It was Andreas who insisted the phone be answered that way. All of Athens knew his soon-to-be-wife as Lila Vardi and, besides, most calls to their apartment were for her anyway.

“Hi, darling. I was wondering when I’d hear from you. What time are you picking me up for our rescheduled meeting with the wedding planner?”

Something in Lila’s voice told him this wouldn’t be easy. “Uhh, sorry. Things just sort of got out of hand.”

“Tell me about it. Remember how cute we thought it was watching Tassaki trying to walk? Well, today he’s decided to become a 24/7 sprinter.”

Their son was named Tassos, after Andreas deceased father, but when a well-meaning American friend of Lila’s added “aki” to the engraving on the silver frame of a baby photo-thinking Tassaki meant “little Tassos”-the laughs it generated sealed his fate. Greeks were in love with nicknames and little Tassos was now affectionately known by the Greek word for “ashtray.” Andreas tried convincing Lila it could have been worse; one of Andreas’ sister’s boys was called kremidhas the other skordho, a combination of “onions” and “garlic.” Lila still didn’t like it, but had come to accept the inevitable.

“What has him so wound up?”

“I think he’s waiting for his daddy to come home.”

Andreas took that as a warning: MINE FIELD AHEAD.

“I’ll try to get home as soon as I can.”

“Wrong answer.”

“I know. But something’s come up and-”

“In other words you can’t make it to the meeting.”

Andreas prayed for sudden loss of phone service. “Sorry.”

There was a seemingly eternal pause.

“Andreas Kaldis, we’re getting married in six days no matter how hard you try to convince me otherwise. All I want to know is whether your son and I can expect to see you on Mykonos next Sunday afternoon?”

Andreas swallowed. “I’ll try to be home before Tassaki goes to sleep.”