Matt reached for my purple suitcase off the luggage carousel. “She’s coming to get us.”
When we reached the curb outside of LAX, a maroon minivan pulled up. “That’s her.”
Matt slid the large door open and threw his arms out to his sides. “Mama!”
She beamed with happiness. “Matthias, I’ve missed you! Get in here, you two.”
“Mom, this is Grace,” Matt said. I stood by, nervously as he loaded the luggage into the back.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Grace. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Aletha.” She reached out and took my hand in hers. She had a subtle Greek accent and was small-boned, with exaggerated but beautiful features and the same perfect nose as Matt. Her dark hair was streaked through with gray, and she wore a long, thin scarf wrapped around her neck so many times that it looked like a high-necked sweater.
“Nice to meet you too, Aletha.”
Matt got into the front seat and I buckled up in the middle bench seat in the back. The third-row bench seat that was normally in minivans had been replaced with art supplies, including a large metal pottery wheel.
“Matthias, I just picked up that wheel in the back for pennies. I need you to set it up in The Louvre; it’s too heavy for me.”
“Of course, Mom.”
She shot a glance his way and smiled radiantly. “No more Mama? Is my son too old to call me Mama?”
“Mama,” Matt said in a squeaky baby voice.
“You silly boy.” There was an ease between them. I wished my mother and I had that kind of relationship.
“So, Grace, Matthias tells me you’re a musician?”
“Yes, I’m studying music.”
“The cello, is it?”
“Yes, but I can play other instruments, too. I’m just best at the cello.”
“Well, Matt’s father has a beautiful grand piano at his house. You must play for them while you’re there. It would be a shame for that instrument to live out its life as a piece of furniture.”
“I agree,” Matt chimed in.
“Maybe I will. I’ll have to think of something to play that they’ll like.” I wasn’t sure if I liked that idea, though. From what I knew of Matt’s family, they sounded judgmental toward artists of any sort.
A short while later, we pulled into a long, narrow driveway next to a small but charming Craftsman bungalow, with green wooden shingles and maroon-painted double-hung windows.
The front yard looked like an English garden of wild, waist-high plants but it was manicured enough so it appeared more enchanting than overgrown. The air was crisp but it was nowhere near as freezing as New York.
“This place is so neat,” I said, stepping onto the path.
“Now that my boys are big, I have a lot of time on my hands to putter around in the garden.” Aletha unlocked the front door, flanked by bronze mica sconces. “Come on, Grace, I’ll show you to your room. Matthias, please get the wheel, honey.” We stepped into the house as Matt ran back to the minivan.
I didn’t know what to expect. Was she going to give me the third degree or state the house rules? I felt terribly out of place and nervous. I stumbled into the guest room behind her, and she immediately opened the window to let in some fresh air—the same thing Matt did upon entering a room. They were so similar in their graceful movements, their easy temperaments. It made me wonder what traits Matt had gotten from his father, if any.
She came toward me and clutched my arms. My stomach dropped.
She smiled warmly, “No need to be nervous. I wanted a moment to tell you that Matthias seems so happy lately, and I imagine that has something to do with you.”
“Oh?” I tried to be cool.
“Well, I just want to say welcome to my home.”
I set down my suitcase and noticed that she had set Matt’s bag in the corner. “Thank you so much for having me, Aletha. I feel really lucky that Matt was able to bring me out here for the holidays.” I pointed to the double bed, covered in a floral quilt. “Is this where I’ll be sleeping?”
“Yes, I think you two will be comfortable here. Matthias loves this bed.”
I swallowed. You two. My eyeballs felt dry and pasty, as if I hadn’t blinked in a while. Maybe I hadn’t. Aletha laughed and then pulled me in for a hug. “Oh, Grace,” she said, “Sweet Grace. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
She left the room with me standing there, stunned. I plopped onto the bed, exhausted.
LATER THAT EVENING, after a long nap, Matt and I sat at the oak dining table while Aletha served us steaming bowls of hot, fragrant chicken soup.
“Have you spoken to Alexander?” she asked Matt after she brought the bowls to the table.
“No.”
She looked up from her soup and squinted over square spectacles balanced on the end of her nose. She looked incensed, but I didn’t know her well enough to tell for sure.
“I haven’t, Mom. Alex and I didn’t have a great talk the last time I saw him.”
She put her fork down, glanced at me, then back to Matt. “You’re brothers. You two were inseparable as boys. What’s happened to this family?” Her voice cracked.
Matt looked affronted before his expression softened. “I’ll talk to him, Mom.” He reached his hand out to her. She took it and kissed the back of it then let him go. “It’s just that I can’t help but feel that people like Alex are holding us back as a species. He wears pink shorts and polo shirts, and he actually refers to himself as an Adonis.” Matt grinned.