“Don’t be silly,” Kiki said and turned to smile at me. “Nicholas speaks English and the others are somewhat fluent.”
She turned her eyes back to the road and we drove very slowly as we wound our way through the village. The streets were busy. And I suddenly realized I had no gift for my aunt, which would be unforgivable considering all the trouble she went to to prepare this dinner.
“Kiki, I need a small favor. Is there a place I can buy flowers? I can’t see my aunt after all these years and show up empty-handed.”
“Of course! Just ahead is a little bakery that sells flowers too.”
She pulled over and I got out, then realized I didn’t have any euros.
I turned around and Kiki already had her wallet out.
“You can pay me back,” she said, and handed me a twenty-euro note.
“Thanks,” I said and thought, Well, now she knows I left home in a hurry.
Indeed, this tiny shop sold pastries and bread and flowers. I picked out two small bouquets of wildflowers and paid for them. I got back in the car.
“Those are lovely,” she said. “Mother will love them.”
I buried my nose in them and took a deep breath. They reminded me of something, some smell from long ago.
“Why do these flowers smell so familiar?” I asked.
“Maybe because they smell like the hills around us? It’s a fragrance as old as the hills themselves.”
“Like the dirt,” I said, remembering playing with my brother and Kiki in my aunt’s yard, digging holes to China.
People were everywhere, old ladies arm in arm, mothers with youngsters in tow going to the stores for last-minute items for their supper, children kicking a soccer ball in the square by the church, their pet dogs of dubious pedigree scampering all around them. The air was thick with contentment, something you might run through your fingers if you held your hand outside the window. I wished I could grab some, put it in a jar, and keep it with me. Soon we had passed through the tiny business district and with a few more turns, we arrived.
“Yassou! Yassou!”
The tiny old woman who came rushing from the ancient fading pink stucco house with her hands in the air had to be my aunt Anna. It was. Across all the years that had divided us, I could tell her by her eyes. I got out of the car without my purse or the flowers, we threw our arms around each other, and we burst into tears, even Kiki.
“Yassou, Theia Anna,” I said, remembering that Yassou was how to say hello in Greek.
She threw her arms around me again and I hugged her for all I was worth. I was hugging the next best thing to my mom. Her only sister. Now nearly eighty years old. Something in me began to crumble. Maybe it was the place in my heart that had closed the door to Greece when we buried my mother and then Yiayia. I felt a flush of warmth from my head to my toes. She was a wall of love. Love emanated from her entire being. I could not say that I had ever felt so wanted and welcomed.
We stood there in her courtyard in the breeze of the evening and she began to chatter away in Greek so fast that I strained to understand her. Somehow, I could pick up the meaning of a few things. She touched my face tenderly and hugged me again. She asked so many things. How was I? Did I bring pictures of my children? She was sorry to hear of my father’s death. I answered her in English as she nodded and responded in Greek. Kiki stood by watching all of this in amazement.
“How do you know what she just said to you?” Kiki said.
“Because I remember some words, I guess. She just said, ‘Oh, look at you! You look just like your mother!’ and I hope she’s right.”
“That is exactly what she said,” Kiki said, still shaking her head.
I grabbed my purse, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, handed Aunt Anna the flowers that Kiki was holding, and we all went inside.
Her home was very similar to my grandmother’s. And it was brimming with people, some of whom were related to me. There was a huge smile on every last face.
“Kalinita,” a handsome man said. “I’m Nick. Kiki’s husband!”
Kalinita meant good evening.
“Kalinita! Oh! I’m so happy to meet you!”
“And we are so happy to see you here! Let me introduce you around.”
The next few hours were filled with broken English, broken Greek, and an absolute feast of food. I took pictures on my phone of everyone and all the food so I could show my boys. When dinner was finally done and almost everyone had gone home, my aunt took me by the hand and led me to her bedroom. Kiki followed us. We sat on the edge of her bed while Anna went into the bottom drawer of an old armoire.
“What did she just say?” I said.
“She wants to show you something, something she’d been saving for you and your brother all these years.”
Anna dug around and produced something wrapped in linen. As she unwrapped it I could see that it was a book, and when she opened it I saw that it was an album.
“Come by the light,” Kiki said. “This old house has never had enough light. You could go blind trying to read a book at night.” Then Kiki said something in Greek to her mother and my aunt hurried from the room.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“I said, we need a magnifying glass to really see the details. I can’t see anymore. Can you?”
“Are you serious? I must have ten pairs of reading glasses.”
“Me too, but I can never find a pair when I need them.”
We were having the same thoughts simultaneously—where had the years gone? Now we are older women who need reading glasses. How much richer would our lives have been if we had only made the time to see each other? And now that we were together again, it was so wonderful and we got along so well. It felt so natural, not forced.
This time I was the one who reached over to pat the back of her hand.
“I’m so happy to be here, Kiki. Thank you for all the many things you’ve done to make me feel so at home.”
“But you are at home,” she said. I could feel her sincerity.
It was true. I had found my place in the world.
My aunt returned with a magnifying glass and together we went from page to page. This album had belonged to my grandmother and it was filled with childhood photographs of my mother and my aunt Anna. There was my mother at six or seven years old, all dressed up for Easter. Then there were pictures of my mother and aunt in their pajamas. There were pictures of graduations, birthdays, and Christmases. Then there were more of my mother and father, and of course pictures of me and my brother with Yiayia and with Kiki. I had never seen any of them before. I just marveled at them all, moved that my Yiayia had chronicled my mother’s life so completely and grateful that my aunt had saved them.
My aunt said something I didn’t understand. I was tired and my intuition was shot for the night.
“She wants you to have this,” Kiki said.
“Oh! Are you sure?” I said.
“Nai, nai!” my aunt said, nodding her head. “Parakalo!”