Yiayia saw white boxed kites tailed by streamers of Aegean blue. They dance danced and stalled and whirled and bounced forward and back. Yayai’s eyes traced their movement and her feet wobbled to the tune Adrian whistled. She her lost balance and Penelope caught her hand.
“Ah yes, that is where your mother and grandfather used to fly kites” Yiayia said pointing to a trodden waterfront flanked on both sides by overgrown shrubs. Andrew and Marcos ignored the gesture. “We’d get new ones every time we went back to Rhodes.” She paused and turned to her daughter, “Penelope, I think I’ll be OK with the boys. Just call us in when the pitaroudia are ready. All the ingredients are in the cupboard to the left of the sink.” Penelope acquiesced.
Yaiyia suggested that they all sit on the Adirondack chairs near the water, using words with Andrew and grabbing Marcos. Marcos had never quite shed his baby fat, so there was plenty of wrist for her to yank. Cautiously placing themselves down on the decrepit chairs, neatly forming their body’s as to avoid splinters and mold, the two brothers sank into the old Adirondacks. Yaiyai plopped.
“Ahhhh, a beautiful afternoon,” she said.
“Definitely.” Andrew said. Yaiyai could sense his obligation. Marcos was picking his nose or, at the least, his fingernails.
“What are you boys up to at school nowadays, huh?” Yiayia inquired.
“It’s summer break grandm… Yiayia,” Marcos said, catching himself.
Andrew jumped in “Yea, we are on summer break.”
“Oh, I know.” Yiayia laughed. “I mean books and friends. How’s it going? I don’t see you and your mother as often anymore and I miss having you kids running around the house. Although I can’t imagine you’d remember those years.”
Andrew explained how he remembered his fifth birthday at the house, the year he received the Rescue Hero’s set, and how school had just begun assigning homework. Despite the bad news, he enjoyed reading Where the Red Fern Grows.
“Have they got you reading The Odyssey yet?” Yiayia asked. “Every Greek boy should have a copy.”
“Oh no, no. That’s for high schoolers.” Andrew replied.
The two chatted about school for some time. They went back and forth about why division did and did not matter, and how Andrew dreaded pre-Algebra. Yiayia pointed out the money their parents paid for a quality education and how the brothers should not waste it – those opportunities weren’t available in Greece. After their discussion on the merits of math, Andrew even hinted at a crush. Yiayia told him that you ever only have one real crush, as she found out with Adrian, and that it’s worth a shot. While the two gabbed, Marcos outlined the horizontal stripes of his shirt and adjusted his jean shorts to ensure that no skin made contact with the chair.
Burnt chickpea wafted from the kitchen window as Penelope fried the first batch of pitaroudia. Yiayia inhaled deeply.
“What an incredible smell.” Yiayia said, winking towards the boys, basking in the scent. It reminded her of childhood and her grandmother and mother’s recipes. Of generational attachments to her home in Greece and to her Penelope’s home. Of her first date with Adrian when they cooked instead of eating out to save money. “I ought to teach you two how to make those things.”
Bored, Marcos stood up and headed towards the water, and Andrew followed. Kicking off their flip flops, the brothers waddled in mud to skip stones. Yiayia didn’t see mud, though.
At its height, Yiayia’s Long Island home earned the sun that shined on it. The house itself was a wooden facsimile of Greece’s whitewashed clay sans the open-air courtyard – in its place, a backyard that stretched out onto the Nissequogue River. Every Saturday morning, her husband Adrian would checker the grass and tidy the shoreline while she did crosswords with Penelope. In the summertime, Yiayia (known then as Aimilia) would bicycle to town and purchase lemons and Domino sugar, return home promptly to prepare fresh drinks, and invite over her friends who still lived in Astoria. They’d frequently arrive with new boyfriends and inexpensive wines and liquors, and they’d sun on manicured grass until Penelope could have filed for neglect. They’d jump into the Nissequogue river at sunset and paddle around in Kayaks that Adrian built and prepare late dinners of pilaf and fish. And Penelope would invite her neighborhood friends who felt like they were breaking the rules eating so late. And they would stay the night, falling asleep to a VHS while Aimilia’s mates would stumble into cabs towards the City. “But don’t tell your mother how drunk we all were!”
Aimilia opened her eyes. “Boys! Wipe off your feet, it smells like your mother is almost done with the food and I still want to do some walking with you.” She said. By the time they wiped their feet on the mud, their grandmother had already drifted towards another portion of the backyard.
“Your Pappouli Adrian built this beautiful gazebo” Yiayia said toeing up its two front steps, careful to avoid any loose nails. She leaned against the far side and motioned for her grandsons to join her. She looked squat against short railing and the wind, pressing her ivory linen against her body, outlined a wider frame. The boys approached reluctantly.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” She awed “No surprise we were quite the entertainers, yes?!”
“Hmmm,” Andrew mustered. Marcos was busy avoiding the film of green and damp that coated the gazebo. “It sure looks like you got a lot of use out the place.” Andrew said.
“Ha! You bet.” Yiayia chuckled and closed her eyes, letting her mind wander for a moment. “You two ought to bring your friends out here. We could make lemonade and go for a swim. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“I’d sink into the mud before I could even get close to the water,” Marcos protested with the first words he’d managed that afternoon. Andrew nudged him.
“Oh you’ll be fine – you’re young!” Yiayia replied. “I’ll talk to your mother about arranging a day trip…” Andrew realized that, given too much more thought, Yiayia might make her suggestion a reality and inquired further about the gazebo. He interjected, asking about the time the roof split.
Of course, Andrew and Marcos already knew everything about the gazebo. How their Pappouli built it one spring for their mother’s tenth birthday. How he had cut down 3 small trees to build the support beams. How Yiayia would pull a chair under the gazebo’s shade and watch her daughter and husband flying kites. How two winters after its completion, a snow storm splintered the roof. “You’ve never seen snow like that!” Nevertheless, one to three times a summer, Andrew and Marcos listened to their Yiayia recount these tales. Their mother required it.
Calling from the kitchen window, Penelope announced that the pitaroudia were ready. Andrew and Marcos raced inside.
“Don’t wait for me” Aimilia said, waving her hand and turning to face the river. She smiled and blew kisses to her friends long gone sipping on lemonade and lounging in floats. She wished others well who needed to leave in time for their dinner reservations. Shooing away Penelope and her friends, she nudged them towards the water. Aimilia looked to her right and saw Adrian and felt her chest tighten and eyes well and her hands and knees shake and again she looked up and imagined kites, all of them, all at once, every trip home to Rhodes with her beautiful daughter and loving husband, and then thought of the years before the gazebo and before the family home, to years of running around New York City with her newlywed and dreaming and planning of starting an American life with this man, this man, this Adrian, hers, and how she couldn’t imagine another life and didn’t want to and never would need to again, and the joy and oh, the joy… She caught the railing. Aimilia waited long minutes for her tears, the same tears as Adrian’s passing, to dry.
And then she began her shuffle back inside, saying goodbye to her Adrian and dear friends. Goodbye until the next time Andrew and that ungrateful little shit Marcos came back.