Triple Love Score

by Brandi Megan Granett

  “It’s dazzling.”

  “Oh, you and your poet words. Don’t think I don’t know what you are really trying to say. Now spill it. Why was Ronan embarrassing? Was he short? Toothless?”

  “No, God, no. He was gorgeous with an Irish brogue, and faint reddish stubble when his beard started to grow in after a night. Real cover of a romance book type. But that was it. I think maybe it was, well, physical.” Miranda buried her head in her hands to cover up the blush that burned her face.

  “But he was a poet. In your class. Didn’t you have that in common?”

  “It didn’t ever come up.”

  “Oh, too busy with other things coming up were you?”

  “Don’t make fun.”

  “But was it fun?”

  “Yes, oh, my god, yes.” Miranda couldn’t contain her smile remembering what those few weeks had felt like and all the things they did. “But I don’t think it was enough. After all that, intimacy, you know, I couldn’t even buy him a Christmas gift. Nothing. Not even a book of poetry. I couldn’t find one single thing that I thought he would like.”

  “You broke up with him because you aren’t a good shopper?”

  “But I am a good shopper. I got Lynn the perfect gift that same day.”

  “But what about Scott? How does he factor into all of this?”

  There was knocking on the door as it opened. Miranda and Danielle jumped apart as if they were caught redhanded.

  “Daniiiiiii,” said Jellie, who was followed by Deniz saying the same thing. They were like Turkish matryoshka dolls in matching aquamarine-studded abayas that swept the floor at just the right length so that only the toes of their silver, crystal-studded shoes peaked out. They nodded at Miranda but pounced on Danielle. Neither spoke much English, so Miranda stepped back and watched as they poked and pulled through Danielle’s massive pile of brown wavy hair and wove and shaped it into a glorious up-do that could only be called a crown. Selin peaked in and nodded. Other cousins appeared, clucked a few hellos, and disappeared back downstairs.

  “Is it okay if I wear this to the town clerk?” Miranda held up her best I’m-a-teacher dress.

  “Anne,” Jellie called out, forcing her mother to turn away from the supervision of Danielle’s lipstick.

  Deniz turned, lipstick still in her hand, and said, “No.”

  No, it turns out is one of the few words Deniz knows in English. And she practiced saying it for every single thing Miranda pulled out of her suitcase. Luckily, when she picked up the green satin confection of the bridesmaid dress that, too, was met with a no. She wasn’t expected to wear that to the town clerk.

  The other ladies finished Danielle, turning her into a brunette version of a wedding day Barbie with her white Chanel suit. Not Chanel-style. Chanel for real, Miranda found as she handed Dani the jacket from the hanger. “Selin,” Dani said, shrugging.

  Deniz slapped her thigh and repeated, “Selin.” Then she issued a directive to Jellie in Turkish so quickly that not even Danielle could translate. Jellie bolted from the room, and a silence fell over the cousins. They stood between Danielle and Miranda, but their focus was now on Miranda. They murmured under their breath, pulled out containers of blush and eye shadow, holding them up to the light. It seemed the group now realized Miranda was a lot fairer than them and even fairer than Danielle. Miranda bent down and pulled out her own make up bag and handed it to Deniz’s second in command. She was a larger woman in an equally stunning pink abaya dotted with teardrop clusters of crystals. Her thick black hair was pulled back into a massive braid the size of a loaf of challah bread.

  “Yes,” she said, flicking an expert finger through the tubes and clamshells. She said something to Danielle next.

  “They are going to do your hair first,” she told Miranda. “Just let them. It will be for all day.” As soon as Danielle finished speaking, the ladies pulled out two large cans of Aquanet. They blasted Danielle’s hairstyle like fire fighters dousing a blaze.

  In the end, Miranda emerged from the guest bedroom in a copy-cat hairstyle of Danielle’s and a floating peach chiffon abaya. “I thought they were Christian,” Miranda said. “Aren’t these dresses Muslim?”

  “That’s just Turkish. Or maybe Middle Eastern. They are Christian. Well, Omar’s parents are. Just wait until you see how the cousins dress at the reception. I don’t think they are religious in any way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Imagine your bridesmaid dress short.”

  “How short?”

  Danielle slapped a place on her thigh a good three inches above where her white skirt stopped.

  “Oh, this is going to be an adventure, isn’t it?”

  A surprising number of people fit into the local marriage registrar’s office. Even though Miranda could tell from gesticulation alone that the secretary in the outer office only wanted Omar and Danielle and two witnesses. She kept putting up two fingers and waving them frantically at each new person who pushed to slip into the office. Of course, Jellie was last. When she pushed through this closing door, she exhaled with a loud, “whew.” Everyone laughed, even the marriage registrar, who luckily didn’t mind all the people.

  The smell of perfume and cologne and the flowers Deniz had tucked into Danielle’s hair at the last minute filled the small room, which was becoming increasingly hot. Scott stood on the other side of the room, in the gang of Omar’s cousins. They could only be called a gang. They each wore the same cut of suit in dark blues bordering on black. Their hair, raven and gelled, stood perfectly coiffed an inch or two above their heads, swept evenly back like Ken dolls. They were a gang of Ken dolls. And Scott, even without the benefit of his summertime tan, fit right in. His hair was similarly styled, slicked back with a slight wave, though more brown than black. His suit must have been borrowed from one of them. He kept turning his eyes up toward her in between the punch lines of jokes the cousins were making. The youngest kept whispering in Scott’s ear, probably translating. Scott laughed with his whole body, slapped his knee and tapped his foot, a one man band of joy. Miranda giggled to herself, not even knowing the joke.

  The local registrar announced each form, holding it up for everyone to see, before reading it aloud completely in Turkish. Then Omar and Danielle signed, and Deniz and one of Omar’s brothers signed. You wouldn’t expect anything romantic about a crowded room and government paperwork, but seated in front of the registrar’s desk, Danielle and Omar didn’t glance down at the paperwork even once. They kept their eyes locked on each other, their smiles growing broader with each signature.

  Finally, the registrar collated the stack of papers and stood. “Evlilik i lerinde ba !” he said.

  Miranda didn’t understand at first, but the wave of clapping and cheering gave it away. Omar leaned across to kiss Danielle. He made it as far as her cheek, when his dad placed a hand on his shoulder. He said something quickly to Omar. Jellie, standing next to Miranda, translated, “The church first.”

  Danielle blushed and picked up Omar’s hand and kissed it instead. Their moment was short, though. The room broke down into gender lines, and the men pulled Omar away. They would go off and have lunch while the women went back to the house to get dressed again. Miranda watched the men walk away; Scott blended into the group effortlessly. She focused on him, the cut of his suit jacket, the sway of his hips as he walked, the smile on his face as he turned to laugh so easily with strangers.

  “You ready?” Selin asked, taking Miranda by the arm.

  “Sure,” Miranda said, looking over Omar’s grandmother’s shoulder as the men moved up the street, hooting and clapping like a pack of hooligans. Just as she started to turn to follow Selin, she took one glance back. Scott stood apart from the group, his hand over his eyes to shield against the sun. He scanned the crowd of aunts and female cousins, finally resting his gaze on her. Then he blew her a kiss. A real kiss couldn’t have felt any better than that one. Then he turned and in a Gene Kelly move, jumped up clicking his heels
out together to the side. The other men saw this and began attempting the move themselves. When one toppled into the other, a slight tussle broke out. Omar pushed the two boys apart and their merry party continued up the street and out of view.

  “Boys,” Selin said. “Eh, let them have their fun, right?”

  Miranda didn’t answer. She wanted to run after Scott and pull him away from the group. She wanted to duck down a deserted side street and kiss him for real. She wanted to make him click his heels again.

  “Oh, you’ll see him soon enough,” Deniz said. “Come let’s get changed.”

  At the house, all the ladies gathered together in the main living room. Danielle was arranged in a chair in front of the fireplace with the heavy mantel painted a gleaming white to match the rest of the trim in the room. A painting of two Turkish girls with ample bosoms lounging on stacks of woven rugs in brilliant colors filled the space above the mantel and echoed the colors of the plush rug under their feet. Miranda kneaded her toes into the silky fibers of the rug as she awaited Selin’s directions. Cousins and aunts filled in the left side of Danielle, with Jellie crouched down at Danielle’s feet like a faithful and beautiful hand maiden. Selin directed Miranda to Dani’s right shoulder, then placed herself behind them. The other aunts and cousins, including Deniz, filled in behind. At once Miranda understood the pattern: Single, Left. Married, Right. She saw the word puzzle in her mind, throwing in the word Liar for her own part in the tableaux.

  The photographer took several rounds of pictures. Then, he changed lenses, gesturing for them to get closer or separate. She felt her cheeks burn from the effort of so much smiling. If everyone weren’t so close, she would have whispered things in Danielle’s ear, the kinds of things that had gotten them into trouble in school. At one moment, Miranda looked down and saw that Danielle had placed her palm against her belly and was staring at her navel. The photographer kept chirruping something that could best be described as eyes up. Miranda kicked at the leg of Dani’s chair. She dropped her hands to her side and smiled for the camera.

  Released by the photographer, Danielle jumped from her chair tugging Miranda’s hand as she went. They rushed from the living room and out of the kitchen, past waiting trays of pastries and delights, and into the back yard. Danielle finally stopped moving, but she didn’t drop Miranda’s hand, instead she pulled it to her stomach.

  “She’s kicking,” she said.

  Miranda felt the flutter under her hand and tears in her eyes at the same time. “Oh, Dani, I’ve never—”

  “I know, me neither.”

  If it had been anyone else, they might have heard her approach. But the moment was too big to be on alert as well. Miranda stood there with her hands pressed on either side of Danielle’s stomach; the two of them oohed and ahhed like fools as Jellie slid up right in between them.

  “Whatcha doing?” she said in a clear imitation of a cartoon Lynn watched in Stanton’s den. Something about inventions and summer vacations and boys with triangular heads. If only Miranda’s mind hadn’t slipped to the cartoon and stayed with the moment, she would have moved her hands away. But she didn’t. At least not until after she heard Selin call out to Jellie.

  Miranda turned to see Selin peeking out of the backdoor. A glimmer of realization swept Selin’s face. Her carefully painted eyebrows arched in surprise then settled into a thin, sharp straight line. Her beautiful, towering heels, the exact shade of her navy dress, banged out a swift tattoo as she marched over the stone patio. Jellie, obviously knowing that look, hightailed it back into the house.

  “Are you okay?” Selin demanded. “Tell me now.”

  Miranda wasn’t sure what she expected, but the Dani of her childhood, a PK as she called herself for preacher’s kid, might have lied her way out of this. She once convinced her parents that she started a prayer study group in their garage. To explain the smoke, both legal and illegal, and the empties tucked into the plaid couch that used to be inside the rectory, Danielle told them how she wanted her prayer group to reach beyond traditional church youth, and minister to those who really needed it. If a cigarette or a Pabst Blue Ribbon got a boy to listen to the news of the Lord, wasn’t it a tool of the spirit, she asked.

  “The doctors found something yesterday,” Danielle started.

  Miranda leaned back on the heels of her shoes, swaying a little, both nervous and anticipatory; this story could be a good one.

  “You know, at the clinic, they told me that I didn’t have long and that I couldn’t travel, that I needed to see the people at the American hospital.”

  “Yes, I thought you had an appointment next week.” Selin said.

  “I told Omar that because I didn’t want him to be worried about it during the wedding. I wanted him to be marrying me not because I was sick but because he wanted to. So I had Miranda take me yesterday. I had to know what was wrong.”

  “That’s silly. We’ve known Omar was in love with you since his first month at college.”

  “You knew?”

  “I’m his mother, of course I knew.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  “I’m his mother. That’s his business to tell me. In those affairs, a mother can only ruin things. But what is it now? What did the doctor say?”

  Danielle’s face lost its color. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “I’m pregnant,” she said. She kept her eyes closed.

  “A baby?” Selin said pointing at Danielle’s stomach. “For us?”

  “For us?” Danielle repeated, her eyes snapping open.

  “Yes, of course, for us. This family. You and Omar. Our grandbaby. At last.”

  “At last? You were waiting for this?”

  “We expected him to marry you and stay in the States and then he followed us to Turkey, and you followed him, and we kept waiting. He lived here, and we never bothered him about spending the whole night out or where he was going. But we didn’t know why he kept pretending like nothing was serious. Omar was already eleven when I was your age. I wasn’t sure how much longer you would wait for him. I guess God pushed things along.”

  “You aren’t mad?”

  Selin took Danielle’s hands into her own. “I have been waiting for a daughter since I was nineteen. And now to get a daughter and a grandbaby in one day—only a fool would be mad.”

  Danielle started to cry. The tears ran over the make-up on her face but not a single drop of mascara ran.

  “Deniz did your make-up?” Selin asked.

  “Yes,” Miranda said, answering for Danielle, who couldn’t stop crying.

  “Then you’ll look fine for the wedding. Cry it out. The hormones do that.”

  Selin, gracefully like a cat, plucked her way across the patio stones in her glossy Loubatans and slipped back into the house. Danielle slumped forward into Miranda’s arms. “Good thing I am not further along, or I could have gone into labor with that!”

  The patio door quickly opened again. “Don’t tell Omar I know,” Selin said. “I want to congratulate him directly.”

  Miranda could have sworn that Selin winked at the last bit. “Directly,” Miranda repeated. “Sounds like Omar may be in a bit of trouble.”

  “Poor Omar,” Danielle said. “I’m just glad she isn’t blaming me.”

  “Ah, you’re pregnant. I think you get a pass until the baby is like three months old. Then you get to be the evil daughter in-law who takes too much of her son’s attention and keeps the grandbaby all to herself.”

  “I can’t imagine doing that!”

  “Ah, you’ll find a way. Be imaginative.”

  C H A P T E R

  IT TURNED OUT THAT Danielle did lie that day, about the hair and the make-up, at least. They slipped back into the kitchen and tried to make it upstairs to switch dresses undetected, never expecting the ambush of curling irons and eyeliner to be waiting in the guest bedroom. Their hair apparently needed to be increased in volume to match the skirts of their dresses. Even Jellie submitted to the torture,
emerging like a Southern Belle on her way to a beauty pageant with her hair piled in a cascade of curls and loops and her dress, a miniature version of Miranda’s.

  “Nice dress,” Miranda said to Jellie as they stood side by side watching how their skirts continued to sway back and forth even after they stopped walking.

  Jellie smoothed her hands down the front. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I can’t wait to dance in it.”

  Lynn would love Jellie. She could see them racing off to the dance floor together and sharing a piece of cake. But it was foolish to think about Lynn that way. She wasn’t Miranda’s to think about. In her mind’s eye, the word mother was laid down across the middle of the Scrabble board. Then “maybe” off the “m” in mother. If she were home, she would use the foggiest filter she could find to capture it, maybe doing a second shot with the word Step added in.

  Not even several months of Cross Fit would have prepared Miranda for properly holding the golden crown over Danielle’s head for the duration of the Eastern Orthodox ceremony. When Miranda’s arms started to tremble, Danielle smiled up at her and whispered an apology. But the ceremony itself was beautiful; even though Miranda didn’t understand a word of it—the symbols were clear enough. The rings, the wine, the circling the altar—each new moment caused tears to well up in Miranda’s eyes. She didn’t dare look for Scott in the pews. She kept her gaze focused on the stained glass of Jesus on the cross over the altar. The blood dripped from his body and blossomed into a rose bush that spanned all three panels.

  Finally, the priest called, “Na zisete,” and everyone in the room erupted with applause. Omar gathered Danielle up in his arms and kissed her firmly. Miranda saw Selin blush, and then brush away a similar kiss from Omar’s dad. Miranda looked away, and then quickly back, just in time to see Selin give in. Miranda felt a pang of jealousy as she trailed behind the happy couple lost in the sea of relatives all speaking in Turkish.

  The whole group spilled out onto the church’s front lawn and out into the street. They walked several blocks to a giant banquet hall on the banks of the river. The terrace overlooking the river was festooned with flowers and tulle bunting all in the same green as Miranda’s and Jellie’s dresses. Jellie caught Miranda’s hand and led her out to the dance floor where the DJ already played music that mixed current pop hits with traditional sounding beats and techno overlays. There seemed to be no formality; it was just a giant party. The crowd of people surged forward, spreading out over the dance floor and the rest of the terrace. Wine was opened and passed around. Waiters began circulating phyllo dough filled with all manner of savory delights. Tiny kebabs and pita with hummus came next. Luckily, Jellie liked dancing as much as Miranda did, though they did stop each time a new tray came circulating past. Miranda kept scanning the crowd for Scott, but to no avail. Instead, she grabbed a second glass of wine and kept dancing.