Christmas’s at the Katsaros’

Josephine: I mess with Ann a lot.

It’s okay though. We’d known each other forever, and our families went back generations. I had a special way of making her angry. When she got angry with me – only with me, mind you – she got a wrinkle between her eyes that looked like her eyebrows joined together.

Back in fifth grade, before Ann was allowed to pluck and wax, her eyebrows were bushy. I’d beg her to frown until she got so angry that she’d frown even though she didn’t want to. The more she didn’t want to, the more she did it. We’d laugh and laugh until she finally laughed with us.

I never understood why the others were laughing, because their eyebrows weren’t much better. Mother made sure mine were plucked, waxed, trimmed, and shaped long before I’d heard the phrase: beauty is pain.

Now everyone, except Kaz, had lovely shaped, well‑waxed eyebrows, though I was still able to pull that frown from Ann, anytime I wanted.

I reckon she’s frowning right now, I thought.

Ann had a twin sister, Deb. They were from a wonderful Greek family, and it was probable the Katsaros’ were on the same ship as the McMarlin’s, sailing to the colonies. As you could tell from my name, I wasn’t Greek. “Good Irish stock,” Daddy always said after a couple of whiskies at Christmas.

“You’ve links to Saxon royalty, Josephine,” he’d slur, before pointing a shaky finger at me, saying, “You remember that.”

I never told anyone of course. Daddy was a bit coy about our heritage every other day of the year, and before I could ask him further questions, Mother butted in and had his man‑servant put him to bed. Then Christmas was over at the Marlin household, and I met up with the girls at Ann and Deb’s. The Katsaros’ knew how to throw a party. Their party didn’t end until the last person standing, fell. It was a true gathering of love and friendship.

Deb and Ann danced with their Pappous (Grandfather), twirling their long chestnut‑brown hair around, flicking anyone who happened to pass by. After a few drinks, the dance floor turned into a hybrid between a mosh pit of headbangers and line dancers, and they really let loose. It became a battlefield of hair, with all the Katsaros women, young and old, seeing who could hold out the longest. Ann and Deb had been the reigning champs three years in a row.

Their cousin Tony tried to get in on the action one year and, after his haircut, had to spend some time rehabilitating with past male contenders.

Not everyone went into the pit with loose hair; some kept it ponytailed or plaited… Ann and Deb went in with it loose because they understood that even though plaits hurt, they could also harm their owners.

In the end, loose hair won. The twins knew just how far to go; their hair never got caught up in someone’s plait, nor did they get whipped by someone’s strategically placed ponytail. I always knew when they were about to bring down the last contender – they got a glint in their dark brown eyes, and a wicked smile formed on their full lips as they went in for the kill – and oh, it was ugly.

I never took part; it was scary enough to watch, let alone get caught up in the throng. No one got a prize for winning, but I was sure they all practised throughout the year in the hopes that this year they’d bring down the twins.

Poor Kaz. She was the angriest person I’d ever met, and always sat by herself at the party.

Every year, Oma (the twins’ name for their grandmother – they couldn’t pronounce her name as toddlers. It was now a thing) sought her out. We had a running bet on how long it would take before Oma had Kaz smiling. It wasn’t an easy task. We just went by the nearest hour now.

It always ended with Oma removing her teeth, putting her arm around Kaz’s shoulder and pulling the entire chair, with Kaz sitting on it, next to hers. Then she got a glint in her eye and smiled as she poked her tongue out so close to Kaz’s ear, that when Kaz turned to see what she was doing… well, let’s just say Oma had licked Kaz’s face more times than I could count.

I wasn’t sure if it was our laughter or Oma’s work that made Kaz laugh, but eventually, Oma cracked Kaz, and everyone joined in the fun.

While Oma was busying herself with Kaz, Pappous caught a few z’s, and the twins got Pony up to dance.

Pony was like a new colt learning to walk for the first time. She was so tall, awkward, and dancing wasn’t her favourite activity. We all laughed watching them try to get her to Macarena without falling over herself… You’d think after all these years she’d be able to do it, but no… Every year she ended up on the ground laughing with whoever was lucky enough to be within reach as she went down.

The twins got quite cheeky as the night rolled on, and I watched as they worked the yard. That glint in their eyes shone brightly when they were about to mess with someone. They began by waking Pappous, who always fell asleep in his chair early in the evening. As he woke, everyone waited for his denial, then cheered and laughed while saying in unison with him, “I was just resting my eyes.”

Then it was gift time. The gift table was a twelve‑seater in the dining room, and if Father Christmas lived anywhere, it would most certainly be the Katsaros house.

Ma and Oma would call everyone into the house. Oma picked up a gift, read the label (it took a while, but it was all part of the celebrations), then called out the name. Everyone got a gift from Ann and Deb’s family. It was always jumpers, beanies, or scarves – in the middle of summer – but so worth the wait to have your name called.

“It’s all about the love,” the twins said. “We all knit or crochet something throughout the year, because Oma says, ‘It’s the gift you give when love is all you need to bring a family together.’”

Sure, we all got beautiful jewellery and custom‑made handbags, but the gift of love was what stayed in our hearts. They were the things I held dear. I had the scarf Ya‑Ya made for me last year, in my box of Christmas love I kept under my bed.

I loved the feel of the excitement brimming inside me. Every year, I waited with bated breath for my name to be called. I wasn’t sure why it was, but I valued the joy and the love shared in that moment of receiving a lopsided crocheted beanie more than anything.

After the gift‑giving, the dancing started again, along with lots of hugs and kisses. It was a real loving family Christmas.

It was so much nicer than my family’s Christmas, which involved a cheque in an envelope and Mother saying, “Buy yourself something nice, dear.”

Deb and Ann’s heritage stories were also way more in‑depth than the sliver of information I got from my parents. I didn’t mind saying theirs was more fantastic than mine could ever be. It was possible I could claim royalty, but their claim was tied to the divine.

They said, and I quote: “It’s a female thing in our family. Oma says we’re divine.”

We all worked together. Our days were filled with coffee breaks and what we laughingly referred to as ESMs (Emergency Staff Meetings). Our nights were full of laughter, microwaved popcorn, and bottles of Shiraz. We topped it all off with repeat showings of one of our favourite B‑grade movies.

Not only did we work together, but we also lived close to each other. Except for Kaz. I’d never been to Kaz’s place. I’d looked her address up in the staff files, but it didn’t exist. I couldn’t even find it on Google Maps.