And then no one is talking, and never has a room full of people shouting and laughing felt so silent.
“What do you think of the brandy tasting?” I ask, because this is my job, damn it. I can get anyone to talk. Open-ended questions for the win.
He shrugs. “It’s okay.”
Before the silence goes on too long, I jabber, “I wasn’t all too familiar with Armenian brandies before, so this has been eye-opening.” I pause a moment, thinking he might have something to say to that, but no. I’m trying to remember what my mom told me. He owns a jewelry business that he inherited from his parents, and supposedly he’s good at it (probably not the customer service side). I try, “I heard, uh, someone saying that there needs to be a bigger brandy distributor to America. So these companies can get new customers rather than the same people who are buying them from specialty stores.”
He shakes his head. “Who’s saying that? That’s never going to happen. You have to think about the competition, the huge corporations they’re up against. Armenians dream so big sometimes. That’s what lost us Cilicia.”
Erebuni shifts her weight and clears her throat. I get the sense she’s peeved by this. And unfortunately I have no stance on the subject because I never learned Armenian history beyond the genocide, so I have no clue what Kevork is talking about other than that Cilicia is definitely a place... some sort of land. Damn, when I admit it like that, it sounds awful. To save face I say, “Mmm.”
He shrugs again. “Say what you will, it’s true.”
Erebuni seems to grow an inch taller. “Kevork, you might be interested in talking to Ara Berjian. Over there, bald guy.”
Kevork looks over. “I know him. Always an opinion, that one.”
Funny coming from a guy who just seemed to give a decisive opinion that irked my girl.Nareh, no, she’s not your girl. Not yet.
Erebuni provokes him again. “He’s saying brandy producers need to find better American distributors. You should share your knowledge with him.”
I add, “Someone needs to be the voice of reason.”
He nods, his mouth firm in a tight line. “You’re right.”
Without a glance back or a thanks or nice to meet you, he’s off, ready to spew his dissent all over Ara. Poor Ara. Though something tells me they’ll both have the time of their lives arguing over this.
As he walks away, I’m relieved that I’m done with the guy portion of the night. I’ve kept my promise—kind of—to my mom. There’s only that one dude left at the banquet, a violinist, and I wonder if there’s any chance I’m going to get to know him in good faith. This whole time, actually, have I been trying hard enough? No, I did. Raffi asked me out. And I’m kind of friends with Arek. I mean, he called me Nar.
The thing is, from the very beginning, it was always Erebuni who captured me. None of the guys stood a chance compared to her, and I see that clearer than ever. The only thing is that I can’t think too far ahead about what that means for me. My mom. The goddamn banquet, where they’re all going to be together. I mean, there’s nothing going on between Erebuni and me, so it doesn’t matter, right? Mom would never be able to detect my crush, not on a woman. Just like when she looked straight through Erebuni’sInstagram profile. Nothing to see here.It’s going to be fine,I tell myself, and then my palms start to sweat.
Erebuni’s standing next to me, head cocked like, “How’d you like that?”
My smile spreads into a toothy grin. “What just happened?”
“He’s quite... pedantic. Doesn’t like small talk. Can’t blame him for that. He’d love to endlessly debate minutia is the impression I get from him.”
I squeeze my face like I am super turned on. “Oof, my kind of guy.”
She laughs softly, then appears pleased with herself. “I’m a matchmaker after all. Sparring partners.”
“Congratulations,” I say. My voice has taken on a much flirtier tone than I intended. My body seems to be leaping at the chance to show my cards.
And it continues to do so, this time with my mouth. “You know what I’d love right now? Some Haygagan sourj.”
Requesting Armenian coffee after brandy is possibly the most Armenian thing I’ve ever said. But it feels right.
She’s looking right at me with those elysian eyes, and I cannot get the image out of my head of them as planets, with winds whistling across craggy plains, full of life unknown. She says, “I know where you can get some of the best sourj in town.”
Her voice is velvety, and I want it to run it all along my ears, my face.
“Where?” I ask. Barely. It comes out as a breath.
I swear she hasn’t blinked. She says, almost a question, “My place.”
Oh my God. My face prickles; I can feel it in my cheekbones. My mouth parts, and I can’t hide it, I’m smiling with every excitednerve in my body, and I don’t care. Let her know this is the thing I really, really want.
I can barely move right now, and I don’t want to yet, because my whole body is buzzing with yes, yes, yes. So I give a tiny nod. “Please.”
