Soon we were sitting on small rush-bottomed chairs in an open-air dining room called Taverna Alexandros in Dassia. Alexandros, the owner, was not only Kiki’s husband’s partner but a very good friend of Kiki too.
“I tell everyone Kiki is my cousin, so you’re my cousin too! Give Alexandros a hug!”
He was a big fellow wearing a somewhat stained apron, like a Greek teddy bear with crazy hair and a bushy mustache. Despite my reservations, I hugged him because it would’ve been rude not to. Then the food started coming. Over grilled octopus, Kiki wanted to hear all about my boys.
“They’re twenty-one years old,” I said. “Both of them graduate from college in May.” I showed her their pictures on my phone and she was very complimentary. “Max is going to medical school in North Carolina and Luke is getting an advanced degree in mechanical engineering. He goes to Georgia Tech.”
“My God, where does the time go? My one boy, Stephen, works in technology, doing something I can’t understand. He’s twenty-five and married to a sweet girl who still has to give me a grandchild.”
“I don’t understand technology either. And if my boys have girlfriends, I haven’t heard one word about them!” I smiled at her. “And Aunt Anna?”
“She’s dying to see you!”
“I can’t wait to see her too. And your husband?”
“He runs the pharmacy in town. It keeps him out of trouble. He says he wants to retire soon and get a little sailboat to sail around the island. I will go crazy if he does that. What about your husband?”
“He’s in the doghouse at the present time.”
We looked at each other with that knowing look that only women with long marriages can share that tells the story without using words.
“Uh-huh. I understand. If you want to talk about it, you can. I’m a very good listener.”
“He’s a jerk, and for the moment that’s about all there is to say.”
Kiki smiled at me. “I’ve been married to Nicholas for more than half my life and I love him with all my heart. But he’s a jerk too. They all are. You know why? Because their mothers tell them they are the Second Coming.” She made the sign of the cross in the Greek Orthodox way and smiled.
I smiled too and nodded my head in agreement.
Next came a salad for us to share, with the reddest tomatoes and crunchiest cucumbers I’d ever eaten and a small cake of feta cheese on top.
“This looks like a picture!”
“We eat feta with everything!” she said and shook her head.
The salad was followed by sofrito, which is a meat dish cooked with vinegar and parsley. The wine continued to flow. By the time we got to the baklava, quince liqueur, and coffee I was stuffed within an inch of my life.
“He’s a good cook, yes?” Kiki said.
“Inspired,” I said, adding, “I’d love to get in the kitchen with him and see what’s up with traditional Greek cuisine. But if I eat one more bite I’m going to die, and what will you do with my body?”
“You like to cook?”
“It’s my passion,” I said.
“How do you like that?” Kiki laughed and said, “Let’s get you home and to bed.”
We thanked Alexandros profusely. He wouldn’t let us pay the bill, but we left a generous tip for our waiter.
It was just a short drive to the bed-and-breakfast where I would stay. I got out of the car and thought to myself that it seemed familiar. But if this had been my grandmother’s house, I didn’t recognize it. The house I remembered from my childhood was more Spartan. This little house was completely charming. Even in the darkness I could see that it was painted a coral color and trimmed in white. We stepped into the courtyard, which had a table, eight chairs, a long bar for serving buffet meals, and an olive tree in the corner, old and gnarled. Bougainvillea vines crawled all over, and I knew that when it bloomed in the summer it would be gorgeous. Planters filled with herbs were everywhere.
“It’s empty this time of year, so you can have the whole house to yourself. I’ll come by in the morning. Give me your cell phone number.”
“It’s not on an international plan, but you can e-mail me.”
“Okay. Come in and let me show you around.”
I followed her inside. We entered a plainly decorated living room with a sofa and four unmatched chairs. There were exposed beams and two terrible paintings of little sailboats on the water that looked like they’d been done by children. In the corner was a rough-hewn fireplace with an oil lamp on the mantel. It was rustic, to be sure, but it had a charm all its own. I felt very comfortable there.
“The lamp is there in case you lose power. That happens here a lot,” Kiki said. “Come see the kitchen.”
“It’s the heart of the home,” I said.
“You say that too? My mother says that and I think she is right. Listen, I should warn you about something.”
“What? The kitchen is great!”
“Thanks. Every last person on this island who has the slightest relation to you wants to meet their American cousin. So don’t be surprised when they start showing up.”
“Wonderful! I would love to meet them all!”
“And there’s going to be a dinner for you tomorrow night, so you have to stay. Anyway, three bedrooms are upstairs but the big one is down here. After Yiayia died we renovated. It could use another renovation now.”
“So, this is Yiayia’s house! I thought it felt familiar!”
“Her picture is hanging on the bedroom wall. She’s the guardian of the house.”
“Oh! I can’t wait to see it. God, she was a wonderful woman.”
“Yes, she was. When your mother died, it put her in an early grave.”
“I’m still devastated over losing them and I probably always will be.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t say anything about our artwork in the living room,” she said.
“Those terrible little sailboat paintings?”
“Yes! You and I painted them when we were about five! You didn’t recognize our artistic genius?”
“Oh, my goodness. No!”
We hurried back to have a look, and sure enough, my tiny initials were there in the corner and Kiki’s were on hers.
“It’s a good thing I went to business school. I would’ve starved as an artist.”
“Me too,” she said.