Raffi straightened, phone still in hand, thumb hovering over a half reply. But he set it down instead.
Dad’s deep voice betrayed immediate disappointment. “What was all that about? You didn’t tell me Kami was coming.”
“I didn’t know.”
Moushegh clucked his tongue.
Raffi watched as his father gripped the wall and made his way closer to Raffi, one hunkering, uncomfortable step at a time. He could see the pain on his father’s face.
Moushegh had always been an imposing man. Six foot four to Raffi’s six foot two, broad-shouldered, and muscular, with eyebrows so thick they made jaws drop—he truly had the look of a mafioso, which didn’t help the ridiculous rumors that had been spreading for years. But lately? His father had shrunk at least an inch, and his muscles had atrophied as his peripheral neuropathy attacked his body, particularly his legs and feet.
“So? Why was she here? I thought you were having a meeting about a wedding,” his father demanded. Raffi could tell that his father was trying to hide how hard he was breathing. The walk over here must have been difficult.
“Kami was the wedding client. She’s getting married, wants to have the ceremony and reception here, at Ô.”
He could see his father doing mental calculations of who Kami was with, how the two women were arm in arm and canoodling like lovers do, because they were, in fact, lovers. Raffi braced himself for the bigotry tidal wave about to crash.
“To that woman?”
Lord, let him be patient.
“Yes,” Raffi replied. “And I think it could be a great thing. They want to throw a lavish reception. Ô could be in magazines and get good press as Napa’s hottest wedding destination.”
“With…” His father’s voice was low and dangerous. “Agaywedding?”
“Yes, Dad,” Raffi kept his voice firm. “With a gay wedding.Believe it or not, you can make it intoVogueas a same-sex couple these days.”
“Leave it to you to reference a women’s magazine.”
Raffi scoffed. “That’s because everyone knowsVogue. A shepherd in Anjar thirty years ago knowsVogue.”
As grating as it would be to work with Kami, Raffi recognized this wedding needed to happen, badly. Not only, as he told his dad, would it get their winery on the map, but he also was honored to host a queer wedding, maybe do something good for a change. The general Armenian population’s attitude toward queerness was so backward it angered him. Now he had a chance to showcase the wedding of the year. If they could celebrate Kami and Grace so openly and so luxuriously, it could be a major turning point for the Californian diaspora community. Five years ago, he wouldn’t have fought his dad so hard for this, but now he knew better. Once again, thanks, book club.
“Why can’t she marry a man instead? She should be marryingyou, you know.”
Raffi stopped short of rolling his eyes, which he knew would cause an outburst from his father about “treating him with respect.” And he shoved away that brief feeling of deep hurt that pulled in his stomach, remembering his and Kami’s talks about their future so long ago.
“Dad,” Raffi said. “That’s over. It’s been more than a decade, and besides, she was the one who dumped me. I don’t think she’s interested.”
“This is despicable, just despicable. We’ll be the laughingstock of the entire community.”
Raffi regretted his seated position; he wanted to be standingeye to eye with his father, to take a step closer to him. His heart was hammering as he prepared himself to fight this fight.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, imitating nonchalance. “Dad,” he said, “trust me on this.Wesay who’s a laughingstock and who’s not. If we’re hosting this wedding, no one’s going to point fingers. And—” He raised his voice somewhat as he saw his father open his mouth to retort. “I want to do this. It is a good thing to do, and it’s going to be good for business. I’ll say it again: Trust me.”
Owning a winery had been his father’s lifelong dream after decades of working nonstop running a wealth management firm. A winery, his dad thought, was the pinnacle of class. As kids, Raffi and his brother had been dragged to Napa constantly, although Sevan always found ways to make the trips fun, especially as teens when he would sneak Raffi glasses of the good stuff. Around that time, Moushegh built a massive wine cellar in his house. When guests came over, they received lengthy explanations about the various vintages that were to be paired with dinner. He was known as the wine and cigars guy, but mostly the wine guy. When the moment had come, Moushegh had big plans to make Ô thrive.
Unfortunately, it was also the year his dad’s peripheral neuropathy ramped up and stole his mobility. His body couldn’t keep up with the demands of the huge winery grounds, and he was too stubborn to accept any type of mobility device. Moushegh had been on the verge of selling the property after just a year of owning it, when Raffi stepped in and offered to run the day-to-day. His father would still be the owner, but Raffi would manage it.
And Raffi, right now, knew that he was not going to bend to his father’s backward way of thinking.
Moushegh shook his head, disgusted, and turned away.
“I am too tired to argue. You want to run this place into the ground, make us the ridicule of the community, do it. See what happens.”
Raffi crossed his arms. “Oh, I will.”
The text fromAni was like a balm after the conversation with his father. Instead of fighting with him, she agreed with him. Raffi stayed in the cool, airy office, which carried the faint scent of oak barrels, overlooking part of the vineyards. In the distance, beyond the precise rows of dormant vines, low mist clung to the earth, curling over the land like a quiet whisper, making the whole valley look untouched, almost otherworldly.
