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14. Megan

I opened my tired eyes and squinted at the sun streaming through Joe's bedroom window. It was low in the sky, telling me it was much earlier than I would normally wake up. I stole a glance at a sleeping Joe and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead, before detangling myself from his arms. The clanging noises coming from the kitchen below us weren't drowned out by his gentle snoring.

I slipped on my jeans and quietly crept from his bedroom, careful not to disturb him. I hesitated at the door, unsure of myself and my surroundings. The smell of coffee wafting up the stairs tempted me to go down without him. What was my alternative after all? Lie, staring at the ceiling and contemplate the mess my family life had become? Seriously, not tempting. And with Joe's tendencies to sleep to midday, my stomach growling forced me towards the stairs and I tentatively padded down towards the kitchen.

Joe's mother and Grandmother were in there, clattering pots and pans, arguing good-naturedly. I hesitated in the doorway, taking in the scene before me.

"I'm not having this same argument for the twenty fifth year in a row, Sarah," Joe's mother stated, exasperated "It's Thanksgiving. We're having turkey."

"Well, don't expect me to eat that chazeiri," Sarah returned emphatically.

"It's not rubbish. It's good enough for you every other week," her voice was muffled from somewhere in the depths of the fridge.

"I will make gefilte fish. Good Jewish food," Sarah replied as she turned and spotted me hovering in the door. There was an amused glint in her eye, and she gave me a conspirators wink.

"I'll get the Maalox ready for you now then, will I?" Joe's mother threw back at her. "You don't even like fish, Sarah." She sighed heavily.

Sarah's reply was a cackle as she gestured me into the kitchen

"Good morning, sheine maidele," Sarah said, pinching my cheek

I smiled at her, making a mental note to ask Joe if that was an insult.

"Don't worry that's not an insult," Joe's mother assured me, as though reading my mind. "Coffee?" she asked, already pouring me a cup.

I accepted it gratefully.

"I didn't get a chance to say sorry and thank you last night, Mrs Trohman," I sat down at the breakfast bar. "I didn't mean to gatecrash Thanksgiving."

"First of all, it's Helen. And secondly, there's no need to apologise. Joe seems very taken with you, Megan. And I trust his judgement." She smiled warmly at me again.

"Well, thank you, Helen. No more drama for today, I promise," I rolled my eyes and shot her a wry grin.

"Ah, what's family without drama," Sarah interrupted, patting my hand. "You can help with the food, and tell Bubbe all about it. But first, my lazy boys need to get out of bed."

And with that she was gone, stomping up the stairs, shouting at Joe and his father in a mixture of pure Chicago and Yiddish.

"She seems quite taken with you too," Helen raised an eyebrow at me. "Quite a feat, Megan. It took her five years to accept me into the family."

I looked at her in shock. "I don't mean to push my way in, I haven't known Joe very long..." she cut me off.

"Ah, nonsense. I see the way he looks at you. I see the way you look at him," a dreamy look came over her face "just the way I looked at his father when I knew he was the one." She watched my face carefully and I blushed under her scrutiny. "When times get hard, and they stick by you, you know it's time to admit it," she continued with authority.

"I do love him, Helen. But who knows what might happen. My father will do anything to make sure I end up in an 'appropriate' relationship. And as far as he's concerned, Joe isn't that," I finished, an apology in my tone, to let her know that wasn't the way I thought, too.

"If he's anything like his father, that will only make Joe fight harder," she sat across from me, her face serious now. "When I met David, Joe's father, his father forbade him from seeing me. I wasn't Jewish so I wasn't good enough for his son. David didn't speak to his father for four years after we got married. He refused to see Joe when he was born. Sarah would sneak over to the house whenever his back was turned. It was hard to watch David alienate himself from his family for me. But David says to this day he never regretted marrying me. He only regrets that his father was so pig-headed that he never met his grandchildren." Helen's face was sad. There was regret in her eyes.

"But you regret that you took him away from his family?" I asked her gently.

"A little. Things would have been so much easier if he had just accepted me. But that was his choice. His bad choice. Sarah told me at his funeral that it broke his heart when David left. But it was his own prejudice that drove them apart." Helen sighed. "We both swore that day that we would support our children, no matter what."

I already adored this woman. I felt tears of gratitude spring to my eyes. I felt more welcome in her home that I did in my father's house. I spontaneously reached across the table and hugged her. She was a little taken aback, but hugged me back all the same.

"Thank you, Helen," I whispered, my voice loaded with emotion.

"But I haven't done anything, dear," she replied.



"Yes, you have. More than you know," I nodded with conviction as I released her from our hug.

"Hey, what's this?" I heard a sleepy voice ask from behind me. Joe's arms engulfed me from behind and I rested back against him.

"Nothing. Just female bonding," I sighed contentedly, turning my face up to his for a good morning kiss. He pecked my lips.

"I love you," I whispered to him, pecking his lips again.

"Ah, enough of the sappy stuff," Sarah protested as she came hurrying back into the kitchen. "We have food to make," she made a shooing gesture at Joe, sending him scurrying from his place at the counter.

They made no exception for me. The women of the house made the food for the men to eat. End of story. The feminist in me wanted to protest and exclaim that Emily Pankhurst would be spinning in her grave. But the bigger part of me, the part that craved this close family life was shouting louder "Emily who?" I threw myself into my stuffing. I listened with amazement at Bubbe's (she made me call her that) stories and cried with laughter at her and Helen's gentle arguing.

Joe ventured in once or twice to check I was ok, but by the third time I was smacking his hand away from the food and telling him to get out, prompting Bubbe to pinch my cheek with pride.

Five hours later, I dragged myself upstairs to shower and change. I was exhausted, but the day had barely started. I rifled through the contents of my suitcase, flinging shirts and skirts everywhere.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Joe exclaimed from the safety of the door, ducking as a stiletto flew in his general direction.

"I have nothing appropriate for dinner," I sighed in exasperation, leaning back on my heels.

He looked at me in amazement. "What do you mean? Just wear your regular clothes," he stated calmly.

"But, everything just looks so...so slutty," I admitted in defeat.

"You never look slutty," he said simply.

"But, everything is so short, or so tight or just plain wrong," I held up a tiny black mini skirt for his inspection, just to prove my point.

He crouched down beside me. "Megan, they don't care what you wear. Wear whatever you feel comfortable in. Wear jeans, wear a dress, wear your pyjamas. It doesn't matter," he lifted my chin as he spoke to me with utter sincerity. "Besides, you haven't met my brother's girlfriend yet. Now SHE is slutty," he laughed lightly.

I looked into his eyes and felt calm. I felt my heart lurch. I had never experienced this depth of feeling about anyone before. I actually felt like my heart was hurting. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as he continued to look at me. He placed a gentle kiss on my lips and stood up.

"I'll see you downstairs in five minutes," he raised his eyebrows "wearing SOMETHING. Anything."

I did as I was told. I put on the longest skirt I owned, which at least covered my backside and I finally settled on a plain black t-shirt that covered my belly almost completely. I wouldn't exactly say I looked respectable, but I was passable. A little bronzer and a slick of lip-gloss and I was ready.

I needn't have worried. When I got downstairs, we had new arrivals, who I presumed to be Joe's brother and his girlfriend. And he was not kidding when he said she was slutty. She wore a skirt - or was it a belt - which made mine look almost conservative, with a piece of cloth barely containing her huge bosom. Her hair was teased to within an inch of it's life and her trowelled on make-up was reminiscent of a drag queen. I stifled a laugh when Joe threw me a look that just said 'I told you so.'

"Mikey, let me introduce you to Megan, my girlfriend," Joe steered him in my direction.

A huge smile lit up Mikey's face. He looked nothing like Joe.

"Ah, so you're the infamous Megan. You providing the entertainment later?. A little dancing to spice things up?" he grinned at me.

I felt my face fall immediately. How did he know about that? Had Joe been bragging about me to his brother? I turned accusatory eyes on Joe. He looked at me with a puzzled expression.

"You told him?" I exclaimed a little louder than I intended.

"Well, yeah. He asked where we met and Dad told him..." Joe stuttered out.

"You told your father?" my voice rose another octave, making everyone else in the room turn to look at us.

"Told me what?" Joe's father interjected.

"Joe, what the hell were you thinking?" I cried, embarrassment flaming my cheeks.

"Uh, nothing. I guess I didn't really think much about it..." he looked genuinely puzzled at my response.

"You didn't think much about telling your father that your girlfriend is a pole dancer?" I was completely incredulous.

"We've always encouraged the boys to be straight with us, Megan," Joe's father interrupted me. "We don't have a problem with what you do. A means to an end, right? And, hey, we were all young once." He shrugged his shoulders and chuckled lightly at his own joke.

Clearly, I was the only one who had a problem with this. Was I the only prude here? Was I the only person who found it inappropriate that Joe was dating a pole dancer?

"Admittedly, we thought it best not to tell my mother," David continued after a few moments thought. "She might be open minded, but this was just a little too much. So if she asks, you help out at a homeless shelter some nights."

These people were almost too good to be true. I stared at him for a few moments more, before a bewildered laugh escaped my lips.

Mikey looked worriedly at me. "Hey, no offence meant," he raised his hands in apology.

"Um, none taken, I don't think," I shook my head and furrowed my brow.

Mikey introduced me to his girlfriend, Lola. And despite her appearance, she was the sweetest girl I had ever met. Another lesson about books and covers learnt today. As we sat down to dinner, I sighed contentedly, and smiled lovingly at Joe.

I hadn't thought about my father for hours. I hadn't worried once what he would think of Joe's family.

Bubbe took a slug from her wine glass. Helen raised her eyebrows at her.

"What? It's Thanksgiving," Bubbe exclaimed "maybe I'm an American for today."

Helen snorted, but couldn't hide the laughter in her eyes.

"Lechaim," David raised his wine glass and we all followed suit.

"Slainte," I replied, making Bubbe cackle with laughter as I took a long drink from my glass.

"Ah, the Irish are here," she chuckled.

Yes they were. Here to stay.

I hoped.





AN: I sincerely apologise to any Jewish readers if I've got this horrendously wrong. I'm making it up as I go along (with a little help from Google) Please feel free to verbally abuse me if I've offended you :-) . Or alternatively just tell me and I'll fix it.