“Where’s the coffee?” I ask her in Armenian. I’m a bit embarrassed that I don’t know where we keep it. She points to the freezer. “Top drawer,” she replies.
I make the coffee just like Nene originally taught me and how Erebuni made it in her kitchen. No cardamom, though, since I’m certain we don’t have it. My mom continues brushing the beuregs and pops them in the oven, stealing glances at my progress and finding nothing to criticize.
When I pour the coffee evenly between three cups, my mom puts her hands on her hips.
“Where did you learn to do this?”
This is it. This is where I tell her. “Where do you think?” I say. I end up sounding sadder than intended.
I hand her a cup of coffee, then dart out to place one on the table by Nene. She peers at me over the top of her book for a split second, makes a sound of thanks, then dives back in.
Back in the kitchen, I have my opening to talk about Erebuni. So I should.Remember how Diana welcomed your coming out with open arms. Mom could do the same. I’m trying to conjure the sea air, hoping it’ll gift me some pluck. But the memory isn’t sparking any bravery in me like I desperately need it to. I choke out something between a cough and clearing my throat. “Anyway,” I say, “I broke up with Trevor for good. I gave him back the ring. It’s over.”
An amuse-bouche instead.
My mom lets out a long deep breath. She’s... disappointed? Then she looks skyward, “Park Deroch! Thanks God.”
Oh. “I knew you weren’t a huge fan of him, but I thought you wanted me to settle down already and forget—forget, you know.”
I still can’t say her name in front of my mom. I tried, but the syllables are trapped in my mouth. How, if I can’t speak her name, can I possibly tell my mom about who I am?
She rests a hand against the counter, like she can’t hold herself up all the way. “That is why I called you so much. I wanted to tell you not to be with him, not to do anything, uh, what’s the word?”
“Rash?”
“Yes! That one. So it is over for good?”
“Completely. This time there’s no doubt about it.”
She nods to herself. Then looks up at me, almost like she’s afraid. “I want you to be happy,” she says in a small voice.
Hope rears its optimistic head again.Maybe she’ll accept you after all,it whispers. Just like Diana. I should tell her right now. There is no better time. She practically gave me an opening. But the hope scares me, things feel so okay between us in this moment that I’m not sure I could handle the crush of disappointment again.
It was such a beautiful thing for her to say. I should hug her, thank her. I don’t. I take a sip of coffee, and realize I forgot to add sugar. It’s bitter all the way down.
Mom ducks into the pantry to fish out cans of tomato sauce, then nods me toward the bag of green beans. Even though I want to leave and hole up in my misery, it appears my mom wants to split the work, and it’d be too selfish to decline.
Helping snap the ends off the green beans for fassoulia is one of my first memories of contributing to dinner. Here I am again, nothing more than a kid doing anything to please my mom. There have to be, like, seventy of these overgrown caterpillars in mypile, and while I’m not looking forward to the monotony of the task, at least it’ll give me something to fixate on instead of my cowardliness.
We stand side by side, Mom’s hands already flying over the beans, plucking the heads off like a decisive queen. Snap, snap. I fumble for my first one, get a group all tangled up in one another, and finally bend one until it breaks off. This is going to take forever.
The silence is all wrong. There’s this urgency in me, a feeling that I’m on the precipice of something big if I can just muster up the courage to jump.
Mom’s own words, that she wants me to be happy above all, are sparking hope in me. Plus, I already semi-confirmed that Erebuni and I were seeing each other with my comment about the coffee. Mom likes to be mentally prepared to accept new info. She hates surprises (hmm, kind of like me; I’ve never put that together). It’s possible that enough time has passed.
“Have you been looking for a new job?” she says, more of an accusation than a question.
“Kind of.” I get into a flow and rapidly pop off the ends of a couple of beans. It feels like I’m pulling myself apart instead of the legumes. I’m never going to say a word, am I?
She adds another couple of clean beans into the “done” bowl. “It is not going to be easy...” she begins, launching into her usual lecture about how my being fired means it’s going to be ten times harder to find a new job. I can’t listen to this again.
“Mom,” I interrupt.
My stomach tightens. The words are in there.Say it. Tell her. She already knows. You’re just confirming.It feels like the whole universe is whispering in my ear to tell her already, to get it out, stop holding it in.
I turn toward her. “I was lying to you before. I was with Erebuni. We were seeing each other.”
She steps back, and I swear her hand rises to her chest in shock. If I don’t barrel forward it’s never coming out. I find myself actually looking at her in the face. “It’s true. We were, uh, starting to date. We liked each other so much. I can’t help but think that she’s actually the best person I’ve ever dated.”
