Chapter 8
Ani
Ani would rather be anywhere in the world right now, including the earth’s lava-hot mantle core, than at Belle Bridal.
Her stomach dropped as the tall glass doors of the bridal boutique sealed shut behind her like a tomb.
Rows of flouncy white tulle hung high on their racks, staring down at Ani.
Unfriendly ghosts. Spirits of the dresses she could have been choosing for her and Kami’s wedding.
Around the corner, she heard the voices of women—among them would be Kami’s family, who she hadn’t seen in two years.
She’d have to smile and chat and give well-informed opinions.
With this wedding, Kami was pulling her out of so much debt, so she was indebted, almost literally. She couldn’t run now.
Ani swallowed and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She’d worn her wedding planner uniform of pencil skirt with white button-down shirt and went with a “no-makeup” look. She didn’t want to appear as if she was trying too hard. What a lie.
The screech of an older woman brought her out of her head.
“Is that Ani Avakian?” Kami’s very loud and boisterous Aunt Sima asked in Armenian.
“It’s me,” Ani replied in their mother language.
Then Kami’s mom appeared behind the auntie and rushed toward Ani, kissing her on both cheeks.
“Ani, tsakougus,” she exclaimed, using the word for “my child,” which was usually such a sweet word, but right now it did nothing but depress Ani.
Kami’s mom was as stunning as her daughter, only twenty years older.
She’d always liked Ani, despite her family’s very different station in life, and despite, you know, being a woman that her daughter was dating.
Queerness was not openly accepted in most Armenian families, but Kami’s mom had a bit of an artistic, rebellious streak—similar to Kami’s—and wasn’t one to bend to the staunch traditions of the elders.
Besides, she was loaded and single, and she often said that allowed her to do whatever the hell she wanted.
“Is Ani here?” The unmistakable voice of Kami called out from behind the sage velvet curtain.
“I am,” Ani said, while several women also answered in the affirmative.
Then the curtain flared and out popped Galia, Kami’s younger sister. Galia and Ani had been close, and saying goodbye to Galia was yet another heartbreak that Ani had suffered when Kami dumped her. They could have stayed friends, of course, but it was too difficult.
Galia was shorter and spunkier than Kami. She had cropped hair with a magenta streak on one side, and she primarily dressed in black, in stark contrast to Kami’s usual creams and whites.
Galia threw her arms around Ani and said, “God, I missed you. I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Meeeeee neither,” Ani wanted to say.
“It’s so nice to see you again,” she settled on. Which was true. But it all still just made her sad.
“Okay, who’s ready to see dress number one?” Kami asked, still hidden from view.
Ani was not ready. She did not want to see.
Kami disregarded the adamant thoughts in Ani’s mind, flung the curtain to the side, and emerged to gasps and exclamations from her family members.
Kami was dressed in a thick ballroom-style satin dress with a tight strapless bodice. And Kami was looking right at Ani, as if her thoughts were the only ones that mattered.
Ani’s heart pounded, and she found that she had to concentrate on her breathing to keep it natural. She should not be seeing this. This was not for her eyes. How did Kami not understand that?
“Oh, this is lovely, so elegant, so classy,” said Aunt Sima.
“Timeless,” added her mother.
“It’s a little boring, though,” Galia said.
Everyone stared at Ani, awaiting her tiebreaking words. God help her, was this how it was going to go the entire hour?
“It’s a lovely dress,” she began, “but it doesn’t feel quite ‘Kami.’ ”
Kami’s eyes lit up. “That’s what I was saying, Mom!” she directed toward her mother. Then she looked at Ani appreciatively. “See, you always know.”
“Then why didn’t you choose me?” Ani wanted to say. I always know, I have great taste, she thought, but that wasn’t enough.
Kami disappeared behind the drapes.
What were Kami’s exact words? “We’re just too different. You’re never around on weekends, and you never will be, as long as you keep doing this wedding thing. I need someone to travel with, let loose with.”
Kami had not been supportive of Ani’s work, to say the least, so it was awfully rich that she was now being hired to plan Kami’s damn wedding.
True, Kami thought Ani was good at her job, but she didn’t understand why Ani had to work so hard.
It baffled her—the trust-fund baby who never had to work at all, who owned a variety of small vanity businesses kept afloat by other people.
She would complain and complain when every single Saturday Ani was busy, when she was at site visits, when she did after-work-hours jobs for her brides.
Ani couldn’t help but compare her position to Grace.
Wouldn’t Grace, as an actress, also likely be traveling a lot for work and gone on weekends?
Ani couldn’t say for sure, but Grace gave off the air of being moneyed, so maybe that’s what was missing from Ani.
That was what Kami meant by “too different.” The people who had to work to survive versus the people who “work” for fun. Who “work,” if it suits them.
Raffi was like that, wasn’t he? Although he seemed to be taking the winery very seriously.
He clearly wasn’t indolent. And he had been a resident, a job well-known for being grueling, but he did quit that.
Every time she saw him, she got the impression he was searching for something, working toward something she couldn’t see.
God, she could not believe she’d climbed up on him in the van like that.
But he was choking, dying. His face had turned puce, for goodness’ sake.
She was just trying to get the best possible angle, those flowers were in the way so she couldn’t get to his leg from her seat without crushing the blossoms, and the van’s spaciousness allowed her to get in that position. Pure action, no thought.
But then, when the scary moment had passed, when he’d put his hand on her back…
She’d felt a stirring deep in her core. That hand.
He’d been so grateful, that touch was the touch of worship.
Like he was feeling her to see if she was real, if the whole thing had been real.
It sent heat straight between her legs. Which she had then realized were pressing against his thigh.
She removed herself but immediately regretted it.
It was the only course of action, the only sensible course, but some animal part of herself wanted to hop back on, take his prominent jaw in her hands, and see what would happen.
These thoughts were ridiculous. This was Raffi!
He claimed he’d changed, but she knew anyone could dress up lies in pretty words.
Even though he did sound sincere. And he didn’t, for the most part, act like a careless playboy around her.
Still. Still. She should not allow these lusty thoughts to enter her consciousness.
“Ani jan?” Kami’s aunt asked.
Ani realized she had not been paying attention to any of the proceedings and that the pit of dread in her stomach had disappeared. Hmm. Maybe she could survive this after all.
“Oh, sorry? I was thinking about a work matter,” she lied.
“Do you think sleeves or no sleeves?”
Ani shook herself and tried to answer impartially, as if she were not giving an opinion about her ex-girlfriend’s wedding sleeve situation.
“Sleeves are in right now, but trends come and go. Kami should choose the dress that looks best on her and that she feels is…the one.”
“See, Kami? You do not have to choose sleeve!” her aunt shouted past the curtain.
“I know, Tantig. Okay, check this one out.”
Kami appeared, wearing an open boho lace number that tightly fit her body. Ani swallowed. The dress left nothing to the imagination, and Ani didn’t need to imagine; she could just reach into her memories and see that body in all its glory. This dress was a stark reminder.
Before anyone could say anything, Kami gushed, “I love it.”
Both her mom and aunt made clucking noises. Her aunt said at earsplitting volume, “Kami jan, it looks like lingerie!”
Her mom said, “You know I will love whatever you choose, but it feels so open. You don’t want your grandfather and great uncle Varoujan seeing your outlines like that.”
Kami turned around. It was extremely low cut in the back as well.
“It looks like an arrow pointing toward your butt crack,” Galia quipped. She looked to Ani. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Ani pressed her lips together because Galia’s assertion was unfortunately accurate—the back of the dress was practically a Welcome to the Crack billboard.
Ani said carefully, “You could probably add some lace to the back to make it less of a plunge. And cups with extra lace to the front so it’s not as sheer in the… chest.”
“That would be an improvement,” Kami’s mom mused.
Even Kami’s aunt seemed to consider it.
Kami stared down at the dress, inspecting the lace. “I love this pattern, so floral but not in a dowdy way.”
“No.” Her mom laughed. “No one would call that dowdy.”
Kami glanced up again, inspired by something. “Oh my God, speaking of flowers, have I told you guys the flowers I’m thinking of for the wedding?”
She had not yet, and Ani was curious about this because it was part of the design she’d be working with to create one cohesive look for the wedding.
“I want lots of white, and obviously roses up the wazoo, but most importantly I want ranunculus in my bouquet and, like, everywhere. They’re my absolute favorite flower.”
Kami looked at Ani meaningfully at this last proclamation, and Ani practically stopped breathing. Ranunculus. In her bouquet. All over the winery grounds.
Their flower.