No Sex in the City

by Randa Abdel-Fattah

  I look down at my shoes, trying to avoid his eyes. Then Anil laughs loudly. ‘Gotcha!’

  Relief washes over me.

  ‘The house is pretty over the top,’ he says.

  I don’t dare nod in agreement or smile too enthusiastically. ‘No, no, I was just joking,’ I say, trying to sound as sincere as possible. ‘It’s an amazing home. It should be on one of those television shows. Your family obviously has beautiful taste.’

  Nirvana joins us at that moment and Anil puts an arm around her.

  ‘We have expensive taste,’ Anil boasts. ‘If you work hard you deserve the best of everything your money can buy. That’s the philosophy my stepdad and mum raised me on: excellence in everything.’ He proudly puffs out his chest as he glances at Nirvana. Then he squeezes her towards him and she grins up at him. ‘This house cost one and a half million dollars to build,’ he continues. ‘The interior decorating cost another million. Come into the family room and I’ll show you ...’ Anil takes Nirvana’s hand in his and starts to lead us back into the house where we’re ambushed by a young couple.

  ‘Anil, is this Nirvana?’ the girl squeals.

  Anil smiles proudly. ‘Nirvana, this is my sister, Neela, and her husband, Sunil.’

  Sunil has the typical look of a guy being dragged to a party. He looks Nirvana up and down, grunts a hello and stands to the side, giving off a very strong wake-me-when-this-is-over vibe. What he lacks in social graces, Neela makes up for in over-the-top enthusiasm.

  ‘You’re gorgeous!’ Neela cries, grabbing Nirvana’s arm. ‘Come and let me introduce you to the rest of the family. Anil’s told me so much about you. My mother and stepdad won’t be here until later. We’ve kicked them out until cake time.’ She drags Nirvana away, Anil and Sunil following. Lisa, Ruby and I are forgotten.

  The three of us turn to face each other. We’re silent for a moment, although I can almost read their thoughts. Sure enough, Ruby, as direct as usual, is the first to voice them.

  ‘We’re in trouble.’

  I give them a look and nod slowly.

  ‘How do we pretend to like him?’ Lisa moans.

  ‘What does she see in him?’ I whisper. I know it’s a harsh assessment and first impressions are often deceiving, but how do we look past the bragging and vanity, especially when Nirvana is so humble and modest?

  Ruby thinks for a moment and then says with a sigh, ‘Look, everybody has their redeeming qualities. So he’s a bit of a show-off. From what we’ve seen so far, and all Nirvana’s told us, he’s put her on a pedestal, and we couldn’t want more for a friend. He’s romantic and she’s head over heels. And maybe he’s a great cook. Well read. Champions women’s rights.’

  ‘Feeds the poor and needy and donates blood every week,’ I add.

  Lisa laughs and then says, ‘We’ve got to like him for Nirvana’s sake. Focus on his good points.’

  Nirvana comes rushing up to us a while later, while we’re standing over the buffet table helping ourselves from the countless varieties of Indian cuisine on offer. In the middle of the long table is a dazzling feature: a massive chocolate fondue fountain. No expense has been spared.

  ‘He has good taste,’ I whisper to Lisa.

  ‘Well, he likes Nirvana, doesn’t he?’ she whispers back.

  I smile as I help myself to fresh naan bread.

  ‘Having fun?’ Nirvana asks us in a chirpy voice. She looks radiant, her eyes all sparkly, her cheeks dewy, her long hair loosely curled and hanging down her back. ‘Anil’s family’s great! And they like me!’

  Ruby snorts. ‘Don’t act so surprised.’

  I place my hand on Nirvana’s arm. ‘Ruby’s right,’ I say. ‘Liking you was never in any doubt. When do his parents arrive?’

  ‘They should be here soon.’ She lets out a nervous giggle. ‘I’m so worried!’

  ‘Don’t be!’ Lisa reassures her as we walk over to an empty outdoor table. ‘You’re the girlfriend every parent dreams about for their son.’

  Anil’s parents arrive shortly afterwards. Lisa leans in close to Ruby and me and says, ‘His stepdad is the spitting image of Master Splinter from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.’

  Anil’s mother, on the other hand, is regal. High cheekbones, bright hazel-green eyes and a stylish bob.

  We watch them sweep down on Anil, smothering him with kisses and hugs. They take a step back and Anil grabs Nirvana’s hand. He looks at her with tenderness and affection, unable to wipe the goofy grin off his face as he introduces her to his parents.

  All night we watch Anil dote on Nirvana, refilling her glass, offering her food. Neela hovers close by, grinning at them both, and seems genuinely welcoming of Nirvana. Sunil has slunk off to the games room and is watching TV (I know because I saw him there when I went to the bathroom).

  After we’ve sung happy birthday and Anil’s cut the cake, Anil leads his parents over to us.

  ‘Mum and Papa, these are Nirvana’s best friends,’ he announces proudly.

  Master Splinter and Anil’s mother smile warmly at us.

  ‘Welcome to our home,’ Master Splinter says. ‘Ever since Anil met Nirvana he hasn’t stopped talking about her. We’re delighted that he’s so happy and has found such a lovely lady.’

  We all give the obligatory ‘Ohhh’ in unison, and Nirvana and Anil beam.

  ‘Yes,’ Anil’s mother adds. ‘Any friends of Nirvana’s are now our friends too. You’re welcome here any time. Come over for a swim. There’s a jacuzzi and sauna too. Pamper yourselves, especially in these hot days.’

  ‘How about tomorrow at eleven?’ Ruby jokes, looking at the lap pool.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Master Splinter says in a booming voice.

  Suddenly Anil’s mother engulfs Anil in another big hug. ‘I can’t believe my baby is thirty! I know mothers should never play favourites,’ she says conspiratorially, leaning in closer to our huddle but looking at Nirvana, ‘but Anil has always been such a wonderful son!’

  Anil laughs and Nirvana smiles at them, although I can tell she’s a little overwhelmed. Neela, who has walked up to our group with Sunil dragging his heels behind her, laughs and says, ‘It’s okay, Nirvana. I’m from the same womb but even I can’t compete with Anil.’

  ‘Christ,’ Ruby mutters under her breath.

  ‘Oh, Neela,’ her mother coos, pinching Neela’s cheek. ‘You’ve always said that, but you’re my daughter. I love you just as much as I love Anil.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Mum,’ Neela says playfully. ‘Anil is Mr Perfect and always has been.’

  I study Nirvana’s face. She’s trying her best to smile, but I can tell she’s wondering how much truth lies under the banter.

  ‘Anyway,’ Anil’s mother says, turning to Nirvana, ‘Neela’s with her in-laws now, as it should be. She’s such a good daughter-in-law. I’m so proud of her. Isn’t that right, Sunil?’

  Sunil hasn’t been listening to a word of the conversation. He’s been standing silently cradling his drink as he looks around, examining the guests.

  ‘Sunil?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Neela’s been a wonderful daughter-in-law to your parents, hasn’t she?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Anil’s mother is oblivious to his tone and flashes him a triumphant smile, as though she should be rewarded for all her daughter’s redeeming qualities.

  Neela looks uncomfortable now. ‘I’m just going to get myself a drink.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Sunil mumbles, clearly desperate to escape. ‘I need another one.’

  ‘Anil’s always been dependable, caring and so sweet,’ Anil’s mother continues, oblivious. ‘Do you know what he did for my birthday? Sent me and Papa on a holiday to Hawaii!’

  Nirvana’s face muscles tense for the slightest moment. Anil’s arm is around her and he’s grinning at his mother and rolling his eyes, although he’s not being rude. I get the impression he’s used to his mother talking about him like this but that he doesn’t rea
lly take it very seriously.

  We, on the other hand, don’t have the luxury of expressing our true feelings and are forced, for the next ten minutes, to listen to Anil’s mother gush about how Anil has always been the perfect son and how the girl who steals his heart should count herself as the luckiest girl in the world.

  Maybe I’m overreacting, but if there was a panic button handy and I was in Nirvana’s shoes, I would be pressing it.

  Eleven

  ‘Question,’ Ruby says in a commanding voice. ‘You’re talking to a guy on the phone. The conversation is going really well, in fact beautifully, until you hear the flush of a toilet.’

  ‘Ew!’ Nirvana and I cry in chorus. Lisa chuckles quietly.

  No Sex in the City is at a café in Leichhardt tonight.

  ‘He keeps on talking as though nothing has happened,’ Ruby continues. ‘So I ask him if he’s on the toilet and he denies it. I say, “But I just heard a flush,” and he says, “Yeah, that was my brother.” So I ask him if he normally joins his brother in the toilet and he laughs and admits that, yes, he was in the toilet. So I tell him I can’t be with someone with such a different sense of hygiene to me. I mean, even though I’m a Gemini, I have some Virgo characteristics. I just can’t handle the thought that this guy is talking to me about how much he loves my curly hair while on the toilet! So I hang up on him and delete his number, just in case I’m tempted to call him back in a moment of weakness.’

  Lisa groans. ‘Ruby, you are such an idiot. Tons of people talk while they’re in the toilet.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘There you go. Because it’s disgusting.’

  ‘Of course it’s disgusting,’ I add. ‘Nobody’s disputing that. But I think Lisa’s point is that you turned away a guy who you were otherwise getting along with, who you were attracted to, who was ticking all your boxes—’

  ‘But who lacked basic hygiene.’

  ‘Would somebody please inform Ruby that most guys lack basic hygiene?’ says Nirvana.

  ‘Generalisation!’ I cry.

  ‘Of course it is,’ Nirvana answers, ‘but it’s also the truth.’

  Ruby cocks an eyebrow at Lisa. ‘My dad and brothers are very clean, thank you very much.’

  Nirvana leans in close to Ruby and, in a mock-sympathetic tone, says, ‘I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but if that’s true, your dad and brothers are freaks of nature.’

  ‘The point is, Ruby,’ Lisa says, ‘you turned away a guy over something that’s pretty small in the scheme of things.’

  Ruby nurses her mug and shrugs. ‘That’s me. I can’t change who I am.’

  ‘No,’ Nirvana says excitedly, ‘but you can change him! That’s what we do, isn’t it? Meet a guy, fall hard and then work out what habits Prince Charming is going to have to give up and what habits he can keep!’ She laughs. ‘I’m slowly working on Anil’s makeover. He can go on about money and designer brands a bit too much sometimes.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ I say innocently. ‘We hadn’t noticed.’

  Lisa kicks me under the table.

  Ruby says, ‘What terrifies me is getting into a relationship thinking you can change all the bad habits, and then failing hopelessly.’

  ‘Which is why you don’t go in with that kind of attitude,’ Lisa says.

  ‘You can’t change people, Ruby,’ I say. ‘People spend their entire marriages trying to change each other, but it doesn’t work. Since when do people change? Ruby, you’ve got a case of OCD, dumping a guy for taking a leak.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt it was only a leak!’

  ‘Okay, information overload. Nirvana,’ I continue, ‘you’re falling for a guy while thinking of all the ways you can change him.’

  Lisa shrugs. ‘So what you’re really saying, Ruby and Nirvana, is that we could replace the word “marriage” with “makeover”. To love, honour and change – is that how it goes?’

  ‘I’m not saying that you should change core values and qualities,’ Nirvana says defensively. ‘Just bad habits.’

  ‘And it’s a two-way street,’ Ruby says. ‘Although clearly men have worse habits than women.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ I say. ‘You’re both fighting an uphill battle if you think you can change lifelong habits.’

  Oh My God. Yasir seriously has a bad habit of leaving it to the last minute to sort out plans to see each other. For example, the other night we were speaking on the telephone before we went to bed and agreed we’ d have dinner the following night. The next morning I waited for him to contact me to make arrangements. By two o’ clock I still hadn’t heard from him. I called but he didn’t answer. So I left a text message. He called me at six, as casual as ever, asking me where I wanted to go and what time.

  I was annoyed but tried to contain myself. ‘What took you so long to let me know we’re still on for tonight?’ I asked, trying to disguise the tension in my voice.

  ‘I was busy at work.’

  ‘It takes less than a minute to send a text. I wasn’t sure if I should catch the train home or wait for you in the city.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘On the train home.’

  ‘Oh. It would have been easier to meet up and then I could have dropped you off at home.’

  YOU THINK?????

  ‘Exactly,’ I said, calmly and sweetly as ever.

  And so the conversation went. I kept my cool but I was a bit pissed off. It’s been three weeks since we met. We talk almost every day. We catch up about twice a week. And I’ve noticed Yasir’s very carefree, easy-going and tardy.

  The excesses of his character – nonchalant, unreliable, calm – clash with the excesses of my character – super-organised, a bit highly strung and over-punctual. It’s not that I’m neurotic or that he’s an irresponsible bum, it’s just that I don’t think he’s responsible enough and he doesn’t think I’m relaxed enough. We haven’t fought about it or anything. So far it’s only jokes (more on his side when he sees me clearly trying to curb my anger at the fact that he’s showed up forty-five minutes late to a dinner date).

  So I take back all my indignation at Ruby and Nirvana. Yasir’s tardiness, lack of consideration and nonchalance MUST BE REFORMED.

  Let the training begin.

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand. You want a pharmacy assistant who is either twenty or over thirty ... Oh, sorry, what was that? ... Thirty-two? ... Okay, so twenty or over forty, but nothing in between because you don’t want anybody going on maternity leave.’

  I take down further instructions and then hang up the phone with a heavy sigh. Sometimes I hate dealing with clients. Some of them seriously think they’re above the law. When I explain the law to them, they laugh dismissively, seriously believing they’re not bound by any equal opportunity rules because they’re trying to run a business.

  I put the file to one side and head to the kitchen to make myself a much-needed coffee. I pass Danny’s office on the way. He sees me, jumps out of his chair and follows me.

  ‘Coffee break?’ he asks.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I could do with one too. I’ve been on the phone with my wife since I got in. She’s convinced that having a baby will bring us closer together and solve all our problems.’

  Ew, ew, ew! I do NOT want baby-making and Danny to figure simultaneously in my imagination.

  ‘She’s monitoring her ovulation cycle now. You know what that means? Oh well, at least I’ll be getting more—’

  ‘Danny!’ I shriek, almost dropping the milk. ‘There are some things I don’t want to know about! Get a counsellor or a best friend, but spare me the details, okay?’

  For a moment he looks hurt. I turn my back to him and quickly make my coffee. My head tells me I don’t need to put up with this. But he’s the boss in a small company. We don’t even have a human resources officer. I’d have to take my complaint to him. Fat lot of good that’s going to be in getting the problem resolved.

  I go back to m
y office, fuming.

  Twelve

  It’s seven-thirty on a Friday night. I’ve just finished my jog around the block and am driving to the DVD store to hire a movie when the phone rings. It’s Yasir and my insides go all funny again, as they do whenever I think of him. We haven’t spoken since Wednesday. He was in Newcastle for a conference all day yesterday.

  ‘Hi!’ I say happily, exercise endorphins rushing through my system. I’m not even bothering to disguise my pleasure at hearing his voice. ‘I’ve just burnt four hundred calories! And I’m about to hire a movie and get some popcorn and a jumbo bag of Maltesers to cancel out all my hard work. What are you doing?’

  ‘Not much,’ he says, his tone uncharacteristically subdued. ‘I’m at home actually ... Um, can we talk?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, just let me pull over.’ I park in the closest side street. I start to panic. Has a family member died? Has he lost his job? Nothing prepares me for his next words.

  ‘Yesterday I took some time to think things through. I don’t want to hurt you by dragging this on any longer. It’s just ... I don’t see us together. I think you’re wonderful. You’re sweet and smart and beautiful and you make me laugh. But I think it’s best if we just stay friends. I’m really sorry.’

  I’m gutted.

  ‘I–I don’t understand,’ I stammer. ‘I thought things were going really well. You said so yourself at dinner on Wednesday.’

  There’s a long pause. Has he died on the phone?

  ‘Are you still there?’

  He coughs.

  I should be so lucky. Death would spare me the humiliation of rejection.

  ‘Like I said,’ he says uncomfortably, ‘I took some time out yesterday to think it all through. I can’t help the way I feel. I just don’t feel that spark ... It’s got nothing to do with you or anything you’ve done. I guess we weren’t meant for each other.’

  I’m angry now. I feel like I’ve been led on. How can he have talked to me only two days ago about the future and said how much he loved my personality and flirted with me and now suddenly realise I’m wrong for him?

  ‘But I’d love to stay friends,’ he adds hopefully.