Good Greek Girls Don't (37 page)

I tried to explain to my mother that we would be better off having a bridal shower, but she just couldn't understand the concept. No, no, no – a kitchen tea is traditional; this is what all girls have before they get married. So poor Ricki got stuck with organising everything and I am sure that she will extract sweet revenge when it is time for me to organise hers.

That's right – Ricki's engaged! It all went off without a hitch. I got her out of the house for lunch and shopping, and when I dropped her off afterwards, Ari was waiting inside with all of Ricki's favourite afternoon tea treats and her engagement ring was sitting on top of a white chocolate and raspberry muffin – her favourite secret afternoon indulgence. Boy, was she embarrassed about her behaviour the night before! She tried to be angry with me for not preparing her better, but in the end, she and Ari still asked me to be their
koumbara
. I love that the Greek church doesn't insist on only a traditional best man to do the honours. Besides, it's fitting that I be their chosen one after all the effort I went through to make sure the engagement surprise worked!

Part of me can't believe it. The two most anti-Greek traditional girls are getting married and doing it all the traditional way we fought for so long. When the hell did we decide that what our parents wanted for us all along was ultimately the same thing that we wanted? It's all just so perfect, so right. After all the crap that Ricki and I have been through together we're now going through the most amazing, wonderful things together. We've both found our soul mates. Both of our dreams are coming true.

Unfortunately, our dreams go hand-in-hand with silly traditions like kitchen tea parties. I can only imagine what sort of games they have planned for this afternoon. But if anyone dares to pull out a cucumber, I swear the festivities will come to an abrupt end.

Chris has got it easy for this afternoon – a boys-only barbecue at his place, a game of beach soccer and probably a PlayStation marathon to finish it off. This whole pre-wedding thing is so unfair. Men get it easy, while the poor bride-to-be suffers quietly. Well, maybe not as quietly as my mother would like.

The mothers are here, the aunts are here, and dear cousin Helen is gushing about how she never thought that she would see the day and just how wonderful it is to finally see me ‘grow up and commit to something'. I wish I could commit her to something, like a mental institution. Oh, God. Sophia just arrived. Given how much she hates me, I don't understand why she insists on showing up at every pre-wedding function I am obligated to invite her to. I didn't make an appearance at half the things she had; let's see, I had gastro for her engagement party, a weekend shift at work for her kitchen tea, a terrible migraine hit me a couple of hours before her hen's night and, again, I had to work when she had the bed-making ceremony. I could have developed the plague if I had to.

The only reason I can think of to explain Sophia's continuing appearances is that she plans to ruin something. Doesn't she realise that her powers of evil are useless? She can't touch me anymore. Ever since our cousin's engagement party when she finally admitted just how far she would go to one-up me, well, she kind of lost the battle then and there. Her desperation makes her someone to pity, not someone to fear. Besides, does she honestly think I would let her close enough to taint anything with her evil vibes?

‘Hi Sophia, how are you? So nice of you to make it.' I can be so nice at times I make myself sick. But it would not do for me to make a spectacle of myself in front of my mother-in-law and Chris's relatives. My relatives don't count. They know I'm nuts. The others are still to discover that little pearler.

‘Well, had to get proof that this really is happening, didn't I? Had to see for myself that there is a desperate dickhead out there who would marry you.'

I want to slap her. And I almost do it. But she's just too pathetic, and I am above it now. She can't touch me, or my happiness.

I speak quietly and steadily. ‘I think you should leave now, Sophia, and consider yourself and your sleazy husband uninvited to my wedding.' I do not want this cow here, and I do not want her at my wedding. This is going to cause huge family problems (not to mention completely ruining my seating arrangements that took hours to put together) but right now I don't care.

Sophia is staring at me, incredulous that I would dare to break the code in the way that I just have. Greek weddings are not about inviting the people you love –they're about inviting every Tom, Dick and Toula that you know or have ever met. To not invite, or to uninvite, a first cousin, is worse than taboo. It's family feud-worthy. I think Sophia probably would have dealt with an actual slap in the face better than this. I'm about to get in big trouble with my family.

‘Despina!'

Yiayia is standing behind me. Time to face the music. I'm about to get a verbal berating in Greek. But wait … she's smiling – with pride, it seems!

‘If Sophia have no good to say about you and your Chris, then she no come to wedding.'

Oh my God! Yiayia is backing me up!

‘You leave now, Sophia.'

And she's ordering Sophia to get out of here! Her own granddaughter! This is a miracle. Sophia is clenching her thick sausage fingers and is as red as a tomato. But she's retreating, she's leaving. Door slams. She's gone.

‘You no worry, my Despina. I talk to Sophia later. I tell her to be sick and stay home and no come your beautiful day. Mum and Maria not find out what happen today.'

Fuck. Thia Maria is going to freak. Her daughter not coming to the wedding is going to kill her. The only way this is going to work is if Sophia goes along with Yiayia's plan. But why would she? The bitch loves a drama and this is the best opportunity she's had in ages to make me look bad.

‘Sophia is good girl, but she so sad, she make other people sad, too. This way, it show her. She learn.'

I hope Yiayia is right. I hope Sophia will keep her damn mouth shut and stay the hell away from my wedding.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it has. Pass the goddamn cucumber. That's it! I am calling an end to the festivities! Besides, this has gone on long enough.

‘Ricki, can I talk to you in the kitchen please?' I think my tone of voice says it all and off to the kitchen we trudge. ‘Get rid of everyone. Enough. I am not playing pass the fucking cucumber.'

‘Oh, yeah, and this has been a barrel load of laughs for me, too, Des.'

How did we end up here? Just a year ago we would have laughed at anyone who dared to suggest that this is how Ricki and I would be spending a Saturday afternoon. But then again, I wouldn't change it for the world. Except for the damn cucumber.

‘Look, I will have them all out of here in the next hour so we can take off for our weekend, okay?'

Well, at least if the relatives aren't gone, I sure as hell will be.

‘Where are you going, Des?'

‘Outside for a smoke. I am not playing pass the cucumber, no matter what you say!' Even I have my limits. And shoving a cucumber between my legs so we can pass it around in a circle while it gets a bit more chopped off with every pass is definitely my limit.

Well, the girls have definitely outdone themselves with their weekend getaway. Lovely cottage in Daylesford, three bedrooms, spa, balcony, the works. Being the blushing bride-to-be, I get the king-size jumbo bed. They've booked the masseur, got the grog, and brought the girlie fluff stuff for facials, manicures and pedicures. This is much better than the tacky hen's night they originally wanted! This is classy, this has style. Nice, small and intimate. Besides, if I'd let them have a traditional hen's night then we would have had to invite all the cousins, who I heard have taken out bets on the probability of my wedding being called off. I sometimes think the only reason they've all decided to attend is to see if the person who they think is the ultimate commitment-phobe will pull a runner. Don't they realise, I'm not a commitment-phobe – it just took me some time to find what I was looking for because I hadn't realised I was looking for it until it was right in front of me. At least Sophia won't be there – I hope. Although part of me is sorry that she won't see me looking at my best, with my handsome, loyal new husband. Oh well. Can't have everything.

Ahhhhh! I am in heaven; this is pure bliss. This is the best massage that I have ever had. I am never moving again. This masseur can just keep going and going and going. I wonder if Chris would mind if I took this guy home with me? I don't want him for his body or his looks or even his brain. I just want him for his hands. A couple of weeks and he would be able to train Chris adequately. I can just imagine Chris going for this idea in a hurry. Yeah right. I could stay here forever.

‘What the hell have you done, Effie?' I've just come back from my massage, all relaxed and floating on air, and now I'm face-to-face with a policeman with a suspiciously tight pair of pants – and a very big bulge! I can't believe this is my sister's doing. I would expect this from Ricki, or even from Katerina, but not from Effie! This is too much.

‘Hey, I never got the opportunity to enjoy myself so I get to live a little through you.'

Did my sister think she was missing out on something special by not having experienced a stripper? I really didn't want all this tacky crap leading up to my wedding. I wanted quiet, peaceful and dignified. Oh my God, that cannot be real. What a package. He must have socks stuffed down there.

‘Take it off, baby.'

I cannot believe that my perfect, innocent sister is harassing a stripper. The way she's going, she'll be jumping him before the performance is over. Maybe if she does then he'll leave me alone. I don't want his hips gyrating in my face. The only hips I want gyrating anywhere near me are Chris's.

Okay, this guy better let go of my hand. I don't know what sort of hen's he is used to but there is no way I am letting my hand go where he thinks it is. I am not a sexually frustrated bride-to-be. Actually, given that it has been nearly two months since Chris and I have slept together, I may be a little frustrated but not this much. This is so embarrassing. I can't believe the girls are enjoying this. They're especially enjoying watching me squirm. I'm going to kill them. And I'm going to get a hold of Katerina's camera and delete the memory card before she has a chance to show the photos to anyone.