Raffi noted that he was still in his pajamas. A very fine silk set from Paris, a gift from his mother—the only type of love she bestowed these days, if he could even call it that. After Sevan died, Raffi’s mother absconded to Europe and Beirut, where she stayed the vast majority of the year. She came back for Christmas and Nor Dari…sometimes. Always with bags and bags of presents, with smiles and stories of her friends, like she hadn’t actually abandoned him. He’d tried to press heron it once, years ago, and at first she waved it off, saying she came back, didn’t she? Raffi had his own life, and Moush was always working, so why couldn’t she have a little fun? And when he pushed further, his mother burst into tears, saying her only remaining son hated her, why had God been so cruel? And on and on.
And Raffi agreed. Fate had been cruel, but his parents’ responses to the tragedy…they could have controlled that. They could have risen up at some point, eventually, and noticed there was still another kid who was missing his absolute best friend in the world, who needed his parents more than ever. But they never did.
He plucked those thoughts from his mind and looked up this tile place. Fifteen minutes north of him. She’d have quite a drive.
“Why don’t we carpool? It’s far from you. I have this company van, and if we need to pick up any materials, we can throw them back there.”
There was momentary silence.
“Fine. See you at the winery.”
He hadn’t meant that they should meet at the winery, but he was suddenly sheepish at the thought of suggesting she come to his place.
So they met at the winery.
Ani showed up looking fine as hell in a power business dress that clung to her every curve. Raffi tried not to think about any of them and focused on the task ahead.
She locked her gaze with his when they said hello, and he was momentarily awed again at the beauty of her large doe-like eyes.
“Shall we?” he asked, and held open the van door for her.
It was one of those white industrial vans for couriers or serial killers. A tad creepy but useful for hauling materials. One of his employees had convinced his dad that it was a necessary purchase. Certainlynotthe type of vehicle Raffi would roll in. No, he preferred the understated elegance of his vintage Jaguar. But again, he was here trying to exude professionalism, so shady delivery chic it was.
“Thanks,” she replied, but it sounded like a curse.
“What should we listen to?” he asked, then answered his own question. “Harout, obviously.”
“Nothing like the original Armenian pop star himself shuttling us on our way to buy tiles for the soon-to-be-greatest Armenian winery in Napa.”
Raffi fiddled with the screen, scanning to find the perfect Harout song for this moment. The right vibe, something light and celebratory. She’d called his winery the greatest.
They listened to a collection of Harout’s top hits and did not speak much on the drive over, Raffi finding himself strangely nervous and wanting to impress Ani.
“Have you seen him in concert?” he finally asked.
“Once, I think, at the Armenian school, such a long time ago.”
“Weird, me too. I must have been at that same concert.”
Raffi kept his eyes on the road, but he heard a smile in Ani’s voice as she said, “Funny to think about little-kid versions of us jamming to Harout Pamboukjian on the Armenian school’s dance floor.”
“I went hard that night,” Raffi said.
“Didn’t we all?”
“Of course,” Raffi ventured, hoping it wouldn’t sound too braggy, “that wasn’t the only time I saw him. Dad hired him to play at his fiftieth birthday party.”
Ani rolled her eyes with a smile. “Ofcoursehe did.”
“What Moushegh wants, Moushegh gets,” Raffi said. Except for rerouting Kami’s wedding elsewhere. This one? This is what Raffi wants.
“You guys, uh, close?” Ani asked.
He remembered now that she’d overheard Dad with his little comment about him never becoming a man. He cringed at the memory, shame prickling under his collar, and inwardly winced.
“Not really. But I don’t know—I’m hoping with me running the winery, which was his dream, not mine, maybe that might change.”
“I see,” she said. Raffi wanted to ask her what exactly she saw, because he was afraid he’d shown too many cards once again and needed confirmation. What was it about this woman that made him divulge his thoughts, ones he believed he had kept balled tightly in his fist? She loosened his hold on them. To avoid further spillage, he kept quiet.
