I leaned on the side of the sink and thought if anything ever happened to my children I wouldn’t be able to go on.
But Yiayia was able to shoulder on because she was strong and determined, a whirlwind who took over the kitchen and made karidopita, baklava, and Christopsomo (traditional Christmas bread) decorated with a cross. She showed me how to make other Greek dishes like moussaka, and she sang Greek songs, which made us love her all the more. Especially that Christmas. We had never needed tenderness as badly as we did then, and our grandmother had delivered it so sweetly.
I began to feel melancholy then. I missed my mother and my Yiayia. I had Yiayia’s hands. When I was very young I visited Greece every summer with my mother and JJ, and Yiayia was always beside herself with happiness to have us with her. It seemed that her whole village came by to say hello, bringing us little treats, Greek coloring books and candies. In quiet moments, my grandmother would take my tiny hand and trace it with the tip of her finger, showing the similarities in the curvature of our fingernails. And she did the same with JJ’s nose as he stood sideways looking in a mirror. She thought her grandchildren were a marvel, as if she had never known another little boy and girl besides us.
I wondered what my mother and grandmother would think if they could see me now, with my handsome husband and my beautiful boys. What would they think of my home and how I had just set my Christmas table? Well, they wouldn’t be too happy about our not attending a Greek Orthodox church, but I had overdosed on organized religion somewhere along the line and opted out of the rules and regulations of my mother’s faith.
And I still couldn’t speak a word of Greek. When I was young I knew many Greek children’s songs, but I could not remember a phrase from any of them. If I had been the kind of woman who went into therapy, I might have realized that the distance I had taken with my brother and father and all things Greek had everything to do with my losing my mother so young and my grandmother soon after, both of whom I adored. We never went to Greece again after we buried my mother and then Yiayia. It hurt too much to be reminded of them. And when I finally left Boston and went to business school, there was no Greek presence on campus besides sororities and fraternities, which was anything but the Greek life I knew. It was easy to leave my origins behind because I had wanted to assimilate completely. I wanted to belong to something new that didn’t hurt.
Life’s messy, I thought, and sprinkled olive oil and celery seeds on the carrots.
Soon, the standing crown roast of pork was done and the pies were ready to bake. Mashed potatoes were whipped into thick ribbons of creamy silk. The casserole of sausage dressing was steaming, the cranberry mold jiggled, peas and carrots were mixed together and scooped into a covered bowl. I stuffed the roast with dressing and took pictures.
Promptly at three we heard a car door open and close. Adam’s father had arrived. The boys were building a Lego castle and pirate ship in the middle of the family room floor. They jumped up as though yanked upright by some unseen hand and raced each other to the door, skating across the waxed floors in their socks, trying to trip each other.
I turned from the roast, which was resting under a tent of foil on the counter, and looked out into the foyer. Ted, my father-in-law, whose arms were filled with wrapped presents, was not alone. He was with a woman, a very large woman, who had to be at least ten years older than him, if not twenty. She was towering over a grinning Ted, wearing a black mink coat to the ground, high heels that could produce altitude sickness, and enough makeup to scare the hell out of Estée Lauder. Somehow, weirdly, it all worked on her just fine. But the boys had never seen the likes of such a glamazon, so they looked at each other and dropped their jaws dramatically.
“Holy crap!” Max said.
“Double crap!” Luke said.
Adam quickly covered Max’s mouth with his hand while extending his other one to his father to take the packages.
“Dad! Merry Christmas!” Adam said. “Hi!” he said to the aged-out exotic dancer from a gentleman’s club somewhere in the sticks. “I’m Adam.”
“Hey! Merry Christmas, y’all!” she said in a smoky voice that suggested a lifetime of dedication to tobacco products.
I quickly added another setting to the table.
“Are you a movie star?” Luke asked with eyes as large as dinner plates.
“No, darling,” said the guest politely. “But I seem like one, don’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Luke said, completely entranced.
Things were suddenly confusing due to the dizzying effect of the guest’s red dress trimmed in red sequins. Adam, who appeared to be temporarily catatonic, could no doubt see himself reflected in the heavy gloss of her ginormous red lips.
I knew I had to swing into action and transform this very startling moment into just another day at the Stanley house, or else old Hot Lips was going to feel very bad about crashing with Pop. But all I could think, in 100 percent agreement with my boys, was holy whopping shit! For what it was worth, it was obvious to me that Pop was in high spirits and that Pop’s guest had not grown the hair she was wearing.
What the hell, Ted? I thought. What the hell are you up to?
“Y’all? Say hello to Miss Clarabeth!” Ted said, grinning from ear to ear like a schoolboy.
Hellooooo, Miss Clarabeth! Adam and I thought simultaneously, looking at each other, hardly able to maintain a straight face.
“Hello!” I said, adding, “Merry Christmas!”
Clarabeth said, “Thank you! Merry Christmas to y’all too! I love your wreath! It’s fabulous! Gump’s?”
Gump’s? In San Francisco? Was she kidding?
“No, just me and my hot glue gun,” I said. Do I look like a millionaire to you? I thought.
“Somebody’s gifted!” she said and winked at me. “And thank you so much for having me!”
“We’re delighted to have you,” I said and meant it. “You boys move and let Pop and Miss Clarabeth get in the door!” Just act normally, I told myself.
“Pop? Do you have a present for me?” Max asked.
“Of course we do! Here you go!” Ted handed a large shopping bag to Max and said, “There’s one in there for Luke.”
We? What does that mean? Are Ted and this woman a we? Ted and Clarabeth stepped across the threshold and I noticed the new white convertible Jaguar parked in the driveway. Nice, I thought, and closed the door. I caught Ted’s eye.
“Christmas gift,” he whispered.
“From you?” I whispered back, having a hard time imagining Ted buying someone a car. He was notoriously cheap.
“No,” he said. “To me.”
Great God in heaven, I thought. Was my father-in-law this large woman’s boy toy?