Page 110 of The Accidental Honeymoon

“It’s still in the oven,” I reply.

"Calla mou.” He comes over to where I’m standing and puts an arm around my shoulder. His eyes twinkle with mischief. "Now that you married him twice, you should know that we expect twice as many grandchildren. Your mother and I would’ve had seven or eight of you if God had willed it."

My mom makes a face and mouths, “absolutely not.”

Typical Greek family. My parents are close as any two people could be. But they have some differing ideas about child rearing.

I flush, a mix of embarrassment and amusement heating my cheeks. "We’ll have kids.Someday."

He chuckles, patting my shoulder. "As long as you're happy, that's all that matters. Though I do wonder..."

Before he can finish, Jay strides into the kitchen, and all eyes shift to him. My sisters, who have been whispering in the corner of the living room all afternoon, catch up with their new brother-in-law.

“So, Jay,” Iris asks. “How do you get started being an influencer? How many hours would you say you put in per week? Do you ever do conventions or anything?”

Cora flashes him a broad smile. “She’s trying to fish out how much you make a year.”

“Cora!” Iris turns red. “Jeez, have some class.”

Jay handles their curiosity with the grace of a seasoned diplomat, weaving in just enough humor to keep things light.

“Well, ladies, the answer is a little complicated…” he starts.

I occupy myself with the parsley, stealing glances at Jay as he works his magic. It's like watching a master craftsman at work, someone who makes the impossible seem effortless. I didn't even realize that I needed a partner who could blend into my family in this way. Easy, gracious, even-keeled.

My family is a lot of things, but cool under pressure is not one of them. They all have hot Mediterranean blood and count squabbling as a past time.

But Jay? He knocks my family off their feet as easily as he did me. They’re putty in his oversized hands.

"Calla, taste this," my mother says.

My reverie pops like a bubble. She holds out a spoonful of lemon rice. I take a bite, the familiar flavors grounding me. It's perfect, as always.

“You know that this rice is perfect.” I give her a brief hug. “Come on. I’ll help you carry dishes out to the table.”

There are extra chairs and even a stool drawn up to fit eighteen people around the dining table. We all pack in, elbow to elbow.Yiayiasits at one end of the table, my great uncle Dimitri at the other.

I make sure to sit Wren between me and Jay hoping to give her a break from the onslaught of questions. Also, frankly, I have to make a special effort to make sure that her plate is full of slices of lamb, Greek salad, and lemon rice. NormallyYiayiawould insist on doing it, but I begged her to let me take care of Jay’s baby sister. Wren is pretty quiet and I’m afraid that she’ll get lost under all these boisterous shouts.

“Got what you need?” I ask Wren.

She nods and gives me a quiet smile. “Thanks, Calla.”

My mother, cheeks flushed from both the cooking and the emotional occasion, stands and raises her glass. Theroom falls silent. All eyes turn to her. When Mom talks, everybody listens like she’s Moses handing down the Ten Commandments.

"To the newlyweds," she declares. She looks around the crowded table. "May your life together be as full and rich as this feast we've prepared for you. I love you so much."

“Yiamas!” my father cries. We all clink glasses.

I lean over to Wren. “He said cheers.”

“I figured that.” She grins and gives me a look. “But thanks for translating.”

I take a small sip of wine, letting it wash over my palate, and try to absorb the reality of the situation. This is what I’ve always imagined for myself.

A loving family gathered to celebrate a milestone in my life. It’s happening.

“So Calla, I heard you went to New Orleans to be a fricking TV chef!” my cousin Christopher asks. “How was it?”

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