Chapter 17 #2
He followed her to the bar, where she had a glass of champagne—so classy, of course she did—and he had an old-fashioned. They landed near some high-top tables where they could view the band, the guests, the whole spectacle, but not be in the way.
The engaged pair danced in the center of the floor, surrounded by friends and family, doing a call-and-response sing-along to “Call Me Maybe.” Everyone was pushed so tightly together, gyrating and smiling, as if a gale had swept them all together and they were tickled by the happy accident.
He felt a tinge of loneliness then, but when he glanced down at Ani, at her long lashes studying the scene, the sadness receded. This was…interesting.
Once Raffi had stopped attending Armenian celebratory events with the sole purpose of finding a woman to sleep with, he found he was only crushingly lonely at them. So he left behind the Armenian banquet scene all together, unless he was forced to attend a friend’s or cousin’s wedding.
What a different world this all would be with Ani by his side.
He was seriously considering it, wasn’t he?
Not just Ani as someone to get to know a little better, not as someone who was just a plus-one, someone he casually liked.
But as someone to be with. Attending these events.
Being in the center of the dance floor. Her in a long white dress.
A jolt shot down his spine, but it was more thrill than fear.
And that thought amped him up still more.
“The band has a great vibe,” Ani said, near shouting over the music.
“Agree,” Raffi said. “Dance floor’s packed, young and old. That’s how you know they’re good.”
Ani smirked. “You’re an expert in barahanteses, aren’t you?”
A reference to his attending many such dance-centered events, ones he was realizing he missed.
Raffi shrugged. “I’ve been to a fair few. Not lately, though. Haven’t been in the mood.”
“Really, why?”
How much could he tell her? “Felt hollow after a while. I’m not a big dancer anyway.”
No, he was. He used to be. But the truth died in his mouth.
Ani watched the dance floor, her fingers skimming the rim of her champagne glass. “Me neither. I got rejected in a really embarrassing way my sophomore year in high school and I just sort of stopped. God, that sounds stupid. You’d think I’d be over it.”
She said it like it was something small, but her voice dipped at the end. Raffi said, “It doesn’t sound stupid. What happened?”
Ani gave him a look. “You really want to know?”
He did. He honestly did. He’d stand here and listen to her tell the entire story of her past, from her very first memory until right now, if she offered it. “Yes, I really do,” he said.
Ani threw her head back and sighed. “Ugh. Well. I wasn’t unpopular in school but I wasn’t popular.
But. Everyone knew I had a crush on this boy named Adrian, like a stupid, tell-everyone-about-it, write-his-name-in-your-notebook crush.
I guess the hottest girl in school also liked him, and he rejected her.
So at homecoming, I thought I looked cute, it was a sports theme and I had this tennis outfit on, really feeling myself—”
Raffi would like to see her in this outfit now, but part of his stomach was also in knots because he sensed danger looming for poor Ani. He almost didn’t know if he could take hearing it.
She continued, still casual, almost dismissive of her memory.
“And all these girls started coming up to me telling me Adrian thought I looked super hot and wanted me to ask him to dance. That he was too shy or something. Which checked out because he was a boy of few words. They were like, all these girls I didn’t talk to that much, and they seemed excited for me.
And then ‘You Belong with Me’ came on, and I loved that song, and it seemed like a sign because, you know, it’s about the shy girl with the popular guy—”
Raffi found he was holding his breath.
“So I went up to Adrian, who was standing with a group of his guy friends, and I was insanely nervous, near shaking. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around, along with the five or six guys, and I asked him in this squeaky voice if he wanted to dance. Aaaand he stared at me for a second, assessing, this look in his eyes like he had no idea who I even was. So he sized me up and then just said, ‘Sorry, no,’ with a backdrop of his bros covering their mouths and going ‘Ohhh!!!’ and ‘Rejected!’ And I gave this fake smile and said, ‘That’s okay!’ all chipper like—”
Raffi’s heart squeezed hard, and he felt a little sick for fifteen-year-old Ani’s pain. It looked like real, living pain, too, by the look on her face. That son of a bitch Adrian didn’t know shit.
“And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I realized that the popular girl and her clique were all watching the rejection going down, and when I turned around, they were all pointing and laughing and giggling.
I cried and called my parents to come pick me up early and—ugh.
It’s so silly, though. It happened forever ago. ”
His fingers flexed, and his jaw tightened. He knew high school was ruthless, that kids could be cruel, but hearing it now, knowing it had happened to her—it made something dark and protective stir inside him.
How dare anyone treat Ani that way? How dare they make her feel small?
Raffi shook his head. “Don’t minimize it. That is absolutely cruel. Give me this girl’s name, Adrian’s too. I have a couple revenge ideas. Tit for tat, nothing crazy. A little shaming, a little humiliation—”
Ani laughed. “Raffi, we were all kids. It seems silly to still be mad at a fifteen-year-old. Besides, I think she has, like, triplet babies and lives in North Carolina or somewhere out there.”
“Still…” Raffi breathed, feeling gruff and fiercely loyal to this beauty by his side.
Then the band began to play a slow Greek ballad Raffi was not familiar with. It was pretty, though, with its use of the bouzouki, the Greek guitar. His uncle was an instrument aficionado and occasionally played it, along with the guitar, the duduk, the saz, and sometimes the sitar.
Raffi had been to Santorini on one occasion, to visit his mother when she refused to come home for Christmas, and they had something that resembled an almost good time.
He remembered one sweet moment, when they sat at a restaurant with some live music in the evening, eating fresh fish, overlooking the caldera.
He wanted to go back there with Ani. And to Hayastan, the motherland.
To Beirut, where his parents had immigrated from. If she would have him.
As the music played, he felt something larger than himself, pushing him to take a chance. A risk. Whispering in his ear that it would be worth it if he just let himself try. A voice that had been dormant so many years reawakening because of Ani, for Ani, about Ani.
He’d be a fool not to listen.
Raffi put his glass down and his hand out. “May I have this dance, Ani Avakian?”
She stared at him, incredulous. “Are you being serious?”
“Dead serious. I would love nothing more than to dance with you right now.”
“You’re not doing this just because of the story—”
“Partly, but I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t mean it. Nothing would make me happier.”
He kept his hand out, hoping he’d feel hers in it soon.
Then Ani rested her flute upon the table and took his hand.
When she touched him and he felt her softness in his palm and against his fingers, he knew he’d made the right decision.
Ten years away from the dance floor, from depriving himself of moving his body to music.
But today, right now, with Ani, he’d begin again.
He squeezed her velvety hand and led her to a corner of the floor.
The band members played their mix of traditional and nontraditional instruments, and the lead singer crooned a sad, sweet melody that was clearly about love.
And then Raffi ushered Ani into his arms, one hand on her waist, one holding her hand.
Waltz style for tonight. Nothing fancy. He didn’t want to show off at a place he wasn’t even technically invited to.
In position, it was like new life was breathed into him. His hand, his muscles, they were ready to bend and sway with the music. Called off duty too soon, ready to return at a moment’s notice.
Raffi leaned into Ani’s ear and whispered, “Follow me.”
Her face flushed sugary pink. “Gladly,” she breathed.
Then he took off, slowly at first, with an inch of room between their bodies.
He moved simply, rotating with calm, left-right taps, to which Ani followed along beautifully, no instruction needed.
He caught her eye, and she looked away quickly with that private smile.
He loved it, he loved catching it, he loved being the reason for her mirth.
And oh, how he’d missed this, the rhythm of his feet, the bending of his core, the filling of his whole body with music and letting it fly.
He’d starved himself from this joy of his, and why?
Suddenly it seemed so stupid to self-flagellate by taking away one of his life’s greatest pleasures.
He could have been feeling this all along.
Then again, maybe he was just waiting for the right partner to bring him back.
The song grew in power during the chorus and Raffi followed suit, extending the length of his steps, taking Ani for a ride all along the edge of the dance floor.
Her eyes lit up in surprise. He threw her out for a spin, and goddamn, the woman followed all his cues, turning and then pressing back into him.
Closer now, much closer. Their bodies touched, torsos end to end.
Raffi kept the pressure of his hand tight on her lower back.
“Okay, Fred Astaire,” Ani said, so close against him he could feel her vocal chords reverberating against his chest. “So you can dance.”
“That don’t impress you much?” he asked, mirroring Shania Twain’s accent.