I change back into my normal clothes and follow her. The spot is in downtown San Francisco, in a light-filled loft on the top floor of a ten-story building, giving us a view of Union Square and its hundreds of tourists bustling about.
Diana’s fingers flit through hangers, each one smacking decisively as she moves on to the next. She pulls out a long chiffon dress and drapes it over her arm. Some of the other tantigs are roaming around the store, so now’s my chance. I whisper, “I’ve been meaning to tell you. Raffi asked me out. Uh, earlier this week.”
She yanks a dress out so hard, the hanger flies off and clatters to the ground. “What?” she scream-whispers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
No one seems to have noticed us. “Because I...”
Am really into someone else, a woman, and Mom would never cheer for that. And you? I’m not sure if you’d understand. I bend to pick up the hanger. “I didn’t want you all to make a big deal out of it.”
She huffs, and a lock of her hair flies. I continue, “And also because I turned him down.”
Diana’s glare is like barbed wire. “Um, excuse me? Why would you do that?”
Like he’s a gem that can’t possibly have any imperfections, so if I turned him down, it’s because of some fault of mine. I love my family, but sometimes their lack of progressivism grates on me. This is going to be an uphill battle, I feel it. I try for the facts. “He was so sleazy, D. He leaned in way too close and called me an old-fashioned girl, and he was too pushy, like he wouldn’t accept no.”
“Pushy?” Diana asks, disappointed.
See, I knew it. “Honestly if he wasn’t hot, or a doctor, no one would give him the time of day. He gives off bad vibes.”
Diana examines an organza skirt and says, “That’s nuts, everyone loves him.”
As she lets it go, it flows back into place on its hanger, and she stares at me. Diana and I usually like to keep things light evenwhen discussing tough topics. I don’t know, it’s like we shouldn’t ever complain too much since we have loving families and that’s made our lives good overall. So I don’t see this concerned face of hers too often.
I alternate between looking at Diana and fixating on a mold-green dress. “He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. So finally I told him I’m engaged.”
Diana shakes her head. “That sucks. I mean, that he’s out of the picture. Your mom was so into him, I feel like you should have at least given him a chance.”
She doesn’t get it. My family never will. Just like they probably would never accept my being with a woman. Grudgingly, if I’m lucky. That’s the best I can hope for. “Yeah,” I mutter, pinching a satiny dress between my fingers, hard.
Then, thinking about how Mom would react, perhaps less favorably still, I add, “Don’t tell Mom.”
Just then, my mom, holding a pile of dresses flopped over her arm, sidles up to me. I jump, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “You are talking about tonight? This is one of your last chances. Remember your list. It’s alcohol, so they’re all going to be there. And in the mood to meet. You have a lot of work to do.”
While it’s lovely in here with the afternoon light and the stark white floors and ceilings, there’s always something about lofts that spurs anxiety in me, deep in my stomach. I’m not sure if it’s the high ceiling that feels impossibly tall or if it’s the exposed pipes, like I’m seeing the guts of the building, which I’m not supposed to. Or it could be the conversation I had with Diana.
“I know, I know,” I murmur. I’m trying not to let the guys feel like another to-do. Try on a thousand dresses, meet a bunch of Armenian dudes. There is only one thing right now that doesn’tfeel like I’m forced into it and that is hanging out with Erebuni tonight. Our texts last night ended so pleasantly, a mutual complimenting session that would probably nauseate any outsiders. It has me aching to see her, but it also doesn’t make that anxious feeling go away.
And somehow I’m addicted to frying my nerves, so I mumble something about the bathroom, duck into the hallway, and pull out my phone.
To Erebuni I type,Want to get dinner beforehand?but don’t send.Dinner, that sounds a little yikes. Then:Want to get a bite to eat beforehand?Sounds like I want to take a bite out of her. Which I do, but no. Finally I type,Want to grab something to eat beforehand? Gotta soak up the booze lol. And that’s a masterpiece. I hit “Send.”
Then I decide to actually go to the bathroom and make a point not to look at my phone. I put it on silent to stop the temptation to whip it out midstream. After I’m back out in the hall, hands washed and dried, I pull out my phone and sure enough, a reply from Erebuni.
I wish. Have to help set everything up. Thanks for the offer though
Oof, it’s like a gut punch. That’s exactly what I’d say to someone I wasn’t interested in romantically, someone I was trying to keep at arm’s length. Well, damn. I should put more effort into the guys tonight if Erebuni isn’t into me. I’m feeling irrationally mad at her, though obviously she’s done nothing wrong. I know, I know, I shouldn’t feel that way—like, it’s a super-problematicguy thing to do—but I could have sworn I read desire in her face when she looked back at me. And all our texting, you wouldn’t do that with someone you didn’t like. Right?
Then another text pops in.Could we hang out afterward?
Oh hell yes. I trot down the aisle whisper-shouting, “Yasss!”
12
A wildflower on the mountaintop would not change places with a rose in the garden.
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—Armenian Proverb
