Good Greek Girls Don't (39 page)

‘Hey sexy, got a ciggie for me?

‘I don't know … my fiancé might get upset if he sees me sharing with someone other than him.'

‘Cute, Des. Give me a smoke before I put you across my knee.'

‘Promises, promises.' My baby is as sexy tonight as he was a year ago when we first shared a cigarette in the moonlight. It seems like a lifetime ago.

‘Saturday night, babe. Just you wait and see.'

He's sitting beside me just the way he did a year ago, only this time, I don't feel like a lamb to the slaughter. I love this. Just me and my man sitting back and chilling in the moonlight. Well, for a few minutes anyway. My mother is bound to start looking for me soon.

‘Can't wait.' And I really can't. I never thought marriage would be what I wanted, but it is. This is what it's all about. All the crap that I had to go through is just so worth it because it got me to this point. It found me the one. The one who makes the bad stuff all fade into less than a memory. I found him and I am never letting him go. I never thought I would feel this. Before Chris, I never thought I deserved to feel this. I still find it so hard to believe that something so good can actually exist.

‘You've got that look on your face, babe.'

‘What look?' How embarrassing.

‘Like you've just had a profound thought.'

He can read me like an open book.

‘I did have a profound thought, actually.'

‘Would you care to share it?'

I guess I could do that. ‘I just realised you're one lucky man to have landed me.'

I can still tease. It's my prerogative.

‘You're right, Des.'

What? Not a trace of sarcasm in his voice – I hope he realised I was teasing him. ‘I was joking babe – you don't think I'm that conceited, do you?'

‘No. I think you're perfect. And I
am
lucky to have landed you, babe. So lucky.'

And so am I.

I am nowhere near ready to get married. I can barely cook five meals. What happens when I have gone through my entire repertoire within a week? Chris can't survive on the same five meals and take-away for the rest of his life. What happens when the novelty wears off? I can't do this. God help me, I can't breathe.

‘Des, what's wrong? Des, can you hear me?'

Who's that? Huh? Where did Effie come from?

‘Des, talk to me. Stop rocking like a baby and talk to me.'

‘I can't …' Shit, I think I am going to pass out.

‘Can't what sis? What's wrong?'

‘I just can't …'

‘Breathe, Des. Breathe in nice and deep, then let it out slowly … Once more.'

When did my sister learn first aid? Okay, I think I can catch my breath now.

‘Now, slowly, tell me what's wrong.'

‘I can't get married, Effie. I can't do it. I'm not ready.' Maybe I'll never be ready. ‘It's too soon. I can't do this.'

‘Have you completely lost your marbles, Des?'

The one time I am actually thinking clearly, using logic instead of emotion, people assume I've lost my mind.

‘I'm serious, Ef.' We're rushing this. I can't get married when I can't even iron shirts with collars.' Just another item to add to the long list of domestic duties I will not be able to perform. Effie has to understand, after all, she got married long before she was ready and look at the disaster that turned into. What sort of wife can't iron her husband's shirts?

‘Mum!'

God my sister has good lungs. She took out an ear with that screech.

‘Come here, Mum!'

I can hear Mum thundering up the stairs. She knows panic in Effie's voice when she hears it.

‘What wrong? What happen?'

I've finally come to my senses, that's what's happened.

‘Desi's freaking out, Ma. She reckons she can't get married tomorrow. Fix this, Mum.'

Yeah, fix it by finding the most remote convent I can hide out in.

‘What wrong, Despina? You tell me.'

How on earth do I make my mother understand this? There is no way she will ever get it. She never had to worry about how she would look after a husband and a family … my mother was born a domestic goddess.

‘You wouldn't understand, Ma. I'm just not ready to get married. It's too soon.' Mum probably knew Dad her whole life before they got married. Even Effie knew sleazy Andreas for two years before they tied the disastrous knot.

‘You no love Chris?'

What a silly question. Of course I do. I love him too much to lumber him with a domestic disaster like me for the rest of his life.

‘I love him, Ma. I love him so much that sometimes I think it's going to drive me crazy.' I love him so much that sometimes I can barely remember what life without him was all about. I know that I existed for nearly twenty-nine years before he came into my life, but somehow those years have faded into the background, into a past that I can barely imagine.

‘Then why are you skitzing out on us?' exclaims Effie. How can I explain this to my mother when my own sister doesn't get it?

‘What sort of wife would I make? I can barely cook anything past the basics, the iron scares the shit out of me and I struggle to make my bed twice a week.' The more I think about it, the more I realise what a complete disaster I am. I guess I've had it pretty cruisey at home. If I left a mess behind me, Mum would clean it up and my meals and laundry were taken care of. Hell, my mother still makes my bed five times a week because I roll out of bed, into the shower and straight into the car for work with a traveller filled with coffee. If I get married I'll need my mother to move in with us. What sort of a married life would that be?

‘Chris will starve, run out of clean clothes and send me packing back to you.'

‘Des, did being good at all that domestic shit make my marriage a success? Being a good housekeeper does not a good marriage make.'

Yeah, but neither does being absolutely useless.

‘Silly girl.'

I knew Mum wouldn't get it. She just assumes that I'm nuts. She's sitting on the edge of my bed laughing.

‘You just nervous. Chris love you. He know you slob. And he still want to marry you.'

Great, so according to my mother I should consider myself lucky that Chris wants to marry me. But it's different when you're living with someone other than your parents. You're allowed to be an undomesticated slob when you're at home with your family. They depend on being able to look after their kids; it's what keeps them young. But you can't be like that with a husband. Somewhere along the line Chris is going to need more than take-away food and great sex.

‘Thanks, Ma. You're a big help.'

‘Darling, Chris marry you, no marry a maid. You look after each other.'

Huh? Who is this woman who has possessed my mother's body? And can I keep her? My mother has spent so much time and energy drumming the facts of life according to her into me – you must be a good cook, keep a clean house and be a good, quiet Greek wife; you must have a hot meal on the table accompanied by fresh crunchy bread when your husband comes home from a hard day's work.

‘When your father and I marry I only know how to make rice. He eats so much rice he think he Chinese man. I burn his shirts, hide them and go buy new ones.'

‘Sure, Ma, pull the other one and it plays jingle bells.' Even Effie doesn't believe her.

‘Serious, girls. One day your father find the shirts I hide and the burnt pots.'

My mother, who will not let me touch her Bessemer collection for fear that I will scratch the surface, had burnt pots and pans? I don't think so.

‘Is true, he find everything I hide. He laugh so hard. One week I burn two shirts, the next week one singlet and then one week I burn nothing. I was okay, and you be okay, too.'

If she's trying to make me feel better, it's starting to work.

‘One day I try to make
Spanakopita
like your father mother make.'

Now I know she's yanking my chain. Mum makes the best spinach and fetta pies.

‘Spinach no cook, too much fetta cheese, forget the egg. Was horrible but your father still eat five pieces. He so sick after, he no go to work next day. I learn, I get better and we okay.'

God, those two are better than okay. Mum was eighteen when she got married and I think my parents are heading towards the forty – year mark. With my mental stability, Chris and I will struggle to make it to forty days.

‘You're not just making this up to make me feel better, are you?' She wouldn't create something like this to lull me into a false sense of security, would she?

‘No, darling. You and Chris love each other, you help each other, you be okay.' I think my mother might just be right. Maybe I was just suffering temporary insanity.

Of course I'm going to marry Chris tomorrow. Besides, like Mum said, Chris knows I'm no domestic Dora.

‘Thanks, Ma. Sorry I've been such a pain in the arse to you. You, too, Ef.' I have to admit, for most of my life I have been the daughter and sister from hell. ‘I'm sorry I've made life such a pain for you guys.'

‘You're alright, sis. Irritating at times but you're okay.'

‘You good girl, Despina. You just have to grow up. Mother love her children, no matter what they think. Everything I do, I do to make you children happy. To give you better life. One day, children grow up and have family, too, and still do what can to help children. When my children happy, me happy. When my children cry, I cry. You think I no know when you sad, but I know. In my heart I always know. You happy now, me happy, too.'

I guess I always knew that my mother's sole aim in life was not to make me miserable. Deep down I did but growing up I just didn't want to admit it. She never set out to hurt me. Others may have, like Denny and Voula, but never my mother. I really do have a lot to be grateful for. She got me to this point. I never would have made it here if it hadn't been for her. I wish it didn't take me until now, the time to leave home, to realise it. I'm leaving my comfort zone, my haven, the only safety net I have ever known. But I know that I will also have that with Chris, and Mum will never be too far away. Just a phone call and a short drive.

I think I can actually do this. I can get married and maintain something that resembles mental health. Chris may not have clean shirts every morning but, hey, this is the twenty-first century. He can do the ironing, and I'll contribute to our household in some other way. Marriage may include the occasional freakout by me but Chris should be used to that by now. Besides, it's all part of my charm.

‘Thanks, Ma. You know I love you, don't you?' She has to know it. Just because I don't say it all that often doesn't mean it isn't true.

‘I know, darling. Is nice to hear sometimes. No be 'fraid, Desi mou. You be just fine.'

‘Single-white-Greek-female-no-more speaking.' I can have some fun with it; after all, it's a status I turned in to an art form.

‘Babe, you've been answering the phone like that all day?'

If Chris hadn't called me, I would have been dialling his number again soon enough. Effie and Ricki imposed a twenty-four hour embargo on us. Now that is not a wog tradition. Twenty-four hours without seeing each other while trying to coordinate all the last minute wedding arrangements is not easy. I shudder to imagine what our next phone bills will look like.