‘You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Des.’
I give up arguing with him. First he drops his family gathering bombshell on me and now he does this? Who is this man standing in front of me? Who is this stranger who professes to love me?
‘You know what, it’s a big fucking deal. First you decide that we have to do the whole happy family introduction thing and then you bite my head off for putting a CD back in the wrong place. You’re the one making a big deal out of nothing.’ I do not want to spend the morning arguing with my boyfriend. He should understand that I am seriously highly strung at the moment and know not to push me too far.
‘All I said was the Remo disc belongs on the blue rack for Greek CD’s with the R’s, not with A’s.’
Huh? Does it really matter where I put the damn disc? At this moment in time I know where I would like to put it: right up his anal retentive arse.
‘Sorry. Next time I’ll remember – filed by genre, then year, then alphabetical.’ Chris would die if he ever saw my filing. If I can’t see it, it’s filed. ‘Are they colour coordinated, as well?’
‘Look, Des, I like things to be in order, to be in their place.’ No shit. Looking around here, there is not a single thing out of place. His movies are kept in order of genre, release date and alphabetical order of title. I can’t tell if they are also filed by actor’s names. And it’s not just the movies and music. It’s everything. I mean, I knew a long time ago that Chris liked things to be neat and tidy, but this is something else. I’ve seen his wardrobe and he puts me to shame but this is ridiculous.
‘You’re just trying to pick a fight to get out of next week.’ Shut up, Chris.
‘You started it.’ Even I have to admit that sounds juvenile. But why can’t Chris be a little bit fazed by all this like I am? ‘Who gives a rat’s arse where the CD goes back or what order I load the dishwasher or the fact that my clothes end up all over your floor at the end of the night.’ Why did I never question how my clothes always magically ended up folded neatly on the recliner in his bedroom before now? How long have I been looking at this relationship through rose coloured glasses?
‘Well, I’m sorry that I don’t like to live in chaos like you do. Most people don’t, you know, Des.’
That’s it, I’m going home. Besides, it’s Sunday lunch and then I have cakes to make with my grandmother. Not that Chris will be getting a goody bag this week.
‘Where are you going, Des?’ I think the fact that I am gathering my stuff is a pretty clear indication that I am going home. Der.
‘It’s Sunday. You know my grandmother has me booked in for Sundays for the rest of my life.’
‘You’re just going because you backed yourself into an argument that you can’t win and you’re trying to avoid it now.’ Shut up. He does not always have to be right.
‘What are you and your Yiayia making today?’
‘ Kourambiedes.’ Sugar-coated almond shortbread. Yummy. Chris loves them and he won’t be getting any.
‘You bringing some over or shall I come pick them up later?’
‘I’ll bring you some later and drop icing sugar all over the carpet.’
‘What am I going to do, Yiayia? Effie is just going to kill this for me. I can feel it.’ I can handle the rest of the family but I know what Effie is like – no one can stop her. She’s so fucking miserable with her own life that she thinks it gives her the right to make everyone else’s miserable, as well. ‘I swear, if she does anything to ruin my relationship with Chris, I’ll break her legs.’ Why is Yiayia laughing at me? Why does everyone find my misfortune so amusing?
‘Despina, you love him?’ What a stupid question.
‘Yes, Yiayia. I love him so much that I can hardly remember what my life was like before I met him. That’s why I don’t want Effie anywhere near this.’ I know that Yiayia understands. Effie ruins everything that is good. She wants everyone to be as miserable as she is with that moron Andreas.
‘You love him like that, and he love you, then agapi mou, no one can wreck, you silly. No matter what anybody say.’ My Yiayia is the best. Even in broken English she can still get her point across. I am not going to let Effie ruin this for me. I will think of a way to silence her, even if it includes a muzzle.
The only other problem is my mother. She’s going to go so overboard with everything, as if we are making some grand announcement. Why can’t we Greeks be more like the Aussies? Hell, they go out with someone, they pick their date up from the door, make small talk with the parents that does not include a timeline for a marriage proposal or analysis of which vegetable is in season in the garden, hang out at the house and no one starts planning a wedding, no one starts buying bonbonniere, no one starts anything. God, the Greeks sure as hell need to take some lessons. I’m sure that my mother has already been down to Sydney Road to pick the fabric for her mother-of-the-bride dress, and it won’t be long before she forces my father to go buy a new suit. In less than a week, my life is going to change forever.
‘Now, you sift icing sugar on kourambiedes. You take some to Christo after.’
----------18----------
Two days to go. Two days till doomsday. Two days till Chris comes for lunch and I go to dinner. Oh well, at least I will only have to deal with my mother’s insanity about lunch for another two days. But then it will be her insanity about when we are going to get married and have babies. I can’t win. I may as well stop fighting.
‘Ma, please don’t go nuts on Sunday.’ She has been asking me what Chris’s favourite foods are; what he likes to drink; if he’s allergic to anything. It’s like it’s the second coming or something. I knew this would happen. Mum is going to go totally overboard in preparation for the man she believes will be her son-in-law. In a way, I can understand where Mum is coming from, she just desperately wants to see me settled down, but she can’t understand how much pressure she is putting on me. I know that for now Chris isn’t going anywhere and I sure as hell don’t plan on going anywhere, but how am I supposed to know what is going to happen in the future? I don’t plan things, yet I think my mother is planning my wedding now. Wouldn’t it at least be better to wait until I’m engaged before ordering the bonbonniere? That is what a normal person would do. But no, not a Greek mother. ‘It’s just lunch, okay, so Chris can stop calling my mobile whenever he picks me up.’
‘Okay, okay. But, Desi mou, you serious with this boy?’
How do I answer Mum without having her running off to check the church’s calendar for availability?
‘He is good boy? Not like that other one Denny?’
Looks like honesty is my only option here. I can’t bring myself to give Mum a watered down description of my feelings for Chris. ‘Mum, I love him. So, yeah, it’s pretty serious.’
Well, that’s done it. Now that she knows it’s serious, the engagement invitations are practically written and in the mail. I don’t think that she will ever understand that Chris and I are just happy moving along at our own pace. Why should we go ruin a good thing by trying to plan a Greek wedding, with all the families and everything like that?
‘He love you, too?’ This is so weird, my mother and I having a deep and meaningful. What is wrong with this picture? Although it kind of feels nice – we haven’t ended up in an argument yet, so this is progress. Has love made me mellow? Has love made me lose my edge? I’ll test it next time I see Effie.
‘He says he does, Ma. I believe him.’ I’d believe Chris if he told me the sky was red and all the oceans were empty. ‘He makes me happy. He drives me nuts sometimes but it’s a good nuts, you know?’ My mother probably thinks I’m nuts.
‘I know, I know what that like. Is special feeling.’ Okay, where is the video camera hidden? Someone is obviously setting me up and going to send this to Australia’s Funniest Home Videos or something like that.
‘I see how you different now. From first time you go out with Chris, you different. You better.’ Why is everyone telling me that I have cha
nged since I met Chris? I’m the same person. I haven’t changed. I’m still the same smart arse, sarcastic, queen of revenge, aren’t I? Maybe people are just seeing me differently while I am part of a couple. But then again, people never told me that I had changed when I was going out with Denny. This conversation is scaring me. I think it’s time to change the topic. Let’s get to my mother’s plans for Sunday lunch.
‘So, Ma, promise me you won’t go nuts, hey? It’s Chris, not the archbishop coming to bless us all and deliver us from evil.’ I really shouldn’t get sarcastic with Mum about the church. It’s the one thing that is bound to set her off and get us into an all out brawl.
‘Relax. Is lunch. We have barbecue.’ Simple as that, off she goes to answer the phone. Oh, no, she’s talking to Thia Maria. ‘Yes, Maria mou … Yes Desi and Chris serious … He come for lunch Sunday … No, no, he very good boy … no drinks, no drugs, good job, has house … Is good to my Despina.’
God help me. Now all the Greeks in Melbourne will know that on Sunday Desi Delagiannis is introducing her boyfriend to the family. My Mum might as well start selling tickets at the door.
----------19----------
Chris is meeting my family today. I can’t even begin to think about meeting his family because I seriously believe that I will be in a mental ward somewhere before that happens. Why couldn’t Poppy have gone into labour? Why does she have to be so selfish and carry the baby right through to the exact delivery date? She could have done her sisterly duty to me and saved me from today. Is that too much to ask?
‘Ma, it’s just lunch here, you’re not throwing a name day party for Christ’s sake.’ I can’t believe the amount of food that Mum has prepared. She’s got Dad firing up the barbie and has about ten kilos of meat for him to throw on. Then there’s potato salad, bean salad, garden salad, pasta salad, spinach pie, cheese pie and cakes for desert. She even made Yiayia make her specialty – the famous walnut cake that Chris loved so much the night we met at Katerina’s place. There is enough here to feed a starving country and still have leftovers. Who is going to eat all this food? Does Mum think that Chris is undernourished or something? Or is she fattening him up for the kill? Stupid question, of course she is.
‘This special lunch.’
No it’s not; we are not making any grand announcements. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. All this fuss and mayhem. Oh, jeez, if my mum’s gone this crazy, I shudder to imagine what Chris’s parents are planning. Given that he is the only son, they will have gone totally off tap.
‘Ma, it’s not. Please don’t fuss over Chris.’ As if she’ll be able to resist. She’ll be fussing over him like a mother hen, like he is the prodigal son returned from exile. And she will be trying to impress him with how domestic I am. As if Chris would buy the image of me being the picture of domestic bliss.
‘And make Effie behave.’ Oh, shit, I jinxed myself. Devil woman is here with her brood. Why is she here so early? Why couldn’t this lunch have been at a time when she couldn’t make it, like when the shop is open and she’s stuck there serving fish and chips?
She’s doing the rounds of hello’s with the kids – it won’t be long before she turns her attention to me. I wonder where her dear hubby is. He actually hasn’t shown up to Sunday lunch for a few weeks now. He’s probably off playing backgammon in some horrible coffee shop with a bunch of other wog men who stepped off the same boat as him.
‘So, Des, when is the flavour of the month showing up?’
And, once again, first blood is drawn by Effie. I am not going to let her mess this up for me. I am not going to let her get to me. This is just a lunch, no matter how hard Effie tries to turn this into a blood bath. God, please bring on Poppy’s labour.
‘Around one.’ I can’t believe she’s here already; it’s only eleven-thirty. ‘So where’s your darling hubby?’ Why do I have the feeling that she is going to avoid that question, pretend that she didn’t even hear it?
‘Well, he must be something special if you’ve emerged from your lair so early. Did the bars finally give you a pass out last night so you could get ready for this?’
I am not going to let this upset me. I know she and Mum have been gossiping so I know that she knows I have not done the bar hopping thing for a very long time.
‘No, they closed early in honour of the occasion. Get a grip, Ef.’ I hope the sarcasm in my voice isn’t lost on her. She’s not exactly the brightest person around.
‘Don’t know what the big deal is anyway, he’ll wise up and be gone soon enough, just like the rest. Don’t know how he managed to stick around long enough to make it to the house anyway.’
Where the hell has my mother gone? Why isn’t she around to hear what a bitch her so-called perfect daughter is? I have had it with Effie and her bloody attitude. This has to stop and it has to stop now.
‘You can’t stand the fact that I’m happy. You can’t stand anyone being happy because you are so fucking miserable, so you want to bring everyone down. Your relationship with your husband is so pathetic and miserable that you want to ruin everyone else’s chance of happiness, of enjoying their lives. You tried with Poppy and Tas, but it didn’t work, so you screwed up the folks’ retirement by making them raise your children. And now you think that you’re going to screw with me and Chris.’
Given the look on Effie’s face, I think she is just a tad surprised at my outburst. She obviously never expected that I’d pull her up on her behaviour. ‘Well, Effie, it’s not going to work. Just because you fucked up your life doesn’t give you the right to destroy everyone else’s.’
‘You don’t know anything, Des. Shut your mouth.’
That’s a huge let down. I was expecting something a lot more vicious from Effie. There must be something seriously going on with her. She would normally never make it so easy for me.
‘Don’t I, Ef?’ I understand more than you give me credit for. You got yourself stuck with a husband that you don’t love – that you never loved – but you married him anyway because you were so afraid that you would never find anyone else with all the right credentials, money, house and business. You were so afraid that if you didn’t marry old wog man you’d pass your prime as marriage material and be stuck on the shelf forever.’
I don’t think I’m being mean here. I’m just being honest.
‘You got what you wanted then couldn’t handle it. You popped out all the kiddies so that you could keep everyone else happy and now you figure you did your bit so you have the right to screw everyone else around. You were the good daughter and did all the stuff that was expected of you, but that blew up in your face, so now you think everyone else has to take responsibility for your life.’
Whilst I’m not happy that I had to be so brutal, at least I’ve said my piece, although I think Effie will now be out for blood – literally – and she is going to try to get her revenge on me through Chris. Lunch isn’t going to be a blood bath – it’s going to be a massacre. Only the strong will survive, or the cowards that run and hide in a cupboard.
‘You don’t know anything, Despina. You know jack shit about what’s going on. You think you have all the answers but you know nothing about my life.’ There is something wrong here. My sister doesn’t cry. My sister doesn’t show weakness. What has happened? What has that sleazebag husband of hers done to her? Where is she going? Why is she running up the stairs?
I better fix this otherwise lunch will make Gallipoli look like a picnic on the beach. ‘Effie – wait.’ I cannot believe she’s making me chase her up stairs. I do not need this sort of exercise so early in the morning. Where the hell is she? In her old bedroom, lying on her old bed crying. I didn’t mean for this to happen.
‘What’s going on, Ef?’ For ages now all I hear from Mum is that I have to leave you alone and that you need her help and all that stuff. What’s up, sis?’ I’m not heartless. That’s my sister lying there crying her heart out. I’d be a monster if I could just walk away from that. ‘Talk to me,
Effie.’
‘You have no idea how fucked everything really is do you, Des? You think I want to dump the kids on Mum all the time? You think I want my children loving you more than me, wanting to be with their cool Aunty Desi instead of me?’
Okay, so I’m the cool aunty, the one who buys Nintendos instead of clothes. It’s an aunty’s prerogative to buy them cool stuff. But this is scaring me. This is not like Effie. She doesn’t show weakness; she doesn’t show emotion.
‘How did all this happen, Ef? Talk to me, tell me what I can do.’ Effie may irritate me but I don’t want her to be miserable. Besides, isn’t it the sister’s code that they spend the first part of their lives irritating the hell out of each other, but backing each other up when they really need it. I think this is the first time that Effie might actually need it.
‘Why? So you can gloat? So you can have a good laugh at how screwed everything is?’
‘Reality check please, Effie. We’re sisters. Who would I gloat to anyway?’ This is not the sort of stuff you share with anyone. It’s sister stuff, not for parents, not for friends, not for boyfriends or lovers. It’s sacred. And where the hell is Andreas the Great? Why isn’t her husband here with her? I’d make any bet that he is the root of all of Effie’s misery.
‘Why do you care anyway?’ God, she can hardly breathe from the crying. If she doesn’t get it under control soon she’s going to hyperventilate. ‘You have the perfect life, always doing what you want. You have your own life. Why do you care about mine?’
Perfect life? Me? I think Effie has me mixed up with someone who is sane and not neurotic.
‘You’re right, Effie, I don’t care. You can lay here and be miserable for the rest of your life.’ God I hope this works. ‘But don’t try to bring me down with you. Live in perfect misery with Old Man Andy as far as I care.’ Let’s see, if I pretend like I’m walking out of the room, she’ll stop me. I know Effie so well, she won’t be able to resist.
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