A Shrine to an Unknown God

CHERUBIC

"LET'S EAT," her father says, once I've finished my prayer.

Marisol digs in, and so does the rest of her family. I awkwardly grab hold of the two wooden poles and try to use them, but all I can manage to pick up is a single limp noodle. I place it inside my mouth.

"Oh, my bad," Marisol says, her mouth full of noodles.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," her mother scolds.

She finishes chewing and swallows. "Sorry!" she squeaks. "You don't know how to use chopsticks, do you? I'll get you a fork." (She was actually the one who taught me to use a fork, back when we first arrived in America. On Apollonisi we only used knives or spoons or—more often than not—our hands.) She pushes back from the table, skips to the kitchen, and returns a second later with a fork in her hand. I take it. "You know, I should probs teach you. For the culture. Isn't your dad Chinese?"

"Well, he's Greek. But he was originally from—"

I'm cut off by Desmond, who's noticed that Jaden hasn't touched his food. Instead, underneath the table, he's scrolling through his phone. "Jaden!" he scolds. "No phones at the table. You've barely touched your food. Is something wrong?"

Jaden rolls his eyes and tosses his phone backwards. It hits the hardwood floor with a crack that makes all of us jump.

"Jaden!" their mother repeats. "Apologize. Now."

He slumps in his chair and picks at his noodles. "I'm sorry."

She nods. "Thank you."

Desmond turns to me. "So what is it that your mother does?"

"My mother? Oh—she's a priestess." Quickly, I add: "Of a Christian church. Very Christian. There's just that one god she worships. You know the one."

"And your father?" he asks.

"He's a—" I fumble for a lie. How can I tell them that my father is a god, that mortal money means nothing to him, that he spends his days lounging beneath an olive tree, being hand-fed grapes by beautiful women and seducing beautiful men? "He doesn't work, actually. He's a beggar, gets around on others' scraps."

"Men." Judy rolls her eyes and pokes her husband in the side.

"Mom," Marisol complains. "That's so straight. Stop it."

The dinner goes on like this. Marisol's parents interrogate me. I tell them something between a lie and a half-truth. They joke. Marisol rolls her eyes at them. Although I can see it in her eyes that she loves how in love they still are, that they can joke around with each other like this, that they hold hands beneath the dinner table like children on a first date. Jaden doesn't say much of anything, and just sits there, picking at his noodles.

When we're finished eating, we all help clean the dishes. Then her parents go outside by the pool to have a glass of wine, and Jaden returns to his room. Meanwhile, Marisol and I sprawl out on her couch. Her dog Gucci dozes happily in her lap, her head nestled up against her stomach.

Should I tell her what her mother asked me about Apollonisi? How she knows the truth, at least part of it? How she's convinced I'm from some pagan cult, whatever that means? I can't lie to this girl, I can't keep secrets from her, how could anyone? Look at her sweet, cherubic (a new word she taught me) face; the delicate curve of her lips; the way sunshine seems to seep from her every pore. How could I keep anything from her?

But how would it be fair to put her between me and her family? What if it makes her distrust me, or even worse, distrust them? I know her parents only have their daughter's best interests at heart. They're worried for her, that's all. They desperately want to keep her safe. They've already lost one child, they can't afford to lose another.

How would my own mother react, if an American came to our island, and a Christian one at that? What would she think if I befriended them? She would think they were trying to brainwash and convert me. She'd fear I was going to leave our island and never look back. She wouldn't allow it, if only to keep me safe.

So I stay quiet and watch her parents sipping their wine through the glass door.