Good Greek Girls Don't (38 page)

God help Evan if he got strippers for Chris's buck's night. Everyone knows that female strippers go further than males and if some little blonde bimbo tries to lead my baby astray I'll rip her eyes out. He's mine. Exclusively.

You'd think that with two nights to go I would be at home, resting, relaxing and pampering myself while I finalise all the preparations. But no, there is no such thing as rest for a Greek bride. There are traditions to maintain and uphold.

Tonight is the bed-making ceremony. Of all the traditions and customs leading up to the wedding ceremony, I think this is one of the best. It's quite funny actually. Traditionally, on the Thursday night before a wedding the single women gather and prepare the marital bed for the first time the couple will sleep together. Many, many years ago this may have been relevant when it was believed that sex before marriage and for any other purpose than reproduction was evil and would result in the participants burning in hell for an eternity. But who, other than my mother, believes that these days? I know that Chris and I have been on this ‘no sex' thing for the last couple of months, but that has nothing to do with tradition.

‘Honey?'

Hmmm, his voice is still so sexy.

‘Do you think there's enough food out there?'

Chris and I have taken to hiding in the ensuite while we wait for the enslaught of relatives to arrive. Our mothers have been cooking up a storm here all day. With the amount of food they have produced we could have a buffet wedding for the whole clan tonight instead of waiting for the reception on Saturday. There are chickens roasting on a spit (which I still cannot figure out how Dad got into the courtyard here at Chris's apartment), souvlakis on the barbecue, salads, dips, pasta, fried rice, roasted potatoes and more cakes that one would find in all the Greek shops down on Londsdale Street. This place puts Melbourne's Greek precinct to shame. Our parents have planned an all-night party for tonight. I wish someone had warned me so I could have had a nanna nap this afternoon.

‘Babe, there's going to be enough leftovers to feed your grandmother's entire village in Greece. Thank God we'll be on our honeymoon, otherwise we'd be eating this stuff for a month.'

Speaking of honeymoon, I think it's time Chris put an end to the mystery surrounding it. All I know is that we'll be away for six weeks. I need to know where! How can Chris expect me to pack sensibly when he won't tell me where we are going?

‘Honey, don't you think you've kept me in the dark long enough about this honeymoon?' I've been patient.

I didn't argue when Chris demanded I hand over my passport so he could get the tickets. It's romantic as hell but my curiosity is killing me.

‘Do you really want to know?'

Does a bear shit in the woods?

‘Give me something to hold on to so I can get through tonight.' This is going to be one of the longest nights of my life. First we will have the bed-making ceremony, followed quickly by my mother and grandmother breaking out the most depressing traditional wedding songs known to mankind; they'll get all emotional; they'll eat, drink and be merry and morose at the same time. The oldies will tell stories that they believe will amuse but will only cause embarrassment, namely to me. I need to see some light at the end of a dark and long tunnel.

‘Please, babe.' I wonder if the fact that I'm nibbling Chris's ear will help weaken his resolve to keep all this a secret?

‘Knock it off, Des. I'll tell you.'

Ah, I've still got it. I think the fact that we haven't really been together, intimately, for two months may have something to do with my success.

‘We're going to the United States.'

What? Details, details. I need details so I can dream accurately.

‘Are you for real?'

The grin on his face tells me Chris is for real. I think the fact that I've just jumped into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist tells him just how happy he has made me.

‘We arrive in LA and spend two weeks on the west coast and then hop a flight to New York and spend two weeks going up and down the east coast.'

Fantastic! But hang on a second … Chris specifically told me we would be away for six weeks and so far he has only accounted for four. There has to be more.

‘Babe, our last stop is Hawaii. I'm guessing that we'll need a bit of R & R after all the sightseeing and restaurants and theatre and running around that we'll be doing for the first month. So I booked the best resort there is, and you and I can spend two blissful weeks soaking up the sunshine before we have to come home to reality.'

Soaking up the sunshine? I don't think so. I've got a feeling we'll be spending most of our time indoors!

‘I can't wait, Chris! It's going to be the best six weeks of our lives!'

A long and painful night is ahead, but I can deal with it. I'll just have to focus on my wedding, my wedding night and my honeymoon; dancing with my honey, getting on that plane to America and making love with him in every state. Every hotel room will be a new experience. I better control the thoughts tonight otherwise I will be throwing everyone out of here and jumping Chris on the freshly-made marital bed. We better get out of this bathroom before any more thoughts enter my head and I lose the ability to fight them.

This is so funny. The bed has to be made by single girls only. But of course it can only be made under the watchful eye of the older and wiser women who are obligated to bark orders on how it should be done. Mum, Yiayia and even Chris's mum almost had simultaneous heart attacks when they realised there isn't an abundance of single women here. The only candidates for the job tonight are Ricki, who I had to push out of the corner, and Chris's twin cousins, two sixteen-year-olds who would rather be anywhere but here. Poor Ricki had to explain that, yes, she is still unmarried but highlighted that her fiancé was right outside in the barbecue area. She really had to stress the point to Thia Maria who was probably assessing her suitability for Ape Man. Poor Ricki is probably wondering how she can escape all of this when it comes to her wedding preparations.

Progress. Finally the bottom sheet is in place and it only took twenty minutes and three attempts. At this rate the bed won't be made until midnight. Poor Chris has to sleep on the old futon in the spare room or the couch for the next two nights because the marital bed is off limits until we return as a married couple. I still can't believe that my mother honestly believes that all the nights I have spent here since getting engaged have been spent on the old futon. I know it's what she wants to believe, so who am I to shatter the illusion? I really shouldn't be laughing so hard while all this is going on, but I can't help it given that Chris keeps nudging me in the ribs and pinching my arse.

‘Babe, I think my mother has had this attire in my hope chest since before I was born.' I know Mum's been building up a dowry for me since the day I was born, but I seriously believe some of the stuff in there actually predates my birth.

‘We could sell this stuff as antiques and make a fortune.' I don't know why I am bothering to whisper. There is no way that anyone would be able to hear us above the singing and cheering. And there is no way that I would ever seriously consider selling any of this stiff. It's too beautiful. The satin bedspread, sheets and pillows look like they have been carefully embroidered by hand, and not by the hand of someone who was just looking for a sale – this looks like it has been done withGooD GreeK Girls DoN'T… a delicate hand. This looks like Yiayia's handiwork. My grandmother is a whiz at all this stuff and my life is full of memories of her with her crocheting needles, cross-stick and embroidery. I know that her home-made doilies and tablecloths have resulted in my dowry overflowing and there is no way that I would ever give up a single item that she or my mother has made for me. Besides, I may have a daughter one day and will want to pass this all on to her, beauty and torture and all.

Okay, pillowcases are in place. Progress is slow and steady. I have no idea how we can all breathe in here. There are about forty people in our bedroom and it's really not that big. People are hanging out of the ensuite. God, I hope they don't find the stash of condoms in there. I know we haven't used them lately, but I never bothered to throw them out. How the hell was I supposed to know that people would be hanging out in the bathroom?

Now they've got Effie fluffing up a heart-shaped pillow while the girls are desperately trying to get the bedspread in place without having to start it all over again. After that, money, confetti, sugar-coated almonds and children will be thrown on the bed, following which everyone will sit back for a feed and a gossip. Everyone will be trying to find out the finer details of the wedding arrangements, right down to who they will be sitting with at the reception. Even my mother doesn't know the full details.

‘Honey, our mothers are crying.'

Holy cow, Chris is right. Our mothers are holding each other and crying. Maybe they are both so overcome with joy that they can no longer hold it in, knowing that the last of their children are getting married and no longer a cause for concern. I know it's a very emotional time for my mother. Finally, all of her children are out of her hair. I think she's secretly pleased that Effie and the children are not moving back into the house, despite the fact that she spent a week trying to convince Effie that it would be for the best.

I've only got two more nights in my parents' home.

Two more nights in my old bedroom. Two more nights of my old life.

The bed is made. The singing is getting louder and louder with every handful of confetti, almonds and money that is thrown on the bed. For such a happy occasion, these songs are really depressing, lamenting the fact that I am now being torn away from my mother's nest by marriage. I don't understand it. My mother has been planning my wedding, my exit from her nest, from the day I was born – you'd think she'd come up with something a bit cheerier to sing. I don't think I will ever understand the logic of the Greek mother.

Just how much money is landing on that bed? The baby toss is about to start. Apparently, whatever gender child lands on the bed will determine the sex of the first child born to the couple. Oh, jeez, Tas's daughter landed at the same time as a boy belonging to one of Chris's cousins. If this is more than just an old wives' tale, I think I'm in trouble.

In a strange sort of way, all the traditional preparations for the wedding are kind of sweet. Our mothers have gone to so much trouble for this, as have our fathers, brothers, sisters and grandparents. And our customs, no matter how much we laugh and ridicule them, are beautiful and full of symbolism. Throwing money on the bed is not just an opportunity for the relatives to try and outdo each other (that's just an added bonus). It's a way of blessing the couple with wishes that they will always prosper. I just wish they didn't have to turn tonight into an all-nighter. At least the main event is over and everyone is moving on to food and drinks. Hopefully we'll be able to subtly kick people out within a couple of hours. I need to go home and get some beauty sleep.