Read The Cut (Spero Lucas) for Free Online Page A

them—two Greek American adults, two black kids, two white kids, and various yellow mutts.
    “Everything’s all right now,” said Spero, walking into the kitchen. “I’m here.”
    “The prodigal son,” said Leo.
    Spero noticed a bunch of white and yellow daisies that Leo, no doubt, had brought lying on the counter. Eleni was standing before the island Van had promised and delivered when he redid the kitchen. On the granite surface was a glass of red wine.
    “Hey, Ma.”
    “Hi, honey.”
    She kissed him on the cheek and they hugged. Eleni was in her early sixties, with dark hair, lively hazel eyes, and a full figure. She had put on ten pounds in her fifties, but it had stopped there. Her neck had begun to turkey. She was alovely woman, but laugh lines and grief had marked her face, and she looked her age.
    “We need a vase for those flowers,” said Eleni.
    “I’ll get it,” said Leo. They had only one and he knew where it was. The tallest in the family at six-foot-one, Leo was the go-to guy for items placed on the cabinet’s top shelf.
    “You boys want a beer?” said Eleni.
    “I’m all right for now,” said Spero.
    “I got that Stella you like.”
    “All right.”
    “Leo?” said Eleni.
    “He’d prefer a microbrew,” said Spero.
    “Screw you,
malaka
.”
    “Leonidas,”
said Eleni.
    Malaka
meant “jerkoff.” It was a noun and oddly enough was used as a term of endearment for Greeks.
    “I’ll have a Stella, Mom,” said Leo.
    She got them a couple of beers out of the side-by-side and popped the caps. They could have gotten the beer themselves, but it pleased their Greek mother to serve them. By the time she handed them the bottles, they were commenting on each other’s sartorial choices, an inevitable progression of their conversation.
    “You didn’t have to dress up for Mom,” said Leo.
    Spero was in his usual 501s, low black Adidas Forums on his feet. He pinched a piece of his long-sleeve Bud Ekins T and held it out. “Johnson Motors,” he said, a bit hurt. “Special order out of California.”
    “Look more like
General
Motors to me. You wear that to the factory? When you’re carryin your lunch pail?”
    “Least I’m not wearing the tablecloth from an Italian restaurant,” said Spero.
    “It’s gingham, Spero.” Leo was particular about his clothing. He favored Hickey Freeman suits and Brooks Brothers casual when he could afford it. He was impeccably groomed and, with liquid brown eyes and an easy smile, handsome as a movie star.
    “Last time I saw one of those, it had spaghetti sauce on it.”
    “You’re confusing my shirt with your undershirt.”
    “Are you two hungry?” said Eleni. “Or do you want to wait?”
    “What are we havin, Ma?”
    “Kota me manestra,”
said Eleni.
    “I’m ready
now
,” said Leo.
    “Set the table, then,” said Eleni. Before the words finished leaving her mouth, her sons had begun to mobilize.
    THEY ATE dinner at a glass-top table on the screened-in porch out back. Golden time had come and gone and dusk had arrived. Eleni had lit candles and the dogs slept beneath the table. The diners were high above the yard at tree level, and branches and leaves brushed at the screen. A half mile over the District line and they were in a canopy of green.
    The table was heavy with food. In the center sat a whole chicken roasted with garlic and lemon on a bed of orzo in tomato sauce, a large bowl of salad, bread, and a plate of
tarama
, olives, and feta cheese.
    Eleni poured herself another glass of wine. Spero and Leo were still working on their first beers.
    “Pass me that
manestra
,” said Leo.
    “Again?” said Spero.
    “I can’t stop eating it, man.”
    “Fas na pachinis,”
said Eleni.
    “He’s already grown, Ma,” said Spero, passing the orzo to Leo. “He’s not gonna get taller if he eats more, he’s just gonna get fat.”
    “Do you see any fat on me?” said Leo. “
Do
you?”
    “A little in your
peesheenaw
,” said Spero. He was