22. Marko

Chapter 22

Marko

T hank god Heath is a morning person.

He was downstairs before me, bright-eyed and ready to go. When I left him with my grandmother and a handful of other Croatian women, I could tell he’d already charmed her. She patted his arm as he sat at the table, shaping the cookies like a pro.

Seeing him with her and the other women I’ve known since I was a boy lodged a massive ache in my chest. He fit in so well, even with Vera, who only spoke broken English. He smiled and tried to paraphrase and make gestures, never getting frustrated.

I felt bad leaving him with the women like this. I wanted him with me all the time. To hold his hand and show him the things I did as a boy. I didn’t want him to feel like they had slotted him in a woman’s role in all this, either. The old country people had a way of gender stereotyping, but it wasn’t because of narrow thoughts. It was simply the way it was. I’d certainly helped her in the kitchen enough as a child.

I’m sure baka will give me the play-by-play tonight.

But right now, we have a lamb to roast.

“Marko!” One of my grandfather’s closest friends, Petar, slaps me on the back. “What have you been up to? I was so happy when Lucy said you were coming. Come sit with an old man.”

Petar already has a beer and motions for me to get him another one. When I sit across from at the picnic table without one of my own, he raises a bushy eyebrow.

“No pivo for you?” His Croatian is thick as he teases me for not drinking beer at 10 A.M.

“I usually work this time of day. Beer for breakfast was never really my thing.”

Petar, always blunt, just gets to the point. “Lucy says you found someone to make you happy. A man?”

Petar is the most understanding of the group. I wouldn’t say they’re homophobic. I remember shouting to them all at a lamb roast over Easter when I was thirteen that I liked boys and if they didn’t like it, they could pour their own damn beer. While I got in trouble for cursing at my elders, Petar rewarded me for being brave. The rest of them were polite, and it took years for me to feel accepted with them again, but they did.

“Yes, Petar. His name is Heath. Baka already calls him Hal.”

“That’s good. He’s in the kitchen with her. Did you want him here?”

“Yeah. I wanted him to see how we make the lamb and just be here like this, but he’s happy with her too. He fits everywhere.”

He pats my hand. “I’m happy you’re smiling.” He drinks from his beer as we watch the others at work. The lamb has been on the spit for hours already and basted with more butter than I’m comfortable to admit. Some of the younger men stand nearby, running pieces of bread along the cooking animal to soak the juices before eating. I still don’t understand the appeal of eating that.

“It’s good to be smiling. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this…free. ”

People have set up tables around the park, and soon all the other food will begin arriving. Every Croatian family in the area will bring their favourites. Fresh baked bread, homemade noodles for chicken soup that was made from scratch, cabbage rolls with minced ham, boiled potatoes, stuffed peppers, and enough sweets to last a year.

“Have you heard from your father?”

Shaking my head, I press my lips together.

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I heard he may be in town, Marko. I don’t know if he’ll stop by to see Lucy, but…he will be managed if he does.”

Petar’s disdain for my father is just as big as mine. He held my baka together while her son was convicted of a crime and his name splashed all over the papers. I changed my name to avoid some of the attention, but baka wasn’t that lucky. The entire community helped her, really. But I know Petar has always been sweet on my grandmother. He was the biggest pillar of support for us. There’s no doubt in my mind if my father shows his face here, he’d not be welcome.

My phone chirps with Heath’s sound, and I quickly swipe to read his message.

Tarzan: I think your grandma has said we’re about to bring food out. She said something about a wagon?

Not Jane: She wants to use the wagon from the garden. It should be out in the small shed.

Tarzan: And we put all the food on it?

Chuckling, I hit Call . It’s easier to talk this out.

“Hi.” Heath’s sweet voice brings a smile to my face. “Sorry. I’m not sure I understand.”

“We’re at a park two blocks down the street with the spit. They bring all the food here and we eat in the park. If the weather was crappy, we’d all just go to our individual homes.”

“Oh! So it’s like a community picnic! This is fun!”

Heath’s smile comes through the phone and I huff a small laugh.

“Yes, I guess it is. I know how you love picnics.”

“So, is this all supposed to fit on the wagon? There’s a lot of food here.”

“We eat big lunches. It’s our thing. I hope you’re hungry.”

“If I wasn’t, I’d eat anyway. I’ve already sampled everything.”

Heath laughs, but my heart melts. Baka would never allow tasting. She’d always make us wait. Letting him eat already doesn’t seem like much to him, but it is to me.

“Let me know if you need help. I can run back if needed.” My grandmother’s voice in the background raises and Heath chuckles.

“I think she told me to get off the phone and come help.”

“She did. See you soon, ljubavi .”

Ending the call, I return the phone to my pocket to find Petar grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat .

“Make sure you introduce us properly when he gets here.” Petar excuses himself to the washroom and I walk back to the spit to help with removing the lamb and carving it. Someone hands me an apron and four of us get to work .

These men are closer to my age, born here and returning to visit elderly parents and extended family. I don’t remember their names, but they’re still familiar. We settle into easy chatter, English mixed with Croatian as we pile plates high with the roasted meat and connect over food and our shared heritage.

I’ve missed this. For too many years, I’ve stayed away. Ashamed for what my dad did, knowing some of these families were affected by his thievery. It never felt comfortable for me to join these celebrations because I wrongly assumed I’d be an outcast.

Once we’ve finished carving, one man grabs a large olive oil bottle with no label and several plastic shot glasses.

“We’ve not had enough brandy today! My dad made this one.”

He pours us all a shot and we toast to health and happiness.

“? ivjeli!”

“Oh, that sounds fun! What are you toasting?”

Heath’s hand on my arm startles me. I didn’t even know he had arrived.

“A toast to happiness and health.” I press a soft kiss to his cheek. “A good wishes kind of thing. Did you want to try the brandy?”

“Of course I do!”

Someone passes a shot his way, and he raises it with a smile and tries his best to say the toast. Then he swallows back the whole shot of brandy.

“Oh, good lord! What did you just have me drink!? You said it was brandy. That tastes like gasoline that’s on fire.” He coughs and sputters as the other men laugh and I find something non-alcoholic for him, which is difficult because we love our alcohol at these parties. After finding some juice boxes nearby, I poke the straw in it and hand it to him .

“It’s not that kind of shot. You’re supposed to sip it.”

Heath narrows his eyes. “Next time warn a guy. That shit is nasty.” He rubs at his chest. “Fuck, I think it corroded my guts. How do you drink that?”

“I guess I’m used to it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just…don’t give me anything gross. I might puke.” He waves a hand at the tables with all the food dishes. “Tell me what all the food is.”

The park is full of at least fifty people and the food tables are exploding with all the favourites. Heath goes up and down the tables and takes a little of almost everything. He turned his nose up at the brown beans and spaghetti. Not that I blame him.

Finally, with full plates of food, we join Petar and baka at a table.

“Hal! Do you like red wine?” Baka sets a glass in front of him before he answers.

“I’m not a big wine drinker, but I’ll try it.”

“Heath, this is a family friend, Petar.”

Heath moves to get up to greet him but Petar waves him down.

“Eat first. Talk later. But it’s nice to meet you. Any friend of Marko and Lucy’s is a friend of mine.”

The four of us enjoy the food while someone turns up a radio with music. The men who’ve been here since 6 A.M. cooking the lamb are well into being hammered and dance along to it, laughing and drinking more.

Heath has seconds and raves over how good certain foods are. Baka glows with his praise even if it was something she didn’t make.

And he loves the wine .

As Petar pulls another bottle from a box next to him and tops up Heath’s glass, I’m trying to add up how much he’s had.

“You guys sure know how to throw a party. And cook! Wow! How often do you do this kind of get together? I love food.”

“We try for twice a year.” Petar tops up Heath’s wine glass again, and it’s almost overflowing. Heath stretches forward and slurps from the cup before lifting it in his hand. “But usually it’s only once. We’re getting older, so it’s harder. The younger ones move away and they don’t continue it.”

“Oh. That’s sad.” Heath swivels to me, wine sloshing in his now half-empty cup. How fast is he drinking this stuff? “Zane will make you lamb. Remember I asked, but it was too short of notice.” He leans forward to kiss me. “Maybe that’s what I’ll call you. My little lamb.”

My baka chuckles as she watches us and I gently take Heath’s hand, which is fiddling with the buttons on my shirt absently.

“I need to thank you, Lucy. Your grandson is ah-mazing. Did he tell you my peacock bit him?”

“Peacock?” Petar furrows his brows. “Like a bird?”

“Yes!” Heath shouts entirely too loud and a few people turn to listen. “Turns out I couldn’t satisfy his sex drive and he needed to go to a stud farm.” He frowns as he gestures for Petar to add more wine in his glass. “Do you think I could ever make the stuffed peppers like Marica?”

I’ll have to make a note for future Croatian gatherings that Heath needs to monitor his alcohol consumption better. I don’t think he realizes most of this stuff is homemade and is more potent than anything he’s used to .

Petar is amused and winks at me, a huge smile on his face as Heath rambles on. Baka sips her wine, hiding a smile, and I keep removing his wandering hands, which is a shame. But it’s awkward being groped in front of your grandmother.

“Mama. Can we talk?”

The bile rises in my throat and my spine stiffens at the sound of my father’s voice.

“You’re not welcome here, Ivica,” Petar grates as he stands.

“I can talk to my mother. It doesn’t concern you.”

“You’re the guy who put his son through hell? Marko, this is your dad?” Heath bounces from the table with an ease I didn’t expect, considering his level of intoxication.

“Who the hell are you to talk about me like that?”

Standing to join Heath, I face my father for the first time since he went to prison. He’s been free for two years, but I’ve avoided him until now. His hair has thinned, and he carries a pot belly that he never used to. He was always so vain and it’s odd seeing him not perfectly put together and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I idolized this man once. Now I wish he didn’t exist.

“Jura, you look well.”

“It’s Marko. Why are you here?”

My grandmother speaks sharply in Croatian, telling my father if he wants to talk to come by the house later. Her disapproval of him being here is clear in her tone. She’s always struggled with the balance of loving her son and protecting me. As a mostly private person, I know she’d prefer this conversation in away from curious eyes.

“I thought you’d be taller,” Heath blurts as he gestures to my father. “Marko is so tall and strong. And kind. He’s not like you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

Heath steps up and pokes him in the chest. “I know enough to not like you.”

My father grabs Heath’s wrist.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” I growl and step between them. I’m not a man to condone violence, but if he even thinks of throwing a punch at me or Heath, I will lay him out without a second thought.

By now, the rest of the people gathered have noticed what’s going on and a small group has formed behind us.

“You should go, Ivica. Nobody wants you here. You heard your mother.” It’s a man from a family my dad fleeced. John, I think.

My dad glances at my baka with a nod. “I’ll see you this evening then, mama.”

“Not if we can help it!” Heath calls out and a few laughs sound.

“ Bako ?”

We exchange a glance as she sips her wine, completely unfazed.

“I’m fine. He can have his chance to talk away from the village later.”

“I need more apple strudel." Heath declares. "Lucy makes a killer strudel. I’ll be back.”

Heath leaves us watching after him. He gets sidetracked and speaks with a woman for a few minutes before finally finding the strudel and eating it as he stands next to the table.

“He’s going to have a killer hangover,” Petar says with a hearty laugh. “But he’s loyal. He loves you.”

We watch as Heath dances with a few of the younger men and women, still laughing like he has zero fucks to give to anything. His gaze catches mine and he raises his piece of apple strudel in my direction before taking a bite, all while dancing.

“I like Hal.”

I snort a laugh as my grandmother’s gaze collides with mine. Her approval means everything to me and knowing she likes Heath is the best gift I could ask for.

“Why don’t you take him back early so he can sleep off a bit of the alcohol? We’ll catch up tonight.”

Having some alone time with Heath sounds like a great idea.

Especially in an empty house.