“She’s pretty like her mother, ” my father diplomatically slowed my mother’s desire to mentally claim ownership.
“Yes, she certainly is,” my mother agreed. Ruben translated. Tamara was a lot cuter blushing. My mother moved Milena to Tamara’s lap and rose. “I promised to help with the cooking,” she said, before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “They’re both lovely,” she whispered.
“Help cook,” I told Tamara, who was confused. Ruben repeated my words in the correct Armenian phrasing. I rolled my eyes since Tamara had already understood. Tamara patted the cushion next to her, and my father sat down. He took Milena in his lap and instantly became a babbling fool, keeping the smiling Milena enthralled.
I sat down and found out what had transpired to bring my parents to Armenia. As I suspected, my mother was the driving factor. Ruben was brought along since he was the only Armenian speaker they knew, and they wanted to limit any issues they might encounter. Smart to avoid the fist fights.
As soon as my mother had seen the picture of Milena, she knew she had made some terrible mistakes. My father set the itinerary and hired Ruben. They had been with Yana for a few hours before we arrived. We weren’t warned because my mother feared I might stay away. I had been angry, but not that angry. The fact that they flew out first chance showed their commitment to me and my new family. I was a lot happier with my parents at that moment. Tamara seemed just as happy that all was going well.
They had already heard about the engagement from Yana. My father had been talking to the male head of the family, Armen, about the impending marriage. Essentially wishing to contribute financially to the wedding. They were moving faster than I was now. I sensed that I may have overstepped some Armenian custom, not conversing with Armen before asking Tamara to marry me, not that I would have accepted any disapproval either way.
Ruben assured me that the birth of Milena and Tamara’s love overrode any concerns they had about me. I had already greatly overstepped on the mountain. The rest was me making things right in their eyes. According to Ruben, I had done well.
I walked into the kitchen and saw something amazing. Yana and my mother hard at work. Yana, obviously in charge, and my mother happily following charade like instructions. It was some bonding thing between the two. I leaned against the doorframe and watched them work.
“What’s for lunch?” I asked my mother. She looked up, her hands coated with some brown flour.
“I have no idea,” she answered smiling, “it smells delicious, but I’m not sure what everything is called.” she tilted her head toward Yana, “she sure is a good cook.” Yana looked over at me.
“Good Chef,” I translated pointing at her, not knowing if there was a word for cook or if the context was necessary. Yana smiled and rattled off something about good help.
“I think you’re a good helper,” I translated again.
“It’s kind of fun,” my mother added, “I’m dying to taste the results.” She paused for a moment, “you really don’t need language, you and Tamara?”
“Nope,” I said smiling, “we figure out the important stuff and ignore the little things. It’s more honest that way. I suspect we’ll have our first fight once we learn to talk.” My mother laughed, and Yana just shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m sorry I tried to keep you two apart,” my mother apologized, “I should have just trusted your heart.”
“I know mom,” I said quietly, “I’m sorry for hanging up on you.”
“I deserved it,” she said, nodding her head, “though not answering my other calls was just rude.” She was smiling so I laughed. It was the right reaction. She meant it was rude, but she understood. I wouldn’t dare ignore the next call. I left them there before they drafted me to help.
++++++++++++++++++++++
The weather was perfect. Summer was breathing its last gasp adding a subtle warmth to the impending fall weather. The trees were just beginning to change to their autumn dress, but they still held tight to their leaves. The men acted as mules carrying down the bags and baskets of food and implements to the park. My mother walked with Tamara, insisting on carrying Milena. Tamara smiled at me every time she caught my eye. There was a new happiness there, something had shifted now that my parents were on board.
We pulled two picnic tables together and covered them with a white sheet that Yana had brought. Davit tacked the cover to the table in a practiced maneuver that indicated the family picnicked often. We were joined shortly by an older couple, Raphael and Elina. Raphael was Tamara’s uncle. They brought Tamara’s Grandmother with them. She was introduced as ‘Meemaw’ and obviously held in high regard. For a woman who could barely walk, her mind seemed very alert as she watched me like a hawk. Her gray hair was pulled tight to her head and secured in a single ponytail. It gave her an old strict schoolmarm look. Every time I caught her looking at me, I smiled. She would match my smile with her own, though I wasn’t sure if it was forced like mine.
Tamara whispered something to Viktoria who leaned over and translated to me. It seems Meemaw was suspicious of my intentions with her granddaughter. I wasn’t sure I could do anything about it. Time would eventually prove me honorable.
The food was excellent. Everyone spent considerable amount of time thanking Yana and my mother for the feast. Armen broke out a bottle of red wine and poured everyone a small dixie cup. Not exactly the Ritz, but it was appropriate for the surroundings. He then made a quick speech that Ruben translated for the Armenian impaired.
“Soon I will gain another brother,” Armen said, “a man who conquered a mountain to steal my sister’s heart.” I rolled my eyes at his embellishment, “Though he has a weak nose,” his brothers started laughing and Tamara gave Armen a pair of dagger eyes, “he stood his ground and refused to yield. Strength to protect my sister and my precious niece. I am proud to announce Jonathan’s engagement to my sister, Tamara.” There was a cheer and everyone lifted their dixie cup and drank, Meemaw included. Yana scolded Armen with a smile. I think she would have preferred something more formal.
I had to spend some time explaining the weak nose reference to my parents. They were shocked at first, but let it go when I explained the language barrier that created it. The rest of the party went well until Garik got into an argument with a family sitting at another table about fifty feet away. I had no idea what started it, but when I saw Armen and Davit move, I followed.
Garik was standing his ground, arguing with another man about his age. The man’s male family members had gathered around, obviously ready to take the argument to the next level. I recognized some of the words. It was a heated discussion over a girl named Angelina. Armen and Davit moved to the side of Garik, I joined Garik to the right. The intensity grew and we were outnumbered five to four. For some stupid reason, I thought we could take them if it came to that. I felt very Armenian at the moment.
I set my fighting stance when I saw one the men move forward in obvious aggression. I was about to find out how weak my nose really was. Strangely, I had little fear knowing I had the Petrosian’s next to me. This is what it is like to have brothers.
A voice in calm Armenian invaded the argument from off to the side. An elderly man that looked familiar stepped forward, his voice steady yet commanding. For some reason, the argument ceased as he spoke. He pointed at me, mentioning something about a mountain. The other family looked at me with wide eyes. There was some whispered discussion, and I could see their stances pull back from the brink. The man spoke again, pointing at Garik and the other instigator. I heard him mention Angelina and point back to me. I really wanted to know what I was missing.
I watched as the old man diffused the argument and had Garik and his rival shake hands. I was amazed at how easily he accomplished it. He smiled at me when it was over and held out his hand.
“Mikhail Popov, Mr. Bennett,” the man said in English. His accent was Slovic, but elegant. He spoke English very well. His face was fatherly in the warm way. His eyes had me trusting him almost immediately. I took his hand in mine.
“Jonathan, please,” I responded as I shook his hand, “what did you say to them?”
“I told them that you’re the mountain man,” Mikhail chuckled, “you survived a blizzard and jumped off a cliff to save your girl. I asked them if they were ready to go that far.”
“I kind of fell off the cliff.”
“Negotiations are about subtlety,” Mikhail said, “intent is much more important than reality. Tell me you wouldn’t have jumped for her.” Of course, I would have.
“Who are you?”
“I was on the plane,” Mikhail said, “I brought the helicopter back.”
“Oh!” I said smiling and shaking his hand harder, “I think we owe you our lives. It’s a small world to find you here.”
“Actually, I was looking for you,” Mikhail said sadly, “You weren’t conscious when we first met. I was hoping you knew of my brother.” My thoughts went back to the crash. I lost my smile when I remembered dragging the man, half his face missing, under a tree and burying him in pine needles. It suddenly felt wrong, like I hadn’t done enough. “I was hoping he had survived as I had. We could find no trace but you and Tamara in the snow.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said softly, “He died in the crash. I buried him under a tree. My god, I forgot all about him. I was so wrapped up in finding Tamara. I should have tried to contact you.” Mikhail let go of my hand and placed it on my shoulder.