I’ll have to think about that. I’m so easily into this, I’m not questioning the whole sacrifice thing. The idea of burning something that’s getting in my way sounds like, I don’t know, just what I need.
“I’ll be there.”
She leans in to kiss me, and I hesitate for a split second, because what if my mom is peeping out from the windows? I can’t imagine how I’d explain this right now. I’m so not ready. But I don’t want Erebuni to know how green I am with all this. So I dive in and kiss her as if the hesitation never happened.
15
He who falls into the water is not afraid of the rain.
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—Armenian Proverb
The following evening,I’m standing on the walking platform above Ocean Beach. It’s June 21st, and it is, as expected, dreary as all hell. If it weren’t for the prospect of more time with Erebuni, you’d never find me here. But I did come prepared. I’m wearing my thickest wool peacoat, thigh-high flat boots (because sand), and this cute woolen beret I never wear because it feels like a lot, but I figured the witches wouldn’t mind my hat (witches being classically into hats) and I need something to keep the fog from sinking its humidity into my blowout.
Everything is gray, the sand is monochromatic, and the ocean’s the color of dirty mop water, but I do admit I love watching the waves. Might be some weird human thing where we can sit and stare at the ocean ad nauseum. Seagulls, a permanent fixture on this side of San Francisco, cry out as they fly overhead. I’ve never trusted gulls, not since I was four years old. I was at the zoo whenone swooped in and grabbed the toy my parents had just bought me. They didn’t buy me a new one, and I’ve never forgiven the rats of the sky for their transgression.
This morning I tried to slip out of the house as early as possible to avoid Mom, but I was unsuccessful. At first I said so little, she sniffed out that something was up: “You always give detail. This time you are leaving too much out. Did you fall for that journalism man you mentioned? You don’t want me to know?”
I had to assure her that no, Vache and I are just friends, and he wasn’t even at the brandy tasting. Then I gave her the lowdown on Ara and Kevork; that kept her busy and away from asking me why I stayed so late if I didn’t like any of them.
Besides, this relationship with Erebuni is in its infancy, and I need to see where it goes. Maybe this is just a hookup for her. Maybe she won’t end up liking me if I embarrass her in front of her coven. If she dumps me like a rotten apple, there’ll never have been a need to tell Mom. But I hope that’s not the case.
I open my purse to take out my phone and see my chosen sacrificial object. Marissa’s face from myOCposter. The poster was still sitting in the trash, and I cut her face from it and folded it up as my sacrifice. I don’t want to be Marissa anymore, blond and button nosed, but also, after seeing Erebuni’s place, I am finally motivated to redecorate my room. Maybe it does make a difference—your surroundings and what you can create. I’m living in a teenager’s room, and I’m creating a teenager’s content at work. And on Instagram (I remember Erebuni’s words with a cringe).
I pull out my phone to let Erebuni know I’m here, but insteadI get a what-in-the-actual-HELL shock to the system, like I just stepped on a nail. A message from Trevor.
Saw an affenpinscher puppy down by Gendarmenmarkt Square last night and thought of you. Can’t stand not talking. I needed to say hi.
Goddamn it. Why now? The affenpinscher. Up until a few months ago, some nights when we were feeling hopeful for the future, Trevor and I would fantasize about what our lives would look like when we lived together. After Banana Joe, the cutest affenpinscher you’ve ever seen, took home the gold at Westminster in 2013, I’ve been obsessed with having that type of dog. Or we both kind of were, and it was always part of our made-up future home. Mid-century modern furniture and a little affenpinscher scrambling around. Honestly, he should have gotten me my very own Banana Joe as a proposal, and I might have said yes.
Ugh, I shake the thought away. Not now, not with the possibility of something so much—I don’t know—richer in front of me. Yes, that’s what it was like with Trevor. One-note. At most three. With Erebuni it’s a whole damn mazurka.
I decide to use the same strategy I used on my mom. I respond,Long live Banana Joe, forever may he reign.Divert to the Westminster dog, not our hypothetical all-American dream dog. Hmm, that can’t be all I say in my message. I need to respond to the second part. I type,Nice to hear from you too. I hope you’re having a good time over there.
So bland. That should do it. I pray he doesn’t get back to me now. If he does, screw it, I am not responding. This is Erebuni’s night. I can’t let Trevor dig his claws into it.
Turns out, I don’t need to text Erebuni since there she is, rushing up the steps, waving. Oh my God, she’s wearing a cape. She’s gone full witch and I love it. No hat, but she does appear to be wearing a dress, and in a bright color for the first time since I’ve met her. It’s burnt orange from what I can tell under the cape. And black Converse high tops. God, it’s so cute.
She reaches me, and we hug, and I turn my face in so that my nose brushes against her neck, burrowing right into those roses, the smell that now thrills and comforts me. I need it, because I am still thinking about Trevor. What did he mean byCan’t stand not talking? Did he mean that he’s over the silent treatment and we’re going to be all chatty now? He can’t possibly mean that we’re not broken up. Right?
“Hello, beautiful,” Erebuni says to me. She pulls away and tugs gently on my hat. “You look like a Parisian ready for winter.”
I flip my hair behind my head. “Sorry I didn’t bring my cape. The formal one felt too dressy, and my casual one is at the dry cleaner’s. I hoped you’d understand.”
“I’ll allow it this time.” She nods solemnly, with a little smile peeking through.
I decide Trevor is finally feeling lonely and possibly horny in Germany, and that’s why he texted me. It’s nothing. So I’m going to treat it as nothing.
We start the descent to the beach, and I see her group from afar—about fifteen women, figures that are like flecks of color on the sand, reds and yellows—and for the first time I’m nervous. I have no idea what I’m doing, and apparently I look like a basic bitch on her first trip to France, and there is nothing spiritual or otherworldly about me.
I start to babble about how great Erebuni’s outfit is. Like howI joked about the cape but I really dig the look, and how I live, like, ten minutes from the beach and never come here and isn’t that a crime?
Then Erebuni reaches over and clasps my hand. Our fingers are cold, but there’s a hint of warmth in her palm that I’m sticking to. I’m here with her. I quiet. We’re on the beach, bumping along with heavy steps as our feet get trapped by the weight of the sand. We knock into each other a couple of times, and I lean into it. She’s so warm under the cape.
We walk up, and a small space opens for us. The fire feels exquisite, like a comfort in this damp, cold place. From the large flames, tiny embers escape and flicker into nothingness. Welcoming eyes meet ours.
Erebuni speaks. “Good solstice. Everyone, this is Nareh, a close friend of mine.”
