Chapter Text
“I got the promotion!”
Persephone throws the door open, tugging her son out of the bright sunlight and into the cool interior of the cottage. “Well done, Zagreus! I’m so proud of you. Welcome home.” She wraps her arms around him, kissing both blushing cheeks in turn and ruffling his hair like he’s still eight years old. “You need a haircut.”
She releases him and glides through the cosy living room towards the kitchen. Zag follows, watching her open the fridge to retrieve a jug of fresh pomegranate lemonade, crossing the kitchen to pour two tall glasses.
“It’s just about long enough for a ponytail, Mama. I might keep growing it.” He grabs the condensation beaded glass, swallowing the delicious nectar thirstily. “I missed your lemonade so much. Lemon tree doing well, then?”
“Yes, it is. Back to your hair.” Zag groans cheekily, grabbing for the other glass and grinning when his mother slaps his hand away, gesturing to the overlong strands framing his face. “Chief stewards on luxury yachts shouldn’t have ponytails, surely?”
Zag pours himself another glass. “Come on. So long as I look well groomed, no-one will mind if I have a ponytail. You remember Poseidon, right? He’s the Captain and he has a ponytail and a giant beard.”
“Fine, fine.” Persephone opens the fridge and pulls out a cucumber, a fat brown onion, and a brown paper parcel. “Go pick a few tomatoes? And bring your case inside. I’ll start your laundry after lunch.”
“Mama, I’m twenty five years old, I can do my own laundry. I came home to see you, not to get my laundry done.” Zag kisses his mother’s smooth cheek before striding over to the back door.
“You might be twenty five years old, but you’re still my baby, and I like looking after you. You spend all your working time looking after your clients, let me spoil you a little.” She slices the onion deftly into slim crescents, dropping them into a worn earthenware bowl that has cradled thousands of salads in its lifetime. “Go on, get the tomatoes, you must be hungry.”
Zag steps out into the sunlight, smiling as it kisses his tanned skin. He adores being outside, in the sun and the fresh air, the endless, perfect blue sky stretching out far above his head. He makes his way slowly down the path, breathing in the scents of the abundant plants and flowers growing in his mother’s garden, meandering between the neatly tended beds to the tomato plants. He stops, closing his eyes and breathing in the warm, rich aroma before stepping forward to pluck three plump tomatoes from the vine. He raises one to his nose, amazed at how good the ripe, sun warmed fruit smells compared to the tomatoes they stock on the yacht. They might be high quality, dutifully picked up fresh at every port, but they are nothing compared to freshly picked tomatoes from his mother’s garden.
He wanders back, slipping off his sandals to walk barefoot across the springy green grass, smiling as the lush green blades tickle the soles of his feet. The sun is high overhead, a light breeze whispering through the trees surrounding his childhood home in a way which feels comfortingly familiar. Zag sighs contentedly, letting his worries about work and his new role slip away into the sultry air.
“Took you long enough, did you get lost?” Persephone comments with a wry smile, taking the tomatoes from his hands and chopping them efficiently into juicy chunks. She drops them into the bowl, already two thirds full with onion, cucumber and olives, and drizzles a steady stream of olive oil on top of the glistening pile. A handful of fresh oregano, finely shredded and scattered, a quick mix with her worn wooden spoon, and the salad is nearly ready. Zag watches as his mother unwraps a block of feta cheese, crumbling it between her nimble fingers into the bowl. His mouth floods, already anticipating the tangy cheese on his tongue, followed by mellow sweet tomatoes, sharp onions, crisp cucumber and rich olives.
Persephone carries the bowl over to the kitchen table, already neatly set with two plates and two sets of gleaming silverware. Zag follows, bringing the jug of lemonade and their glasses. They sit down, and Zag’s fingers automatically seek out the Z carved onto the underside of the scuffed wooden table. Still there, still unknown; a secret, familiar anchor to his childhood.
Is there anything more wonderful than returning home to be coddled and cared for after weeks away working? Zag can’t think of anything better. He’s lucky enough to have plenty to be thankful for in his life - good friends, a good job, his health and his mother close by. Sure, there are things he’d like to have. Enough money to rent a place of his own, for the times when the yacht is docked. A long term relationship, someday. Someone to come home to, although he’s not quite sure how a relationship would work given that his job takes him around the Mediterranean for weeks at a time. Even so, he counts his blessings every day, appreciating the simple tranquillity of his life, determined to be grateful for what he has.
“Thanks, Mama. Missed your cooking.” Zag heaps salad onto his mother’s plate first before piling his own plate high. He takes a soft, puffy pitta from the basket and tears a chunk off, his mouth already watering.
“This is hardly cooking, Zagreus. Wait til dinnertime, I’ve got chicken marinating in the fridge for souvlaki. Hope it’s still your favourite.” Persephone spears a chunk of tomato, popping it into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully.
“You’re the best,” Zag mumbles through a mouthful of salad and bread.
“So tell me, this promotion. What does it mean, exactly, for what you do on the boat?”
“On the yacht. She’s not a boat, she’s a yacht.”
“Semantics.” Persephone waves her hand dismissively. “What will you be doing on the yacht now?”
“Well, moving from steward to chief steward means that I’ll be overseeing all the interior operations. Managing the interior team, liaising with the guests, filling in wherever needed depending on what’s happening onboard. I’m glad I finally finished my sommelier course last year, I’ll be advising on wine as well.” Zag takes a sip of lemonade and reaches for another pitta.
“Sounds like a lot of responsibility. I can see why they promoted you, you’re so good with people.” Persephone smiles proudly.
“I guess so. Let’s see how the first few weeks go. The last chief steward used to handle all the most demanding guests, she said some weeks she barely slept. Guests wanting their air conditioning adjusted in the middle of the night, or calling for tea because they can’t sleep. I’m used to the ones who stay up all night partying and the stewards have to pour their drinks until they pass out or stagger back to their cabins. Not so much the VIPs who want a personal servant on call at all hours.”
“You must have some stories, agori mou.” Persephone pushes the last of the salad onto Zag’s plate.
“Yeah. Not that I’d ever tell anyone outside the business any of them. We’re only as trustworthy as we are discreet, after all.”
“Very honourable. So tell me, what are you planning on doing with your time off? Not stay at home with your very boring mother, I expect?”
Zag laughs. “I love hanging around with you. I’m guessing you have some beds that need digging or something?” Persephone beams at him. “Okay, a little bit of hanging around at home then. I thought I’d head out with Evgenis, Angelina and Miltos for drinks tonight, if that’s alright with you.”
“Of course. After dinner, though. You mustn’t go drinking on an empty belly.”
“As if I’d skip your souvlaki to go drinking. You done?” Zag gestures to Persephone’s empty plate.
“Yes. Go get your laundry, I’ll clear up.”
“The laundry can wait.” Zag stacks the plates quickly, settling the empty salad bowl on top carefully. “Why don’t you go sit in the garden and I’ll make us another jug of lemonade?”
“If you insist. Only three lemons, remember.”
Zag looks back over his shoulder as he puts the dirty plates into the sink. “Mama, don’t insult me, that was years ago.”
Persephone smiles as she slips her feet into her sandals. “I’ll never forget how the smile fell from your face when you tasted your creation and found it undrinkable. Adorable boy.”
Zag squirts washing up liquid into the sink and turns on the tap. “And I’ll never forget how you drank an entire glass and smiled through it.”
"You tried so hard. Like you always do."
Zag shoos his mother out of the kitchen and plunges his hands into the soapy water to wash the dishes. He leaves them to dry in the rack beside the sink, rinsing the simple glass jug and setting it next to a clean chopping board. He prepares the lemonade carefully, as he’s done a million times before, knowing that even though he’s replicating his mother’s recipe, it won’t taste as good as the lemonade she makes herself. He tips in some fresh pomegranate juice, stirring gently so the red liquid disperses in the pale lemonade, lending it the slightest pink hue.
He carries the jug and their glasses outside, setting them down on the wooden table nestled in the shade of a pomegranate tree, a few ripe fruits still decorating the higher branches. His mother kneels on a padded mat by one of her vegetable beds, carefully pulling weeds from the rich brown earth. Always so busy, his mama, never taking time to sit down and rest.
“Can I help you? Or do you want me to get the ladder and pick the rest of the poms from the trees?”
“If you don’t mind harvesting the last of the poms, Zagreus, I’d appreciate it.”
“Alright. Lemonade’s here if you’re thirsty.”
It’s sweaty work, dragging the ladder from tree to tree, climbing up into the foliage to free the remaining pomegranates from their stalks, climbing down with an apron bulging with ripe reddish pink fruit. The woven basket in the shade fills up bit by bit until the trees are bare and the sun is nearly at the horizon, the dazzling sunlight mellowing and turning golden as the afternoon begins to fade into evening.
He puts the ladder away in one of the gardening equipment-filled outbuildings, latching the door securely before carrying the brimming basket of pomegranates into the kitchen.
“So many! I thought I’d managed to get most of them over the past few weeks,” Persephone exclaims, sliding a tray of marinated chicken under the grill. “The souvlaki will be ready in about twenty minutes if you want to shower. I put your bag in your room.”
“Thanks, Mama. Back soon.” He kisses his mother on the cheek and leaves the kitchen.
Half an hour later, he’s showered and dressed in jeans and a rough cotton shirt, the clean white hue contrasting brightly with his tanned skin. His mother pushes him towards the table, ignoring his offers of help as she piles grilled chicken and tomatoes into a pitta bread for him. She sits, watching him stuff the food hungrily into his mouth, eyes closing briefly in delight at the taste of the richly spiced meat.
“Would you like a job on the yacht? No-one cooks like you do,” he mumbles, taking another giant bite.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Zagreus, did I teach you nothing? I don’t want to cook for rich people on a fancy boat.” Zag shoots her a look. “I don’t want to cook for rich people on a fancy yacht. I only want to cook for you, agori mou.”
“Awww.” Zag rolls his eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Eat up, I don’t want you rolling home drunk in the middle of the night.” Persephone fetches the platter of grilled chicken, adding another spoonful or two to Zag’s plate. “And if you do roll home drunk in the middle of the night, don’t wake me up. I want to press some apples tomorrow.”
“I’ll be quiet, I promise.” Zag digs into the rest of the food, even though his stomach is already pleasantly full. The food on the yacht is good enough, and sometimes they even get to eat the leftovers of the gourmet stuff Chef makes for the guests, but nothing compares to his mother’s cooking.
She turns down his offer to wash the dishes, insisting he make the most of his time off. He kisses her cheek again before he leaves, marvelling at how her skin seems to get softer and more downy even as the lines of her face deepen with age.
It’s a long walk down through the town towards his favourite cliff top bar. The evening air is sweet and fragrant with a myriad of herbs and flowers, the salty tang of the sea ever present in the background. The sky glows with streaks of pink, orange and coral, a gorgeous sunset that Zag barely notices. Even Nature’s most beautiful efforts become ordinary, viewed night after night.
Evgenis and Angelina are sprawled on the sofa in their preferred corner, right next to the glass screens protecting tipsy patrons from the cliff’s edge. Zag spots Miltos at the bar, tucking his wallet into his pocket as the bartender slides four glasses and a bottle of rakomelo towards him. He winces at the sight of the strong spirit; even without knowing about his promotion, his friends have clearly decided that tonight will be a celebration.
“Let me help, Miltos.” He sidles up to the bar, slapping his friend on the back and grabbing the tumblers, cool and brimming with ice.
“Zag!” Miltos’ deep voice is full of warmth and happiness. “So good to see you, my friend. How’s the boat?”
“The yacht’s good. I got promoted, actually. I’m chief steward now.” Zag grins, the elation of his achievement still fresh and new.
“Congratulations!” Miltos nudges his shoulder gently. “You’ll have to tell me what that means. I don’t understand you boat people.”
“Congratulations for what?” Angelina says as they approach the table, standing to take a few glasses from Zag. She sets them down on the glass topped steel table, relaxing back into the curved sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. Her dark hair glows with hints of red in the soft light of dusk, her bronzed skin gleaming with the shimmering body oil she’s been using since she was a teenager.
“Zag got promoted. Chief steward.” Miltos grins, pushing his glasses up his nose before he pours measures of rakomelo into the frosty glasses.
“Oh! Congratulations!” Evgenis leans forward to punch Zag’s shoulder as Angelina gives him a delighted round of applause. “What will you be doing on the boat now?”
“It’s not a boat, it’s a yacht,” Angelina says in a bored monotone, pre-empting Zag’s inevitable correction.
He laughs, taking the proffered glass from Miltos. “Yamas!” They touch their glasses together, sipping their rakomelo. “Nice shirt, Evgenis.”
Evgenis plucks at the collar of the shirt, rubbing the fabric between his finger and thumb. “Oh, thanks. From our new collection. Sustainable fabric in jewel tones created with organic, biodegradable dyes.” Zag nods, admiring the contrast of the rich emerald green against his friend’s dark skin. “Got a ruby red one which’d suit you perfectly, Zag, if you’re interested. Do chief stewards get to wear their own clothes, or will you still be in uniform?”
“Nah, still dark red polo shirts and beige shorts in the day, formal trousers and waistcoat in the evening. No getting away from the uniform onboard, sadly.” Zag smiles.
“Damn. Oh well. So what does a chief steward do, anyway?” Evgenis asks, cradling his glass.
Zag explains the nature of his new role, sipping his drink as he talks, hands gesturing excitedly in the air.
“Nice, congrats.” Angelina grins. “Does this mean we’ll see even less of you?”
“Maybe, I don’t know yet. I’ll have to oversee things like interior maintenance and repairs, so I won’t just leave the yacht when we dock. The next charter is from Friday, so I guess I’ll find out then.” Zag swigs from his glass, enjoying the burn of the rakomelo as it slides down his throat, warming his chest from the inside. “How’s teaching, Miltos? Any kids as mischievous as we were this year?”
“These kids think they know how to play pranks, Zag, but they’ve got nothing on us. One of them even put a whoopee cushion on my chair the other week. So unimaginative.” Miltos grins. “Remember that time Angelina balanced a bucket of water on the door when we had that temporary teacher none of us liked?”
They reminisce, reliving the glories of their school days and conveniently glossing over the detentions and the scoldings. The conversation twists and turns, following tangent after tangent until they’re discussing Evgenis and Angelina’s wedding, only a month away.
“You’ll definitely be there, Zag?” Angelina asks, her head nestled comfortably on Evgenis' shoulder. “And you’re sure you don’t want a plus one?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Yeah, I’m sure. No time for relationships at the moment, with the promotion and all.”
Evgenis drops a kiss into Angelina’s hair. “You’re missing out. Life is so much more wonderful when you have someone wonderful to share it with.”
“Still plenty of time to find someone wonderful,” Miltos says, refilling their glasses once more. “Not all of us are so lucky that we just happened to find our future spouse while we were still at school.”
“Hey, Miltos, how’s that girl you met when we were here a couple weeks ago? What was her name? Lina?” Angelina asks.
“Oh, it turns out she was only visiting for a month. Spent a couple of nights together, that was it.” Miltos grins. “She was great in bed, but we didn’t have a lot in common. Not really long term material.”
“At least you’re out there meeting people, unlike Zagreus, all lonely on his boat. Probably forgotten how to have sex.” Evgenis winks.
“Yacht,” Miltos and Angelina chorus, dissolving into giggles.
“I’m not lonely! And I totally remember how to have sex. It’s not been that long. There was Diana last summer, and that hot guy on New Year’s Eve. I was so drunk I forgot his name, though,” Zag muses, tapping his glass thoughtfully against his lower lip. “I’m focusing on my career right now. There’ll be time for love later.”
As they slip into a comfortable drunkenness, his friends spend the rest of the evening trying to goad him into talking to various attractive men and women at the bar. The night wears on, and they move to a club, doing shots and dancing til the early hours of the morning. Despite their best efforts, Zag remains blearily focused on spending time with his closest friends instead of flirting. Being single works well for him right now, particularly with a new promotion in a job that takes him away from the island for weeks at a time.
By the time he stumbles back up the rough path to his mother’s house, he’s just the right side of happy drunk. The night air is still, the moon shining luminous in a sky crammed with twinkling stars. He smiles, full of the satisfaction of a good night out and safe in the knowledge that there’s leftover souvlaki in the fridge to pick at when he gets home.