Good Greek Girls Don't

by Georgia Tsialtas

  ‘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.

  ----------30----------

  I’m getting married tomorrow. It feels like some sort of alternate reality, like I’m in a parallel world or something. There’s a white dress hanging on the outside of my wardrobe and I can see the veil and the traditional blue garter. I can see the shoes sitting beside the dress, but it doesn’t seem real. Tonight will be the last night I spend in my bedroom, the last night I spend under the comfort and security of my parents’ roof. This is the only home I have ever known and, despite the fact that I’ve often referred to it as my jail, it’s also been my haven. I’m going to be a wife tomorrow. I’m going to have a husband and a home of my own to look after. How the hell did this happen? One minute I’m getting conned into going to a barbecue at Katerina’s and the next minute I’m getting married. This is all Katerina’s fault. In less than a year she managed to achieve what my mother and my aunts have been trying to do since I was sixteen. She’s gotten me married off. How did this all happen so fast? Is it too fast? Do Chris and I have any idea what we are doing here? Do I have any idea what I’m getting myself into? Why do I always leave the important stuff until the last minute?

  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, forg
et 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.’

  My mobile phone is ringing. I can hear it, but it would help if I could find the damn thing. Why have mobiles become so compact? I need a brick. I know I tossed it somewhere on my bed. Bingo, under the mud pack I still have to apply.

  ‘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.

  ‘Yep. How you doing?’

  ‘Missing you, babe.’

  He’s still got it. ‘Me, too. Wish you were here with me.’

  ‘Tomorrow night, babe.’

  Oh, the promise of things to come. I love it.

  ‘You ready for tomorrow?’

  What a stupid question. Of course not. I have to make sure that everything is just right – that everyone gets out of bed in time, that the flowers arrive on time and the hairdresser doesn’t get lost. I have to organise Ricki, my parents and Effie’s kids. It’s going to be crazy.

  ‘Next question.’ I hope Chris is organised at least. ‘Did you pick up your suit? Did you polish your shoes? Have you got clean jocks and socks?’ Maybe I should sneak over there just to make sure. ‘And do not let Evan get you drunk tonight.’ If Chris rocks up drunk, or with even a hint of a hangover, I’m taking Ricki on the honeymoon.

  ‘Des, take a deep breath. Everything is fine. We’re not getting drunk tonight.’

  ‘I just want everything to be perfect, Chris.’

  ‘It will, babe. As long as you and I are there, nothing else matters.’

  With all the time, effort and money Chris and I have put into this wedding, of course everything else matters.

  ‘Chris, you know I love you but will you please stop talking crap.’ Why do men insist on remaining calm when madness prevails? ‘Nothing can go wrong tomorrow. There is no way I am having three hundred wogs criticising my wedding.’ Oh, Jesus, I’ve become my worst nightmare. I have become a bridezillaopoulos! I am the wog bride from hell.

  ‘Des, it will be perfect. The guests will be too busy gushing over us and stuffing their mouths with fish and chicken.’

  He knows exactly what to say. I can’t deny the truth. ‘Do you have any idea how much I love you? Do you have any idea how much I am hanging to marry you tomorrow?’

  ‘About as much as I’m hanging, babe. You’re my heart, Des.’ And he is mine.

  ----------31---------

  ‘Will you please get out of bed, Ma? We’ve got heaps to do.’ What is my mother still doing in bed? Does she not realise what today is? Today is the day. I’m getting married today and she’s decided that it’s the perfect day to be lazy and sleep in for once in her life. How the hell can she sleep so soundly?

  ‘Despina, is no even four yet. Go back to bed.’

  Has my mother taken complete leave of her senses? I have to get my nails done at nine-thirty, the make-up artist and hairdresser are arriving at eleven to make sure I look absolutely perfect and, somewhere in between, I have to make sure I have packed all the essentials for my honeymoon, keep Dad out of the garden and away from the wogmobile, make sure Effie’s kids don’t start wrestlemania in the lounge room after they get into their outfits and pray that Ricki can dress herself without going through all five pairs of stockings I bought for her. I know her so well. Every time she has to wear stockings she shoves a damn finger through them as she pulls them into place, tearing them to ribbons.

  Maybe I should give up on Mum for the moment and make sure Chris is up and about. He cannot be late today and if I leave him to his own devices he will get up at the last possible minute. And our best man, Evan, is absolutely useless. He’d sleep through an earthquake. I should have sent an insomniac to spend the night with Chris.

  Damn answering machines! I hate these contraptions. ‘Hi, you’ve called Chris. If this is Desi checking up on me at some obscene hour, I’m asleep and you probably should be, too. Relax, babe, I’ll be at the church on time. If you don’t fall into the neurotic wife-to-be category, wait for the beep and do your thing.’

  Arsehole. I can’t believe he did that. What will people think if they hear that message? They’ll think I’m nuts. They’ll think I need psychiatric care.

  ‘Very funny. You missed your true calling as a comedian. Get that greeting off the damn machine the second you wake up. What are you still doing in bed, anyway?’ I bet he’s turned the volume down so he doesn’t hear the phone ring or me telling him off. ‘Do you have any idea just how much needs to be done before you leave for the church?’ I’ll just call him every ten minutes until I get him out of bed.

  Okay, my honeymoon bags are packed. I’m just taking the essentials: lingerie, a few clothes, clean undies, shoes, credit cards and my passport. I’m planning on doing a lot of shopping over there. God, it weighs a tonne. How can it weigh so much when there is next to nothing in there? I hope it gets through the airport check-in.

&n
bsp; It’s almost five in the morning. People are going to start arriving soon. I cannot believe the casual attitude that has taken hold of this house. If someone doesn’t wake up soon I’m hitting the kitchen and getting creative with the pots and pans.

  You’d think Ricki at least would be up. She’s almost more excited about this wedding than I am. There’s no way she could still be asleep in the spare room. She must at least be half-awake.

  ‘Ricki, are you awake?’

  Whispering isn’t working, maybe some gentle prodding will help her.

  ‘Ricki, it’s time to get up. Ricki, WAKE UP!’

  ‘Five more minutes, Ma.’

  Do I look like her mother?

  ‘Ricki, it’s the big day! You have to get up.’

  There’s a slight slit in her eyes; there’s mumbling. Partial success.

  ‘Des? What time is it?’

  ‘It’s ten past five already. You have to get up.’

  ‘Are you nuts? Come back in three hours.’

  ‘Ricki, please!’ I am not above begging.

  ‘You’re not going to let me get any more sleep, are you?’

  Very perceptive. She’s grumbling and mumbling but at least she’s sitting up.

  ‘Get me a coffee at least, Des, before I fall back asleep.’

  Where’s the coffee? What the hell has my mother done with the coffee? This is a wog house, we shop in bulk. How could my mother let the coffee run out, today of all days? I can’t go to the supermarket on my wedding day. I do not have time for this.

  ‘Des, get your head out of the dishwasher.’ Huh? ‘You will not find coffee there. Coffee is in the pantry, milk is in the fridge and cups are in the cupboard.’

  Maybe Ricki should make the coffee. Can I really be trusted with boiling water?

  ‘Honey, you need to relax. Everything is going to be fine. You’re getting married today.’

  What a spin. My head is buzzing.

  ‘I can’t believe it, Rick.’ I’m getting married. I fought this for so many years, convinced it wasn’t for me, that it wasn’t what I wanted. And then Chris happened. He came into my life and challenged everything I believed in, or thought I believed it. He turned my world upside down and inside out and now I can’t wait to marry him. ‘Did you honestly ever think we would be getting ready for my wedding?’ No way. ‘All those years ago, sitting in the back row at school?’