Erebuni climbs in first, and I follow, savoring how immediately close we are to each other, legs and arms brushing. I yank the curtain closed, then adjust it to plug any gaps, ensuring nothing inside can be seen from the outside. Our feet are showing, that’s it.
The screen is waiting for us to begin, to press the button to start the countdown, but instead, I grasp Erebuni’s shoulder, pull her toward me, and kiss her. She responds quickly, cupping my face, drawing her hands down to my neck, into my hair. It escalates to ravenously making out, but I keep my leg posture mostly the same in case anyone is outside by now.
“I’ve been dying to do this all night,” she groans into my ear.
My body flushes hot while I contemplate how much we can get away with in here. It shouldn’t be, but it’s so sexy that there’s only a strip of cloth hiding us from the outside world. But when I find myself dipping my hands toward her blouse, squeezing the buttons in my hand, she gently withdraws.
“We should probably take the photos,” she says. Her face sports reddish patches beneath her olive skin, her lips and eyes appear larger than ever.
“Right, we’re here to take photos.” I smirk.
I dab at my mouth to ensure no lipstick has smeared, and weboth adjust our hair. We share a look before Erebuni presses the button, and on my end, anyway, it says,We got away with it, and God, I adore you. Hers seems to express the same.
“Normal smiling one first?” she asks.
“Yes!” I say as the counter is already at three of the rather short five-second warning the screen gives us.
“Next has to be ‘outrage,’ ” I direct, and she buys it. I love watching her face on the screen twist into a pearl-clutching tantig who’s just heard a woman my age say she doesn’t want kids.
“Pensive next,” Erebuni suggests. We look off into opposite directions, pondering life’s big questions, like how the hell did we get so lucky to run into each other that shourchbar night. Since I can’t see her face, I’m excited to see the printout of this one.
The prompt for the fourth has started, and these last few minutes in the booth have been so lovely, I want to capture this moment, the entirety of it, exactly as it is. So I say, “I want to kiss you in this last one.”
“You sure?” She appears concerned, though with a hint of hope, like maybe this relationship doesn’t need to be hidden forever. And I feel that way, too. I want, one day, to be with her in front of my family, and there’s this certainty that’s come over me where I know it’s going to happen.
“I’m sure. Besides, no one’s going to see it. I can tuck it away in my purse.”
The timer is at one and beeping loudly. No more waffling, so we lean in simultaneously and meet right in the middle. I’m not sure how great the photo is going to turn out since we rushed it, but still, we’ll have this souvenir from our big night.
We’re still locked, and we take a second there before pulling away.
“This was too much fun,” she says, voice thick and slow.
“I wish we didn’t have to go back outside.”
“I know, but there’ll be more,” she says, smiling. A promise of our future, the one I promised her when I introduced her to my mom, danced with her alongside my family, kissed her in the photo booth.
“Yes, there will.”
I pull the curtain aside, and the party is in full swing, the center of the room popping and bubbling with dancers like the pit of a volcano. But there’s someone in line now. It’s the nails I see first: acrylic magenta with a white rhinestone stamped on the forefinger. Tantig Sona is standing before us, holding a photo strip—our photo strip—staring at the very bottom one, hand clasped over her mouth. And directly behind her is my mother, squinting to make out what has Sona in such a state.
20
Better to lose an eye than your reputation.
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—Armenian Proverb
As Mom studiesthe final photo pinched between Tantig Sona’s fingers, her face morphs from confusion to horror to anger. Something hidden safe inside me begins to rupture, and there’s no hope of saving it. I don’t know what to do, and my usual defense of lying with my face or words doesn’t come. Nothing but me staring back at her, my mouth partially open. I’m coming undone.Because I know,I know there is no taking this back.
Tantig Sona is about to say something when my mom instantly wipes her emotions away, like she realizes that she’s in public, and an uneasy smile spreads over her face. She sidles up to me and links my arm in hers, tight as a vise, and whispers, “Come here with me.”
I don’t resist her and march where she drags me, but I do turn back once to Erebuni and try to conveySorryto her. She is staring, dumbfounded. She looks like a broken stalk amid a thriving field.
To make things worse, I glimpse Tantig Sona looking disgusted and gleeful and obviously aching to share the evidence in her hands. This isn’t going to stay between Mom and me, which is already a daunting prospect. The way she’s walking—every step radiates electric fury. I can practically taste the metallic flavor in my mouth.
She leads me to the atrium, then to a hallway that leads to the school classrooms, quiet now on a Saturday evening. We’re just out of earshot of the party.
