving, I spat a string of curses.

Jorgaa bit his lip. “Unfortunate. Think we can blame the accident on that fat furry creature?”

My gaze landed on a graying dog resting in the corner. “Look at him. He’s too old to do anything but sleep. No one will believe it.”

Jorgaa shrugged, rising back to his full height. “Do you think Sofia’s family will let us eat before they kick us out? Because I’m hungry, and you really talked up this whole Greek Independence Day feast. By the way, whether or not this food is good, I’m not visiting in March again. It’s too cold.”

I glowered at my brother.

“Hey, I’ve been researching Greece ever since you told me about Sofia. I want to try a gyro.”

Lowering my chin, I deepened my glower.

Jorgaa sighed. “Look, maybe this is a blessing. Ever since I arrived, you’ve complained about how much Sofia nags you. If she’s driving you mad, maybe it’s better she dumps you now.”

“Dumps me?” I blinked. “You think she’ll dump me over this?”

“You spilled a beloved family member on the floor. So…”

“You’re the one who bumped the urn!”

“Well, you startled me,” Jorgaa retorted, but I wasn’t really listening.

“Do you think we can hide them somewhere?” I asked.

“The ashes?”

I opened a piano bench, but it was filled with books. “Yes, the ashes! What else?” My spirits lifted when I noticed a decorative carpet. “Maybe we can clean up the bits of pottery and brush the rest under here.”

“You want to sweep human remains under the rug?” Jorgaa clicked his tongue. “You think that will fix the situation?”

“We have to do something!”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” I growled, poking the moss in a fake plant.

“What’s the point of staying with someone who irritates you?” Jorgaa asked. “Why not find someone else? Perhaps a Motervian so I don’t have to travel six light-years to visit. You’ve only been with Sofia for what? Six months?”

“Two years.”

Jorgaa tilted his head. “Okay, that’s—”

“Fireplace!” I exclaimed.

“You can’t smell the gas?”

“Right.” I ran a hand through my hair, finally giving up on hiding the ashes.

“Look, from what I’ve gathered, you’ve been miserable recently.” Jorgaa crossed his arms. “Please explain why you’re so adamant against being dumped.”

I flung out my hands. “Because I love her. No matter what she does, or how much she infuriates me, I love her. And I always will.” Sighing, I slipped a box from my pocket. “I could never find the right time. I thought maybe this weekend…”

Jorgaa eyed the ring. “You never mentioned—”

“I didn’t want to jinx it.” I closed the box. My shoulders slumped.

Jorgaa pursed his lips. “Well, we can’t hide the ashes—that’d be wrong. But don’t worry. We’ll tell everyone it’s my fault. Sofia’s family doesn’t need to like me. We’ll—”

“There you two are. Dinner is ready, and my grandmother…”

Flinching, I turned to find Sofia standing in the doorway. She had twisted most of her hair into a knot so only a couple strands hung loosely around her face. I wished she’d kept it down. It would’ve blocked the frozen mortification written across her features as she stared at the broken urn. Sofia pressed her lips together and lifted her gaze to meet mine. I did my best not to cringe under her glare.

“So,” Jorgaa began, but Sofia whirled around and left. He coughed. “Well. That stare was… intense. You sure you want to marry her?”

“With every fiber of my being.”

Jorgaa nodded. “Then, in the future, I don’t want to hear any more complaining.”

“If there is a future,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry. No one can stare at you with that much”—Jorgaa blew out his cheeks—“whatever that was and not marry you.”

“You think so?”

“Positive.” Jorgaa scratched his neck. “So, after I’ve received my fill of disapproval, I’ll go back to your apartment. Just sneak me out a gyro. I really want to try one.”

“We’re not having gyros.” Sofia strode back in carrying a lean, gray cat. She set it down next to the broken urn. “We’re having spanakopita, dolmades, hummus, olives, pita bread, and salad and cheese.”

“Domades and spanka-what?” Jorgaa asked as we watched the cat.

It laid down in the ashes and batted lazily at a piece of ceramic.

“Stuffed grape leaves and spinach pies,” Sofia replied. “And if you want a chance to eat them, you won’t mention to anyone—especially my great-aunt Maria—that you broke my great-uncle Vinnie’s urn. Understood?”

She waited for us to nod, then scooped up the cat and left the room. A moment later, Sofia’s voice reverberated down the hallway, “Mamá! Giovani knocked over an urn again!”

“Again?” Jorgaa narrowed his eyes. “Has this beast been framed before?”

“Better it than us,” I muttered. “Let’s go.”

Jorgaa grabbed my shoulder. “Don’t look so stressed. Your girlfriend just framed a cat for you. If that’s not love, what is?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Dib is a stay-at-home mom of three small children. After marrying a soldier, she left her home state of South Carolina to live in random places across the United States. Her short fiction appears in anthologies published by Havok Publishing, Ye Olde Dragon Books, Iron Faerie Publishing, Brigids Gate Press, and The Last Line literary journal.

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