Oh shit oh shit, why did I drop that? Where am I going with this? Think of something quick.I scramble out, “I wish I could cover the parade, but big events like that go to more seasoned reporters.”
I’m lucky my voice didn’t crack or I didn’t gulp, and that was an okay save, but it’s still super awkward to yank out of the clear blue sky; we’re in an Armenian cooking class making football kuftes, and I’m talking about gay pride suddenly. Plus, it’s a damn lie. I’ve never shown off my gay pride; I’m being as fake as Kiki’s tan.
“Oh yeah?” Erebuni asks, and now she sounds nervous, probably because I’m making conversation like I’m baiting her or something weird. I attempt to beam waves of normalness at her, but I don’t think life works like that.Lord, please help me save this. I’m sorry about twenty years ago; I’m sorry I made Mrs. Nvart red in the face about the whole dinosaur thing.
Then there’s a movement to my right by the doors, and there’s Raffi. Raffi G. He’s leaning against the doorframe and generally addresses the room. “What’d I miss?” he says, and lends us all a smile that’d make Instagram models weep with envy. And I could be imagining it, but I swear I hear a couple of girly sighs from behind me.
Raffi wasn’t on the RSVP list, but then again, who’s that consistently on top of updating their attendance? Then, with a little lurch in my stomach, I realize he DMed me this afternoon and I never responded to his last message.
Referring to a matcha flat lay I posted earlier today, he said,Matcha lattes are nice, but vai jan, that selfie. More of those please.
He was aching with that “Vai jan.” It’s almost like saying, “Oh baby,” and I’m not ashamed to say, it turned me on a little bit.
Still, though, I sent him a polite, arm’s-lengthThanks, there will be more.I’m not desperate. When he wrote back,better beI never responded. At the time, that seemed okay. Like, really, what am I going to say to that? But now seeing him in person makes me feel like I did something wrong.
Vartouhi hurries across the room, and I’m kind of excited to see the smackdown that only an old lady with no fucks left to give can dish, because he is super late and has interrupted the class. But instead she reaches up on her tiptoes and snatches his face in her hands and gives him two kisses.
“Tantig.” He laughs through his squeezed face.
Then Vartouhi goes on to lovingly chide him about being a naughty boy (using the best word: “charageegee”) for being late and then pinches his cheek and calls him her little beauty. I guess walking late into your great-aunt’s—I assume, or family friend, since “tantig” can be used liberally—does earn you the type of castigation you’d give a mischievous puppy.
“Keedem, Tantig. I stayed late in the office helping my last patient. A little girl with juvenile arthritis,” he tells her, but looks up and catches my eye. I smile nervously and glance down at the raw kufte. And he’s a pediatrician too? A saint with a taste for Gucci.
While he’s speaking, Kiki rushes forward, and she puts her hand on her heart when she hears Raffi mention his patient. She says, “So brave.”
I feel Raffi’s gaze on me again, and the whole awkward conversation with Erebuni, plus seeing Raffi and thinking about his insistence that I share more photos of myself with him, is a lot. I need to get out for a moment and regroup. I whisper out of the side of my mouth, “Bathroom. Be back.” I hope she won’t volunteer to come with me (though I do, a teeny bit, hope she’ll come with me and I’ll scoop her face in my hands and kiss her right on the mouth; ohhh, I love a bathroom tryst). But she just nods, and I sneak out the back so that I don’t have to walk past Raffi.
I’m in the atrium right outside the kitchen. It’s very unassuming when it’s not decorated—just an old hardwood floor, cream walls, a couple of frames showcasing the school’s donors, everything smelling mildly of bleach. One of the front doors is open, and San Francisco’s fog is blasting through, making me realize I was like a frog being slowly boiled alive back in the kitchen, not noticing how hot it was in there.
As I pace, I’m giving myself a pep talk in my head.Okay, Raffi is here, and he sort of likes you. That’s fine. You owe him nothing. But you like Erebuni, and she’s always super nice to you and including you in things, and you just mentioned pride, so hopefully she gets the hint? But she doesn’t seem to like Raffi, and flirting with him will probably be bad if you want anything to start up with Erebuni. But. Do you? That would be a road uncharted, one that’s certain to cause bumps. And you’re still not certain she likes you in any way besides as a friend.
I’m on the threshold of the bathroom’s open door when a sly voice says, “Reporter girl.”
Raffi’s suddenly there, dangerously close to me, and I’m not sure how I didn’t hear him sneaking up from behind. He’s got this look in his eyes, like not only does he know he wants me, but he knows I want him. I don’t think he should be so sure. His jawlineis fucking breathtaking, though. And almost against my will I feel my arm hairs prickle with desire. I want to run my fingers along it, through his thick hair, want him to wrap his arms around me and tell me I’m beautiful. Because if someone that hot says it, it must be true.
“You caught me,” I say, and I sound way too breathless.
He steps closer. We’re in this small alcove, me backed against the women’s bathroom and him against the men’s. The smell of bleach is stronger. “You’ve been teasing me on Insta,” he says, a light rebuke.
“Me? No I—I don’t tease.” I try to pull some strength out of the deep recesses of my body. “We don’t really know each other, what’s there to tease?”
He’s got his flirty salesman voice on. “So let’s get to know each other. A date. I bet you want a date, you old-fashioned girl.”
“Uhhh,” I say, and cough out a nervous laugh, buying time. This feels wrong. I mean, yeah, he’s ridiculously hot and is clearly into me, and he’s a savior doctor, and my mom and Diana would go nuts over me being with him. So I should say yes. This is the whole point: Raffi is the golden goose I need to take home. He’s leaning in closer. His gum, it’s spearmint. Unable to stand how little distance there is between us, I avert my eyes from him, that wolfish grin. There’s a stain on the wall shaped like a mosquito; even the bleach couldn’t get it off.
“I can’t, I’m sorry, it’s not you.” It is, though, it’s every alarm bell in my head screamingNOat me. His face turns. I see the sour disappointment and, afraid it’s going to spread uncontrollably, I continue, “You’re hot and charming and seriously, you could get any girl you want. I’m in a weird place right now.” He looks confused, so the word vomit continues, “Honestly I sort of still havea boyfriend. I’m semi-engaged. Engaged. He proposed to me before he left on a trip to Germany.”
His eyes soften, and he actually laughs. “Engaged. That makes sense. How else could you resist the charms of Raffi G?”
He confirmed what I suspected, that he’d respect another man having “claim” to me. Ugh. Something else is happening, too. Like, now that he’s leaned in so close, breathed his gum breath on me, it’s like he passed me the antibodies to his ferocious good looks, and I’m immune to them, which is rendering Raffi in a monstrously unflattering light. A narcissistic, sexist dull yellow.
“All right, reporter girl. I bid you adieu. Now, go on, powder your nose.” He gestures toward the bathroom door.
“And you go and drain the lizard,” I say, wanting to show in some tiny way that I can be subversive. Not exactly going to win an award for that one, but at least I didn’t reply with a “tee-hee.”
“No need, I came here for you,” he says, and struts away, back toward the kitchen.
What thefaaaaackjust happened. I’m about to text Diana.Wtf!! Raffi asked me out!
