Page 49 of The Summer Show

Bread crumbs shot down my windpipe. When I managed to dislodge them, they flew out my nose. Nick’s eyes met mine.

Don’t look at the bread boogers, I thought. Don’t do it.

“It’s true,” Ana said. “Greek sons are treated like gods and they never forget it.”

“It is just a plate of food,” Yiayia said. “I fixed your plate, too, yes?”

Ana raised her eyebrows at her grandmother. “Only because you get nervous when anyone goes into your kitchen.”

“Nervous? What is nervous?”

Ana switched to Greek to explain. The conversation followed, leaving me, this bread, and feta. Mmm … cheese.

“I like cheese,” I told Nick, who was using his bread to shovel food onto his fork. In lieu of sharp implements at the lunch table, I’d noticed, Greeks used bread to do most of a blade’s labor. Me, I stuffed chunks of bread into my mouth, American style. I was helpless when presented with good grain products.

“I can see that.”

“Are you ready to lose tonight?”

“I won’t be the one going home.”

“You might be the one going home.”

“I’m naturally good at almost everything physical I try.”

I raised my eyebrows at him, like, Are you serious right now?

The gate opened. Thanos entered with a messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

“Don’t listen to him,” he told me. “Merrick sucks at practical jokes.”

Without reacting in any visible way, Nick swallowed. Thanos laughed and went to kiss Ana.

Nick calmly loaded his fork with a wad of rice. “Hey, Roussos.”

Thanos turned. As he did, Nick pulled back on his fork. Rice flew across the table, nailing Thanos in the kisser.

Rice everywhere.

In a flash, Thanos scooped a stuffed pepper off the closest plate. He shoved the whole mess in Nick’s face and squished.

“We should move,” Yiayia said.

We left our seats and moved to the side of the yard, while the man-sized toddlers continued their food fight.

“Do they do this a lot?” I asked.

“They started before they learned to walk and haven’t stopped since,” Lina told me.

“If you ask me, I think they like it,” Ana said.

A flower pot tipped over as the testosterone-soaked tumbleweed rolled across the yard.

“Ah-pah-pah, my flowers!” Yiayia cried.

The adjoining gate between the Stamou and Roussos houses opened, and Mrs. Rousso appeared with her walking stick. Cursing in Greek, she landed a hard wallop on Nick’s butt.

Zero effect on the fighting men.