How To Date A Greek Boy

Like Family

We spent the day in Pisa, roaming around. Fran chatted up a cute guy at a restaurant. As a matter of fact, she chatted up our very own waiter at that restaurant. She really was incorrigible.

By evening, we were making our way back to the highway, where Old Dude was going to pick us up. I was surprised he chose to drive back at night, seeing as how extra cautious he was. I wondered if he drove at the speed of zero point three miles an hour in daylight, how fast he’d go at night.
My questions were soon answered as Old Dude picked us up. At night, he would drive at double the speed-zero point six miles an hour.
“Aren’t you driving a little too fast?” I ask sarcastically. After all, zero point six was double zero point three. Old Dude looked at me from the side of his eyes.
“You have problem with everything, bella! In morning, too slow. Now I go fast, then too fast! You want to drive?”
I refused, of course. But Fran, who wasn’t even asked, jumped at the opportunity.
“I would love to drive a truck! I’ve never driven something so big! I’ve never even ridden something so big.” She smirked. Incorporating a dirty joke into a perfectly civil conversation was one of Fran’s many social talents. “Could I, could I?” She bounced in her seat like a child who got the most candy at Christmas. And to my even greater surprise, Old Dude let her drive his truck.

And so, thank God for Fran’s speeding abilities, we pulled into Rome, doing almost a 100 on the speedometer, within the next few hours.

“Ach, nonno!” A girl of around our age, who must’ve been Helen, threw the door open and enveloped the old man in her arms.
“Why is she saying no to him but still hugging him?” I wondered out loud.

Old Dude lived in a small, crammed, yet warm and homey little place. He mustn’t have been very well to do, but the house had an aura of warmth, comfort and satisfaction. It had the aura of a home.

Helen stopped crushing her grandfather when she saw he had company. Broadly grinning at us, she ushered us in. “Just a minute, I’ll get Mamma.” She smiled at us. I expected her to exit the room and return with her Mom. But these Italians did everything with flair.
Going and fetching her mother was too mainstream. Helen yelled for her. Like really yelled. You’d think she was going into war, not calling the woman who had carried her around in a womb for 9 months. If I yelled out to Mum like that, she’d come in with a butcher’s knife and rip out my vocal chords. But Helen’s mother? She came in smiling, wiping her hands on her top.
“Chi sono queste persone, nonno?” She spoke to Old Guy.

Again, I wondered why she kept saying “no no” at the end of everything. Did she mind us that much?

After another round of introductions, we sat around the living room, generally talking, for a very long time. Fran told them how we’d ended up in Italy.
“Your country is beautiful! I’ve seen pictures.” Helen looked at us starry eyed.
“Your country is beautiful too, Helen! And the people are so lovely.” Fran grinned. Then she started asking Helen about her own life, her friends, how it was to be a regular teen in Italy, and all that jazz that only Fran could ask a stranger without awkwardness. Helen was extremely friendly, and along with inside jokes from her grandpa, and light teasing from her mother, the conversation seemed to carry on and on with ease, until we realized it was really late at night.

“We’d better get going.” Fran said, looking at the watch with, you guessed it, roman numerals. It was hung on the wall in front of us.
“Oh my, yes. Very late!” Helen’s mom realized as well.
“You girls can’t go around this late! You don’t know the city.” Old Guy said, worriedly.
“Oh that’s no prob-“
But Fran was interrupted by Helen. “You stay here! You stay here at night, leave tomorrow!”
Fran and I looked at each other, each asking for approval of the other. “Well, if it’s not too much tro-“
“Trouble? Oh, bella, Helen’s friends stay over all the time! You become like family now!” Helen’s mother smiled fondly, hugging us both. “You must stay! You don’t mind sharing room with Helen, no?”
“Oh that would be lovely!” Fran clapped her hands.
Helen too, bounced in excitement. “Ach! Come on I show you my room!”
I followed Helen up, grinning like the cat that had all the milk, because I just got a whole new family.

That night, after a heavy, satisfying meal of original Italian pasta, we retired to Helen’s room. The whole night was spent sleeping peacefully.

No, I'm just kidding, we didn’t sleep peacefully. Sleeping was too mainstream for Helen. And seriously, if you’ve ever actually slept at a sleepover, you need a life.

The night was actually spent exchanging stories. The kind of stories no one, not even an Italian, dares to talk about in front of their mother and grandfather. Stories about making out, stories about turning down sex offers, stories about disgusting guys, about sluts, about terrible dates, about secrets.
Back and forth we went, exchanging incident after incident, laughing our heads off at our immaturity. It was like a tiny gang had formed in Helen’s room, like we’d known each other for much longer than just three hours.

Finally, at around five in the morning, we started getting sleepy. Helen was dozing off in the middle of Fran’s (very interesting) account of what happened with Mr. Friends With Benefits Number 8997, when we realized we should get some shut eye.

Before we dozed off, I sleepily asked Helen something that’d been nagging me the whole night.
“Why did you keep saying ‘no’ to you Grandfather back then in the living room? Did you mind us coming over like that?”
Despite being so sleepy, Helen laughed. “Nonno in Italian means grandfather, Leanna.”
And then right there, on the bed which was meant to fit one girl, the three of us fell asleep in a tangle of sheets and limbs, less like new found sisters, and more like conjoined twins.

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And psst, they're going to be hustling tomorrow.. so another round at guessing where they're going maybe? ;)