Chapter 10
A fter a short break at the villa, we navigated the winding streets of Enkelana until we came to Will and Irena’s hideously ugly church.
Good heavens, I didn’t know such unsightly places of worship existed.
Don’t get me wrong—I respect people’s religion, and the change in my stepbrother was a welcome improvement.
It was just that the cold concrete walls and aluminum siding had less warmth than the graveyard across the street.
Will explained the building had been a factory during communism. I could tell.
The inside was as bland as the outside. White, unadorned walls with a slight yellow tint supported a high ceiling.
The folding chairs and wooden podium made the place look like a meeting hall, at least, but there were no altars, pews, or stained-glass windows.
The only decorations were a few ribbons and balloons, apparently for the wedding .
Pastor Ludwig stepped out of the office and greeted us in his German accent.
I was happy he didn’t plant any two-cheek kisses on us.
Germans didn’t do that, it seemed. He talked about some church program in the “willage.” I nodded, masking my confusion.
As he rambled on, I realized he was trying to say “village.”
I glanced at my watch—six o’clock. We were right on time, but no one from Irena’s family was there.
They lived just around the corner, so I figured they would be in at any moment.
We spent the next half hour listening to Pastor Ludwig go on about visiting orphans and widows, wondering what was taking the Malegonians so long to get there.
“Why the holdup?” Dad finally asked. “I figured we’d be done with the rehearsal by now.”
“People tend to be late for things here,” Will said. “Just give them a few minutes.”
Dad frowned, and we sat impatiently in the front row.
The pastor offered us coffee. I declined, figuring if I drank any more on this trip, I’d have a stroke.
Dad and Elizabeth asked for a cup, and Ludwig returned with two American-style coffees a moment later.
I gaped in envy but was too embarrassed to ask for one.
As jet lag caught up with me, I regretted that decision and had a sudden urge to nap .
“Why don’t you call Irena,” Elizabeth said to Will. “It’s almost seven, and they still aren’t here.”
Will nodded and dialed a number on his mobile. I heard Irena answer, wedding music blaring in the background.
“Hey,” Will said. “Where are you?”
“Oh, Will. More family arrived, and they want to dance.”
“What about the rehearsal?” Will replied, annoyance slipping into his voice.
“Rehearsal? Yes, I come, but you need to get here first.”
“We’re waiting for you at the church.”
Irena said something in Malegonian. Will sighed and switched to her language. A moment later he hung up and groaned. “Okay, they’ll be here in five minutes.”
Twenty minutes later Irena showed up. She was followed by a host of relatives and friends in their finest clothes, except for Miranda, who was still wearing her apron.
To my horror, they descended on us like fat children on a plate of cookies.
A dozen strangers shook my hand and planted kisses on my cheeks.
Half of them stunk like rakia, and the other half reeked of body odor.
Dad and Elizabeth did their best to look cordial, but I could tell from their expressions that they were just as annoyed as I was.
The only bright spot was shaking hands with Irena’s cousin Sergio.
He was the classic tall, dark, and handsome.
I masked the fact I was checking him out.
Pastor Ludwig explained the ceremony proceedings in English while Mira translated for the Malegonians. Irena’s family wasn’t paying the slightest attention. One of the uncles played wedding music on his phone, and a small group circle danced in the aisle.
“They don’t usually do wedding ceremonies in this country,” Will explained. “Most of them have never seen one except in American movies.”
“How do they know when someone is officially married?” I asked.
“You have to go to the courthouse and sign a bunch of documents. Irena and I did that last week.”
“Last week?” Elizabeth gasped. “You eloped!”
“It was just a formality,” Will said dismissively.
My stepmother grabbed Dad by the arm and sobbed. “My baby is already married, and I wasn’t there for it.”
“Relax,” Dad grumbled. “We’re here for the wedding. You didn’t miss anything.”
The pastor called everyone to attention and had us take our places for the ceremony.
My job was easy: sit down and shut up—perfect.
Dad and Elizabeth had to stand at the front of the church next to Will while Irena’s family filed into the church.
It was apparent none of them had ever done this before, but after fifteen minutes, they seemed to have figured it out.
The couple practiced their vows, and the pastor explained more details about the ceremony.
The instant he finished speaking, the Malegonians broke out the wedding music again.
“They want us to return to the house,” Will said. “They say we need to dance with the new arrivals.”
“How long will the dancing last?” Dad asked, thinly veiling his lack of enthusiasm for more foreign weirdness.
“We’ll probably dance all night.”
Dad’s eyes widened. “All night? What about sleep?”
“You can lay down whenever you want and get back up for more dancing when you’re ready.”
I exchanged a terrified look with my father.
“Tell them we’ll be there in a bit,” Elizabeth said. “We can’t stay all night, but we want to meet the new relatives.”
Will spoke to the Malegonian in-laws, and they swarmed us for another round of handshakes and euro kisses, this time as a farewell gesture. It was a bit excessive since we were going to see them again in five minutes, but I kept that to myself as they slobbered us again .
I caught a rear glimpse of Sergio as he walked out of the church.
He could’ve easily been on the cover of one of Karen’s smut novels.
He didn’t speak a word of English, which somehow made him more alluring.
His lack of language skills also kept him from saying anything stupid, a common issue with the boys back home.
I forced myself not to stare since we were about to be step-in-laws.
Our children might be born with four fingers and crossed eyes. Better to just ignore him.
After a short walk to Irena’s house, we were thrust into another round of circle dancing.
It was easier this time, as I knew what was expected.
I was actually starting to enjoy it, even if the music sounded like something from a Turkish horror film and never seemed to end.
At least I appreciated why the locals enjoyed dancing so much.
After half an hour, the party took a short break, and we sat down to eat.
Miranda carted out food and a used beer bottle containing a red drink.
She poured a half cup into a glass and set it in front of me.
I took a sip, expecting the burn of alcohol.
To my surprise, the drink was sweet—not quite like juice but definitely more flavorful than wine.
I drained my cup, and the Malegonians instantly refilled it.
“You like the mushti?” Mira asked.
“What’s that? ”
She held up a glass of the mysterious drink. “It’s a specialty here. My uncle makes it.”
I nodded. “I do. Never tried anything like it.”
She set the bottle next to me with a smile and went to dance.
I greedily downed another cup. Mushti was by far the best drink I’d had in Europe.
A moment later I felt a sudden urge to party and joined the others in the circle.
The Malegonians laughed as I danced with them, kicking awkwardly along to the beat of the music.
“Bravo!”
“Opa!”
I basked in the lighthearted celebration and laughed as our hosts encouraged me. Finally I was catching onto the Malegonian vibe. Enjoy yourself, dance, eat, party all night. What could be better?
After a few minutes of revelry, Irena disappeared into the backroom.
“Where’s she going?” I asked Mira.
“To put on the white dress. Our traditions say the bride must do one dance in the white dress on the day before the final celebration. We get a glimpse of how beautiful she will be tomorrow. ”
I nodded, a dumb smile drifting across my face.
I snagged my drink when the circle returned to my table and downed another quick glass of mushti.
Across the room Sergio kicked his feet to the music.
His eyes drifted up toward mine. I flashed him a welcoming smile.
He met my smile with his own. I thought his cheeks flushed, but he turned his head and stayed focused on his foot movements.
Was he checking me out? Maybe. I felt a rush of excitement and let my eyes drift back to him, less guarded than before.
He didn’t look back, but I sensed he wanted to. Come on, Sergio. Look back!
Irena reemerged as the music stopped between songs, wearing her stunning white dress.
She seemed to radiate a feminine glow, like a real-life Disney princess.
The room clapped as she joined the dance circle.
The Malegonians raised their cups and cheered her arrival.
Those on their feet rushed to kiss her cheeks and lump praises on her.
I poured another glass of mushti and followed suit, raising my drink and stepping forward to add my germs to the fanfare.
The bride leaned in to accept my two-cheek kiss.
An ear-shattering scream erupted.
The music stopped. A general gasp ensued.
Irena’s mother, Miranda, let out a panicky series of shrieks, like her clothes had just caught on fire.
I startled back, confused, to discover the bride’s pristine white dress was covered in bright-red mushti.
A look of terror welled in Irena’s eyes.
Bystanders tried to pat away the stain. Every eye in the room locked on me.
I glanced down at my glass. It was empty.
The party devolved into a frenzy of shouting. Irena fled the room, followed by the women. My face burned with shame as I realized I’d just ruined her dress. My pulse raced, and my hands shook. What had I done?