It’s the Sunday before Thanksiving. I pull my bike into the parking lot at my uncle’s restaurant and look for a spot to lock it up. The place is packed. This may be the biggest turnout yet. I recognize some of the cars, but there’s a bunch I don’t. I look into the restaurant. I can almost make people out. It seems like everyone from my life, with the exception of my school friends, is here. The sooner I get in there, the sooner I can check this day off the list.
I enter and instantly my mother spots me. She’s wearing a dark-blue fitted skirt and a cable-knit sweater with a silver cross necklace over it. The necklace is modest and tasteful, which is how my mother likes to appear. Her hair is down and beautifully blown out. She has her trademark nude lipstick on and a hint of blush. She’s smiling and comes toward me with open arms. Is this for show or is it real? I can never tell. She hugs me and kisses my cheek. “Honey, you look so handsome,” she says out loud. Like really out loud. She then turns closer to me, still smiling, and whispers, “You look like a prostitute in those pants.”
She goes back to being the perfect host, escorting me around the restaurant by the arm. We walk up to a couple who have their backs to us. The man has a full head of dark hair and the woman is wearing a leather vest over a white sweater. She has leather knee-high boots that match the vest, and her hair is up.
“Helen and Dean, this is my beautiful boy I was telling you so much about,” my mother lilts and, with elaborate hand motions, presents me. Like, ta-da!
Helen and Dean both turn around. They’re smiling.
Helen exclaims, “Your son is even more handsome than you described, a true Greek man. Isn’t that right, Dean?” She turns to her husband before finishing with, “How do you not have a girlfriend?”
“Ooooooh, we can fix that!” My mom is laughing. “Helen and Dean are new to town and to our church, but old friends of your uncle’s. We saw them at church for the first time today. What a wonderful family they are! Greeks who praise the Lord and they have three beautiful children, also for the Lord.”
Let me guess. One of these children is a girl around my age, and the poor thing has, unbeknownst to her, been chosen to be my wife.
“Dean is a successful doctor from Chicago and Helen a beautician. She used to have her own salon in the city and she’s looking to open one here. Here in Kalakee! Isn’t that wonderful? God has blessed them.” My mother is giddy. It is a sight to behold when she is like this. She’s looking around the room. “Helen, where is your beautiful daughter?”
Bingo.
“I’ll go find her, Voula. You stay right here, young man.” Helen straightens my hair like I’m her own.
“Dean, tell Evan about how you and your wife came to America from Greece with nothing. Nothing but your faith and hard work, and look at you both now! You are so blessed!” My mother turns to me, as if I have suddenly gone deaf. She loudly and slowly repeats herself and does her version of Greek sign language. “They had nothing. Nothing. God and hard work blessed them.”
Just in time, here comes Helen with her daughter. “This is Maria.” She presents her the way my mother presented me a few minutes ago. They might as well just have us sit on a giant lazy Susan when we’re at this age, and spin us around at every Greek gathering. It would save so much “presenting time.”
“Maria, this is Evan,” Helen says.
My mother starts gushing like a fountain. “Oh, Maria, you beautiful girl. I just love your hair. Isn’t she lovely, Evan?”
Maria smiles.
“Nice to meet you, Maria.” I extend my hand, the perfect Greek gentleman.
“You too, Evan.”
It’s not that Maria isn’t attractive. It’s just the ridiculousness of this whole situation. Maria is dressed in what looks like a Halloween costume for a little girl, one who wants to be the princess of a pastel kingdom. It’s so tight on top that parts of her exposed skin are purple around the areas where they meet the fabric. The bottom half sticks straight out and is layer upon layer of white, pink, green, and blue. I can’t tell if she’s picked this out herself or if this is Helen’s doing.
It’s amazing what my mother is able to forgive if you’re Greek and the “right kind of Christian.” If this was the same exact situation with someone from my school who was, say, a Lutheran, there would have been a nonstop fire-and-brimstone speech following this meeting.
“What grade are you in?” I try to make conversation.
“I start high school next year.” Maria seems thrilled by this and I’m mortified. She’s a child. Like, an actual child.
“Great. You must be so excited. Good for you.”
“Evan graduates in the spring.” My mother is now beaming at me with something resembling pride.
Helen seems impressed and proud too, which is completely weird. Clearly she’s okay with presenting her maybe not even fourteen-year-old daughter to a guy who is going off to college. I continue to smile and say, “I just got here and I’d love to grab some food. So great to meet you all, and welcome to town.”
I smile and start walking away. My mother follows me.
“What are you doing?” she whisper-yells.
“I’m sorry. I need to eat something.”
I’m walking through the crowd looking for the food tables. I smile at everyone I pass. My mother is right beside me the whole time.
She’s whispering in my ear. “You always think you’re something special.” She spots someone she knows, and waves and smiles. She calls out to them, “I’ll talk to you in a minute, my dear. I must get the boy some food.” She turns back to me. “She may be a little young, but you would wait for her. Who else would want you? You have to get yourself in while they are still impressionable and think you are better than you are.” She waves at my uncle. “So beautiful, this party.” Back to me. “In five years you could be married. Perfect time for you and for her. Don’t be stupid. Also, don’t be too proud of yourself because Helen complimented you. People compliment you because they feel sorry for how ugly you are.”
Finally, I see the food. A long table brimming with everything a person could ever want and think of. Say what you will about this mess of a gathering, they know how to feed a crowd. I grab a plate and start at one end of the table.
“Mom, please just let me eat something. It’s been a long day at work. It was unbelievably busy, plus I’m so tired.”
“What are you tired from? You don’t know tired.” She picks up a plate as well. “You will eat something and then go back and socialize with that family and their daughter! Is that clear?”
I look at her and she’s biting her lower lip with her teeth. Hard. She used to do this all the time when I was younger and we were out in public. If I was doing, saying, or wearing something she didn’t like, she would do this across the room and I knew it meant that once we got home, she’d beat me till I was cowering in a corner somewhere.
“There you are.” My dad appears. He also grabs a plate. He leans in and kisses me on the cheek.
“Mom just introduced me to Helen, Dean, and their daughter Maria.” I put six feta cheese–filled filo dough triangles onto my plate.
“Oh.”
“You stay out of this, Eli! I’m thinking of our future. Someone around here has to.” She takes her plate—with just a single piece of spanakopita—and storms off, smiling, of course.
My dad sighs. “How was work today?”
“So busy. It was crazy. There was never a moment when we didn’t have at least ten people in the deli. They must be busing them in from other towns.” I add a second story of food to my plate.
“It’s the season. Don’t forget to make the rounds and greet everyone. You can go home once you do, okay?” My father puts some melon on his plate and walks off. My mother swoops in, grabs my arm, and leads me in a specific direction. She’s moving so fast that I drop my plate of food. She doesn’t seem to notice. We’re still charging forward.
“I’m glad you’re done eating.” I didn’t even start. My mother weaves us through the crowd. We settle near the booths by the corner of the restaurant that faces the parking lot. Seated in the booth are Helen, Dean, Maria, and two other kids.
“Here he is. He couldn’t wait to get back to us. These are their other gorgeous children, Mani and Toula. Six and nine, right?”
Helen replies, “Yes. Good memory, Voula. Evan, what will you be going to college for?”
Here’s my chance to really kill any hope these two Greek mothers have of ever blending our families. It’s my passive-aggressive way of standing up for myself. “I’ll be studying fine art.”
“He hasn’t decided yet, really.” My mother bites her lower lip. “He really wants to be a businessman.” She sits in the booth with them and motions me to join.
“Actually, I don’t. I want to study fine art. And I’d love to join you, but it’s getting really late and I have school tomorrow. There’s homework.” I know she can’t outwardly argue this.
Helen is beaming right at me. “Such a dedicated young man.”
My mother somehow finds her smile. “He really is. You know, he was at work all day today.” She turns and fixes me with a level gaze. “Get home safely, dear.”