No Sex in the City

by Randa Abdel-Fattah

‘Oh! So you locked your bag in the boot too?’

  I hold my hands up. ‘As you can see, I’m bagless.’

  He shakes his head slowly, in a ‘what am I going to do with you?’ way.

  ‘Look,’ I say, smiling cheekily at him. ‘I need one flaw. It’s hard being this perfect, so, you know, being a little careless ... it’s all part of the bigger picture.’

  ‘Hmm ... And what bigger picture is that?’

  ‘I don’t want you to feel so bad, you know? If I’m flawless it’s just going to stress you out. So I left my keys in the car to make you feel better about yourself. If I’ve got a fault, you don’t have to feel so insecure about your faults. Note the plural.’

  ‘Oh really? Plural, hey?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say with a wave of my hand. ‘But don’t beat yourself up about it. You’re male, so you’re already born imperfect.’

  We continue with the banter, interrupted by Aydin’s phone ringing. He declines the call.

  ‘Tell me about your family,’ I say, changing the topic. ‘You haven’t mentioned if you have any brothers. You said you have one sister.’

  ‘I’ve got an older brother and a younger sister. Have you been to Turkey before? I’ve been meaning to ask you. I was there last month with some friends.’

  ‘Wow, I’ve seen subject changes before, but that one was on speed! Tell me about them.’

  ‘My best friend, Tony—’

  ‘I mean, tell me about your brother and sister.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘Oh, come on, of course there is. I’ve told you all about Senem. Family means a lot.’ I smile.

  ‘I’d rather talk about you.’

  ‘But I want to know,’ I say with a pout. ‘What are they like? What do they do?’

  He sighs and looks uncomfortable. ‘Ayshe is an optician. She’s a sweet girl with a big mouth, always got a comeback ... Kind of like you, actually.’

  ‘Smart girl, hey?’ I say.

  He gives me a half-smile. ‘I don’t know about that. I mean, you did manage to lock your keys in your car. And you weren’t all that surprised either. Happens quite often then?’

  I smile confidently. ‘So, you have a brother too?’

  ‘Yep. He’s not working at the moment.’ He picks up the menu. ‘I feel like cake. They do a great lemon tart here. Do you like lemon tart?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, sounds nice. What’s the age difference between you and your brother?’

  ‘He’s two years older.’

  ‘Are you close to him?’

  ‘No ... Or maybe some gelato?’

  ‘Are you very different from each other?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Senem and I are very different. Opposite in almost every way, actually.’

  ‘Mmm. Do you get along?’

  ‘We have our moments. That’s part of the sibling deal, isn’t it? Are you close with Ayshe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But not your brother?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A case of opposites too?’

  ‘Esma, don’t you get it?’ he says, calmly placing the menu down on the table. ‘I’d rather not talk about my brother.’

  ‘Oh ... sorry.’

  But as I apologise I wonder why I should have to. Aydin’s the one who said we needed to be upfront and honest. He’s the one who said he’s seen too many of his friends hook up with their wives based on both people pretending. Acting out a part before marriage, only to let the truth of their personalities surface when it was too late.

  But for now I decide to let it go. I’m not here to play therapist.

  Not to mention, I’ve got a skeleton in my closet too. A part of me realises that if I’m going to be responsible for helping Dad with the debt, the person I end up with has the right to know.

  So I don’t press him.

  ‘I called him yesterday.’

  ‘Ruby! Nooo!’

  She puts her head in her hands and lets out a muffled moan. ‘I’m an idiot.’ She looks up at me, a tortured expression on her face. ‘I need to have the last word. That’s just the way I am.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, nodding sympathetically. ‘I get it.’

  ‘We had an amazing connection at the wedding. He texted me the next day. And then, suddenly, the first class after the wedding, he shuts down. You saw it.’ I nod. ‘It’s crazy! Men are crazy! They call us moody?’

  ‘If they called us that to our face, they’d do it at their own risk.’

  ‘I caved. I called him. Because curiosity trumped my self-respect. I hate that.’ In one quick move she sweeps her hair up into a high bun. ‘He didn’t answer. I left a message and he called me back six hours later. It was so awkward.’ She cringes.

  ‘Was he acting like a jerk?’

  ‘No. That’s the thing. He was nice and cheerful, but formal. No, worse! He was professional.’

  We each pull a face.

  ‘I was back to being a client. The thing is, it felt like an act. Like he’s trying to deny there’s something between us, or he’s had second thoughts.’

  ‘Except he doesn’t have the balls to be direct about it.’

  ‘Exactly. It was so embarrassing, Esma. I had to pretend I was calling to ask for the bank details so I could pay the ticket for the party.’ She shudders. ‘So even if I wasn’t going to go, now I have to.’

  ‘He doesn’t deserve you.’

  She waves her hand dismissively. ‘Yes, yes, I know all that. I’m better off. I can do better. Save your breath. It’s not as though I was about to buy a dodgy car and avoided a bad deal.’

  I nod slowly. ‘I know, Ruby. It hurts.’

  ‘Yes,’ she says grimly.

  Forty

  At five-thirty I exit the lift in my building, flanked by Veronica, Kylie and Danny, and am astonished to see Metin in the lobby, leaning against one of the guest couches, waiting for me. He smiles, raises his hand and gives a small wave.

  Wearing jeans, a black leather jacket and sporting a bit of sexy stubble, he looks sensational, and Veronica sucks in her breath and hisses, ‘Who is that?’

  Kylie giggles. ‘Esma,’ she says in a low growl, ‘have you got a boyfriend?’

  ‘No,’ I say, blushing. ‘He’s just a friend.’

  Mercifully, Metin has the sense not to approach us and is waiting patiently for me. Although I’m annoyed that he’s come to my workplace without telling me, I also can’t help but feel the boost to my ego that comes with the girls’ reaction to him.

  Then I remember Danny’s beside me. ‘What a little hypocrite you are,’ he says, giving me a malicious grin. ‘Not so innocent after all.’ He tut-tuts. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

  I give him a filthy look. ‘This has nothing to do with you,’ I say through gritted teeth.

  Veronica scolds Danny. ‘Come on, leave her alone.’

  ‘Fine,’ Danny says in an unconvincing show of nonchalance. ‘You’re right. Esma’s sex life is her own business. Have fun, Esma.’ And with that he walks out of the building.

  Veronica and Kylie shake their heads. ‘He can be so immature,’ Veronica says. ‘Just ignore him. See you tomorrow, Esma.’ They pat me on the arm and leave.

  I feel like somebody’s punched me in the guts. My eyes sting and it takes every ounce of self-control to stop myself from crying. I walk slowly over to Metin and he grins.

  ‘I thought I’d surprise you. Take you out for dinner and maybe a movie, if you’re up to it ... Um, are you okay?’

  ‘Y-yes,’ I stammer. ‘I’m fine.’

  He looks concerned. ‘Was this a bad move? Have I made you uncomfortable?’

  ‘No, no ...’ It’s not his fault, I remind myself. He’s just trying to be romantic. Don’t let Danny ruin everything. Forget about him! I make the effort to give Metin a big smile. ‘I was just distracted by some annoying colleagues. Dinner sounds lovely. I don’t have anything on tonight.’

  ‘You look great in a suit
, by the way,’ he says. ‘And I love your hair up like that.’

  There’s nothing sleazy about Metin, even when he’s checking me out. That’s part of his appeal. I feel my face burn and he laughs. ‘You can’t take a compliment, can you?’

  ‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ I say, laughing back.

  We opt for eating takeaway in Hyde Park. I don’t know what’s in the air tonight, but Metin seems to be even more forward than usual. His timing isn’t the best, though: I’m eating noodles (a bad choice for a picnic meal, in hindsight) when he asks me if I’ve ever been kissed.

  I quickly slurp up the noodle dangling from my fork. ‘No. And what kind of a question is that anyway? Out of the blue, while I’m eating noodles too.’

  He takes a napkin and, before I know what’s happening, quickly dabs the corner of my mouth and then throws the napkin in the bag beside us.

  ‘Soy sauce,’ he says, grinning at me.

  Mortified, I wipe my mouth. ‘So, how was your day?’ I say, trying desperately to change the subject.

  ‘Ah, you’re not getting off that easily. You said I’m not inquisitive enough. So now I’m asking questions and you’re trying to avoid them.’

  ‘I didn’t mean questions as personal as that,’ I say.

  ‘You can’t have it all your way. So. Have you ever wanted to be kissed?’

  ‘Metin,’ I scold, ‘I’m not having this conversation with you.’

  ‘Why not? We’re only talking about kissing. There’s no crime in that. It’s not as though I’m kissing you. Although you do have very kissable lips.’

  Okay, so where do I go from that? My insides go all tingly and I feel my face getting hotter with each second.

  He notices and, to his credit, says, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve gone too far and made you uncomfortable. You’re the first girl I’ve gone out with who is so ... how can I say? ... conservative. It’s intriguing.’

  Relief washes over me. If Metin had said frigid or uptight I would have taken that as a cue to leave. But conservative I can wear as a badge of honour (the irony of this is not lost on me when I notice we’re sitting near a billboard displaying a women’s magazine with the headline You Voted: The Best One-Night Stand Story of the Year). Oh, how proud Mum and Dad would be if they knew I’d taken being labelled conservative as a compliment. It would seem Turkish weekend school paid off after all.

  I could never have imagined somebody as good-looking, confident and eligible as Metin would take an interest in me. I’ve got very little experience with men, and yet here I am, apparently possessing the kind of sexual allure that attracts somebody like Metin. He’s ‘the catch’. A sexy European doctor. Let’s face it, marrying him would make a lot of girls I know green with envy.

  And as much as I feel guilty that I’m leading two guys on at the same time, a part of me is also enjoying the attention.

  So while it’s difficult to make a decision because they’re both great guys, it’s even harder when my ego is enjoying being in the limelight too.

  When the subject of family comes up again while we’re talking on the phone later in the week, once more Aydin shuts down.

  ‘Esma, I’ll talk to you about anything. But like I said, there’s nothing to say about my brother. We’re not close. End of story.’

  ‘So you want us to be honest with each other, but talking about your family is off limits?’

  His silence is answer enough.

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘I’ve known you for a couple of weeks but, honestly, I feel like I’ve known you for years. I trust you. But this has nothing to do with trust. I’m just ... not ready to talk about him.’

  I can’t help but feel hurt. And I know I’m being a hypocrite, keeping my own family secret from Aydin. From my sister. From my own mother. But I can’t help how I feel. My gut tells me there’s something wrong here.

  I’m not getting to know Aydin for some casual affair. We both know why we’re here; what our expectations are. In fact, he’s pushing this faster than me, calling me a lot, flirting with me and making me feel like the centre of his universe. So why is he shutting me out of something so important? We’ve both had it drilled into us that you ‘marry a family, not a person’ – God, I’ve heard that line often enough to last me a lifetime. It’s not as though I’m asking him about some distant uncle. It’s his brother. I can’t understand what the big deal is.

  As I have this argument in my head I realise what an idiot I am. I’m trapped in my own hypocrisy. Something has to change.

  I email Lisa.

  Is it weird that Aydin won’t open up to me about his family? About his brother?

  Lisa: It depends. If his brother’s a serial killer, then yes, you have the right to know. If his brother’s an arsehole who he hasn’t spoken to in years and who has nothing to do with his life, then leave the poor guy alone. He wants to put it in the past and move on.

  ‘Ruby, Aydin seems to have some baggage when it comes to his brother. But he won’t tell me about it. Should I be—’

  Oops. Wrong person. I’ve forgotten Ruby broke up with her ex because his parents were overbearing.

  Hysterics ensue. ‘Make him tell you, or dump him! Honesty is everything! There’s no such thing as putting the past in a vault! You have the RIGHT TO THAT KEY!’

  ‘You can’t put family in the past!’ Nirvana says, slightly more hysterically than Ruby. ‘That past is part of him! You’re not here to get to know him for his present and future only! You need to be honest with each other. Anil has to be UPFRONT WITH YOU! YOU MARRY A FAMILY, NOT A PERSON!’

  Oh dear.

  I call Metin. Just for a dose of masochism.

  ‘So, Metin, tell me more about your family.’

  ‘I’ve got two brothers and a sister. They’re all spread out. Germany, Norway and London. I’m closest with ...’

  And on and on he goes. Uninhibited. Open. Metin never holds back. He’s a walking autobiography, with absolutely no hesitation in telling me about his life, his relationships, his past. Metin’s family is in Europe. They’re relatively irrelevant. But Aydin’s family is in the next suburb. There’s no question of us not spending an overdose of time together. The ritual weekly dinner; birthdays, Eid festivals, a midweek coffee drop-in, picnics, shopping expeditions, house renovations – and that’s before children come into the picture. Then it’s all of the above plus children’s birthdays, daily midweek drop-in sessions to see the kids, Friday night visits, Saturday night dinners, Sunday lunches. So if Aydin’s family is going to be in my face, and my family in his, we have the right to know about the family we’re going to be spending so much time with.

  Forty-One

  ‘Do you still want to go?’ I ask Ruby. We’ve skipped an extra boot-camp session tonight for wedges with sour cream at a local café. The boot-camp party is this Saturday.

  ‘Of course! I’m not going to let him stop me having fun with the others. I can’t wait to see what everybody looks like all dressed up.’

  ‘Look your best.’

  Her eyes flash. ‘Don’t worry, I intend to.’

  I make up my mind. It is as if I am powerless to hold back any longer. I call my dad and ask him to meet me at a café near our house.

  I get there early and sit at an outdoor table, knowing my dad will want to smoke. I order a strong coffee. I’m halfway through it when my dad arrives. I see him before he sees me. He walks slowly over the pedestrian crossing. He looks so thin and defeated. A pang of love for him hits me hard, as I imagine the cloud of guilt that hangs over him. It is hard to reconcile this defeated man with the reliable, proud father I’ve always known.

  He catches my eye, raises his hand in a half-wave and walks to my table. We order him a coffee and he immediately lights a cigarette. We suffer through some small talk. It doesn’t last very long. We’re under no illusions as to why we’re meeting.

  ‘How are you coping?’ he asks gently.

  ‘Dad. I’m not.’

>   He flicks ash into the ashtray. ‘I know ...’

  ‘No, Dad, you don’t. I can’t continue with these lies. I’m getting to know people, Dad. What if it works out? How do I start my life with this debt on my shoulders? How can I expect the guy I commit to to accept that?’

  When I finish talking, my dad takes a long deep breath. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘You need to tell Mum.’

  His eyes widen in panic.

  ‘It has to be done, Dad! You can’t drag this out any longer.’

  ‘Just give me some time,’ he pleads.

  ‘I don’t have time. I can’t demand honesty from somebody else when I’m lying.’

  ‘I understand. Let me talk to the banks. Look at my options. Okay? Please, darling, give me a couple more weeks.’

  I give in. ‘Fine,’ I mutter.

  On Friday I’m on Gmail chat with Metin while at work when Aydin sends me a message at the same time. Which is to say I am in for one confusing chat session.

  Metin: I was thinking of you today at work.

  Me: Oh really? Well I am hard to forget.

  Metin: Come to think of it, I was removing wax from an old man’s ear at the time.

  Me: That’s lovely! Now I feel really special.

  Metin: It’s not my fault I can’t stop thinking about you and that most of my day is spent doing disgusting things to the human body.

  Me: My God, that must be the most romantic compliment I’ve ever received.

  Aydin: Hey Esma Clearly you’re a bludger too, hey?

  Me: Well hello there It’s not bludging. It’s called multitasking.

  ARGHHHHH!!! How did I get myself into this situation? This has got to stop.

  My fingers hover over the keyboard. The question is, who to get rid of from the conversation first?

  Before I have a chance to decide, Metin messages again.

  Metin: So when can I see you? How about tomorrow?

  Me: I can’t. I’m going to a party.

  Metin: What party?

  Me: You’ll laugh.

  Aydin: Are you free to go out for lunch on Sunday?

  Me: Our boot-camp instructor’s hosting a party to celebrate us surviving the programme.

  Me: Sure, this Sunday’s good for me. What did you have in mind?