Page 132 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“Come on, Glory, we have to get moving.” Blake held the front door open for me. I’d already given my goodbye kisses and ear scratches to Princess Miranda. Our only kitty, she held court over our house. We were her people and she allowed us to live here. Period. Georgie Boy, on the other hand, trotted out of the kitchen with Benji, Roddy, and Clovis on his heels. I sort of had a problem. Whenever one of our animals got put on death row, I made it my mission to rehome them. If I couldn’t rehome them with others, then I rehomed them with us. Hence Benji, Roddy, and Clovis. All mixed breed sweethearts.

Blake loved me. We had all this property. And Maisie and Clinton housesat for us when I got a wild hair to travel. What? Wally needed to meet his goddaughter. Cheryl and Duane needed to hold our little darling—their words, not mine. I wasn’tthatfull of myself.

Each of our boys got kisses and ear scratches. Maisie waved us off. Blake already had Maria hooked in her carrier.

“Bye,” I said, waving to Maisie and the fur babies as I shuffled out the door. Blake restrained from rolling his eyes at me, but he smirked.

“We have a plane to catch. If we’re late, that’s on you.”

“We won’t be late.”

We were a little late. But the good thing was the jet couldn’t leave without us. Flying the three of us to Poland private was so much nicer than even flying first class commercial.

You heard that right.Poland. We were the gift for my Grandma Maria’s eightieth birthday. Well, my aunts said we all were the gifts, but I knew better. Getting to meet her namesake, nowthatwas the gift.

Eleven hours after takeoff, we landed in Warsaw, Poland. Blake had the good sense to download an app to teach himself Polish. I had the good sense to copy him, downloading the same app to brush up on my skills.

My great-aunt Antonina stood in the terminal waving her fool head off at us. Antonina, fifteen years younger than my grandmother, had the energy of a thirty-year-old.

“Ciotka Antonina!” I shouted. I hadn’t seen her since my grandma moved back here after dad died, but no one forgot Antonina, not her looks—which if I had to give a descriptor, could be described as a bohemian hippie—nor her personality—already stated, that of a thirty-year-old, independent woman, even though she’d been married to my Uncle Alfred for, like, forty-five years—nor her face, which looked exactly like my grandma’s.

Ciotkameantaunt, by the way. Pronouncedchyotka.Babciameantgrandmother. I called my grandma “Baba.” Baba Maria. And I couldn’t wait to see her again.

Uncle Alfred spoke English fluently. They’d met in college in the States. Antonina followed my grandmother there when she’d gotten old enough. All the uncles, or,wujek—pronouncedvoo-yek—stayed in the old country.

Now keep that in mind because once we got back to Zielona Dolina, they exclusively answered towujek. No English. ZielonaDolina might not actually be the name of the town. It meantGreen Glen, as the town sat at the edge of a green glen, that my grandmother had sworn all my life held magic and stayed green all year round. But I’dnever actuallyfound a Zielona Dolina on the map, so maybe she’d simply called it that herself, or maybe it had once been named that generations ago. Generational names meant more in these parts than official anything.

Alfred’s little Toyota Corolla, yes, my Polish uncle drove a Toyota Corolla, hardly had enough room for the five of us. My poor husband sat with his knees in his chest from the lack of leg room—the man was tall, remember. But we were able to secure Maria’s car seat between Blake and me in the back. What a well-traveled little girl. An old hat by this point, she remained unflustered by international travel. Maybe she slept a little more in the beginning of our trips, but she never fussed. Never. Icould notwait to show off my girl.

The roads turned from wide to narrow, and then from pavement to dirt. Bumpy, bumpy dirt. Maria giggled. It took several hours, a bottle, and two diaper changes to get to the family farm.

“Now to be clear, Baba knows nothing about our arrival, correct?”

“Not a clue. Trust me, it’s been hard keeping this from my sister. She has insights.”

“Insights?” Blake asked.

“She knows things. Mind powers.”

“Ahh… Then Gloria is definitely related,” my husband replied. Alfred laughed. Antonina nodded knowingly.

I cracked a smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said low and I saw the glint in his wickedly smiling dark eyes.

At the point where my butt couldn’t handle one more bump, Alfred clicked on his blinker… for what? There wasn’t a car oreven a wagon anywhere in our vicinity. Still, he clicked on his blinker and turned to drive up a dirt path that stopped at the most beautiful, old farmhouse.

Gasp. I blinked back the tears. My dad had to be looking down on me smiling, knowing I’d made it back here. We’d traveled here once when I was a little girl. My great-grandmother Beata passed away and we’d flown in for the funeral. My dad, my mom, Baba, and I all made the trip. I met my dad’s brother for the first time that visit too. He lived the carefree single life in California, or he’d lived it back then. With me as Baba’s only grandchild, she’d chosen to live with us. It just got too hard for her after my dad passed. No parent wanted to outlive their child.

But onto happier memories, the place looked exactly as I remembered. Not one clay roof tile or painted spindle differed from my memory. “Blake,” I whisper-shouted, reaching over our daughter to squeeze his hand.

When Alfred parked the front door flung open and old men flooded out of the house. My grandmother’s brothers and nephews. Women wearing kerchiefs tied around their heads, in peasant blouses and long skirts, filed out slower. One woman walked down the stoop wiping her hands on a raggedy towel.

Antonina and Alfred climbed out of the car first. Blake unhooked our girl from her seat and met me around the front of the car.

“What’s going on?” my grandmother called out, but she called it in Polish, not English. The translation was mine. You’re welcome. She stepped out onto the top stoop and the family parted like the Red Sea. Baba’s eyes grew seven sizes as she clasped her hands over her heart, gasping for breath, and I worried for a second that my appearance here might’ve triggered a heart attack.

“Baba,” I called out, taking a step forward, but there was no need. My grandmother pushed past and practically leapt over any person that separated her from me.

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