By Ann Liska
Martina picks her way across the church parking lot, aware of her porous bones, the price she pays for hating milk all her life. The snow is pretty, but treacherous underfoot. She is wearing sensible flat-footed old lady boots, a red coat, and a purple hat. A grandchild is attached to her arm on either side. Martina feels a flash of annoyance. I’m not that old, she thinks. But then she holds onto the kids even tighter. After all, she has been living abroad for most of their young lives. They barely know her.
It’s Christmas Eve, and Martina is newly retired. She is sixty-four, not so old in modern terms, but her working life is over. Two days ago, she boarded Etihad Flight 151 for probably the last time. She has a little apartment not too close to and not too far from the kids; her belongings have yet to arrive, but she has her Arabian Mau cat, Sphinx, who made the trip in a special kennel with his own passport. Not bad for an Abu Dhabi street cat.
Church people rush up with hugs. “Martina! Thank God you’re home safe,” a woman gushes. A bunch of them crowd around her and Martina feels like she can’t breathe. She wants to push them all away. For Heaven’s sake, it’s not like she never came back, those years. Usually she was here at Christmas and Easter, same as most of them.
But, with Nina hanging onto her left side and David on her right, Martina smiles and nods, saying yes, yes, she is so happy to be home.
The prayers Martina prays are not what people might expect.
God, let me adjust back to life in my home country as well as my cat has.
Forgive me for wishing I still had a maid and didn’t have to clean the toilet myself.
Forgive me for not having missed the USA as much as I should have, and for grieving the loss of my expat life if it were a death.
After the service Martina pleads tiredness and retreats to her apartment, where Sphinx is lounging contentedly on the couch. She lies down next to him and falls asleep.
Both kids call to ask if she is ok and she says yes. Just tired. Jet lag.
On New Year’s Eve, there’s freezing rain. Sphinx ventures out for a few minutes and returns shivering. Martina cuddles him up in a warm towel. She was supposed to keep the grandkids overnight, but due to the weather the plans are cancelled. Maybe tomorrow, the kids say, we can all get together.
Near midnight, Martina fixes a snack and pours herself a glass of wine. She gives Sphinx a bit of tuna. Watching the ball drop on Times Square, she reminds herself that she is home.
