I wasn’t going to deny that I was hot for him. I had hardly been able to sleep after he left. I had kept thinking about him, and his eyes, and the way he moved, and how he had seemed so concerned when I had said that I was lonely.
I completely regretted that, letting my guard down like that. Maybe for a second I had thought—
No, he was just a hot guy. Being hot for him didn’t mean, however, that I felt an emotional connection with him. I denied that I had any feelings for him other than the beginnings of friendship at this point. I would admit that I liked him as a friend, nothing more.
Looking back on it now, I don’t know why I even bothered trying to convince myself.
Lara and Patrick stopped by my apartment building around 3 p.m. to pick me up. I didn’t see the point in taking two cars, and I preferred to have their company on the drive down.
Lara called me when they arrived and I locked up and walked downstairs.
Patrick was driving. I got into the backseat, behind Patrick, and then greeted them both with kisses. Then I slinked against the back of the seat. This was my relaxation time. I didn’t have to drive or think about anything. I needed to rest up for the visit to Mom’s house.
“Mark’s coming too,” Lara told me then.
“OK, this’ll be interesting,” I told her. Then I had a thought. “Hey, you know, I talked to Mom on Saturday and I asked her how Mark was but she didn’t say anything about what you told me, about him talking to her about moving in or marriage or anything. Why would she not tell me? It seems like it would be a big deal.”
“I think she’s probably nervous about it,” Lara said. “She’s been single since Dad died.”
“Well, she’s dated off and on,” I countered. “You know what she should do? They should move in together for a trial period to see how it works out.”
“Yeah, that would probably be a good idea—” Lara started.
“—seeing as how she’s pretty hard to live with,” I finished.
“Exactly. I think that’s it. She’s become so used to doing everything how she wants.”
“Would your Mom move in with him without being married?” Patrick asked then.
“I don’t know, to be honest,” I answered. “But, seriously, at their age, I don’t see what the big deal would be. I mean, she’s fifty-nine and he’s what, fifty-seven?”
“Yeah, I think he’s fifty-seven,” Lara said.
“He doesn’t have any kids, we’re grown up—” I started.
“That’s debatable,” Lara countered, smiling.
“Oh, yeah, well, you’re the one who’s not the grown-up.”
“No way!” Lara protested. “I’m not the one who says ‘dude’ all the time!”
“Yeah, Tarek said he thought I was younger due, in part, to the fact that I say ‘dude’ a lot.” I sighed. “I guess you were right about that,” I added somewhat grudgingly.
“Well, since you brought it up,” Lara began, but I could see her conspiratorial smile as she stole a glance sideways at Patrick, “How did it go with him yesterday?”
“Who?” I would drag this out a little. It was our little game.
“With Tarek! Who do you think I mean?”
“Oh,” I answered, as if it hadn’t occurred to me. “Fine. He’s really smart. We got a lot of outlining done.”
“Dude!” Lara exclaimed, impatient and perturbed. “I don’t care about the studying part!”
“Who’s saying ‘dude’ now?!” She was making the digressions too easy.
“What did you talk about?” She tried a different tack.
“You know. Property stuff, adverse possession, leases, nuisance law. Then Crim Pro, Fourth Amendment. . . .”
“Don’t screw with me!” Lara looked at me, smiling and raising her eyebrows in mock anger.
“Oh, yeah, thanks for the reminder. We also had dinner and wine at my apartment, then we screwed!!”
“Oh my God,” Patrick said in a minor panic. If we decided to talk about sex, he would have nowhere to go but the side of Interstate 95.
“Are you serious?!” I think Lara thought I was.
“No! Of course not!” I exclaimed. “Did you really think I would sleep with him?”
“I don’t see why not!” she said. “You’re single, he’s—wait, is he single?”
“Yes, I found out last night that he’s single.”
“Interesting,” Patrick mused. He also seemed relieved.
“All right, I’ll tell you.” I knew I would end up telling her every detail anyway; I always did.
“Yes, thank you!” She threw her hands up in the air. I could tell that she was more than a bit flustered with me.
I sighed. “We studied at my apartment. He came over at about 3:30. I had made paella for the week. So I invited him to stay and have dinner. We had dinner, wine and tea. We talked a lot. He left at about 9:30. Nothing happened,” I said the last part emphatically. “We didn’t kiss, we didn’t—do anything.” I paused. “When he left, he touched my arm, though.”
“Ooo, the arm-touching,” Patrick said. I couldn’t tell if he was serious or if he was making fun of me.
“What does that mean, anyway?” I wondered aloud.
“What does what mean?” Lara asked me.
“What does it mean that he touched my arm? Or does it mean nothing?” I was musing out loud. Then I turned to Patrick. “You’re a guy. What does it mean?”
“Well, I’d have to know the context and everything, what was said, his demeanor, all that stuff.”
“OK.” Then I proceeded to give them both a rundown of everything that was said last night, the ‘good’ stuff, as Lara said, not the law-school stuff. I didn’t leave anything out.
“OK, let me get this straight.” Patrick began. “He told you you’re beautiful?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“And he told you that real men like curvy women, all that stuff?”
“Yes,” I said again.
“And he also told you that real men like assertive women, like you, and that real men wouldn’t be intimidated by you?”
“Yes.”
“And he told you that he thought there were probably lots of men interested in you?”
“Yes.” I could see where he was going with this. All roads would eventually lead to my naivete.
“And he told you that maybe someday one of them would do something about it?”
“Yes.”
“This guy is into you,” was Patrick’s conclusion.
“I agree,” Lara concurred.
“But are you sure?” I wasn’t convinced.
“Guys don’t say stuff like that for no reason,” Patrick said.
“Yes, they do,” I countered. “They would say that stuff to get a woman into bed.”
“They would say that to a woman they meet at a bar, or a party. They wouldn’t continually try to hang out with a woman, all day Saturday, for example, just for a booty call.”
I was more confused than before. “You guys, I haven’t really dated for a while. I’ve only done hookups. I don’t know the protocol. I don’t know how to tell if a guy really likes me or just wants to hook up.”
“You don’t want to hook up with him?” Lara asked me.
“No, I mean—I do but—not yet. I only want to be friends with him. For now. I don’t know.” I didn’t know how to articulate what I wanted. I was hot for him, but I was afraid that if we hooked up, then that would be it and I wouldn’t see him anymore, just when I was really starting to enjoy hanging out with a like-minded individual.
“So you like him?” Lara asked, a bit incredulous, turning back in her seat to look at me. She had one eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Do you like him, like him?”
“Dude, how old are you?!”
“Isabel, answer the question.” Her tone seemed to be one she would use with one of our little cousins in Barcelona.
“It’s a lame question.” I w
as buying time to think of a noncommital answer.
Patrick clarified. “Do you have romantic feelings for him?”
Whenever I started to daydream about Tarek, my nipples got hard and I got turned on. Did that count? But I didn’t say that. My sister wouldn’t care but it would make Patrick terribly uncomfortable.
“I don’t know,” was the best I could come up with. “I plead the Fifth.” I was at a loss for words, and I didn’t like it.
“OK, so that’s a ‘yes.’ ” Patrick was relentless.
“That’s a ‘yes,’ Isabel,” Lara seconded.
I exhaled a long breath. “I’m not admitting to anything by this statement.” I paused. “But guys, please don’t mention this to Mom.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Lara said, with a look that told me she loved me.
We made pretty good time to Mom’s house. However, I was dreading the traffic on the way home. Sunday evenings were notorious for heavy traffic going north on Interstate 95. Everyone was coming home from their weekend jaunts.
Patrick pulled up to Mom’s house. Mom lived in a nice neighborhood in Fredericksburg, Virginia. She had a huge, colonial-style house with a big fenced backyard. The entire lot was about a half an acre.
She didn’t need a house this big. When she had bought it several years ago, I had asked her why she wanted such a big house.
“So that all my kids and grandkids have room when they come to visit,” she had said.
To me, that made no sense. She was wasting her money on this huge house, when she lived by herself. It wasn’t practical, in my mind.
But I knew that it was her choice. My philosophy was that I didn’t criticize other people’s decisions, and I expected that others didn’t criticize what I did. However, the issue with my mother was that she always had an opinion about everything I did, from how my apartment was set up to my dating habits, or lack thereof. I had gotten pretty good at shrugging it off.
I took a breath before getting out of the car. The three of us walked up to the door.
My mother opened the door for us and we all walked inside the house, welcoming the cool air. Mom always had the air cranked up.
The foyer of the house was large, and the house had a pretty open floor plan. Beyond the foyer was the staircase, which wound to the left, leading upstairs to a hallway and four bedrooms. From the foyer, you could also either turn toward the back of the house and head to the kitchen and living room area, turn to the left and enter Mom’s study, or turn to the right and enter the formal living room and, beyond that, the dining room.
When my sisters and I visited, we invariably spent most of our time either in the kitchen/living room area, or downstairs in the finished basement watching TV and goofing off.
Mom hugged each of us in turn. I entered the house last.
“Hi Mom,” I said.
“Isabel, I’m so happy to see you! I haven’t seen you in so long!”
“It’s only been a couple of months, Mom.”
At about 5 feet 7 inches tall, my mother was about a full inch taller than me. She had thick black hair, with some gray in it. She touched her hair up to cover most of the gray. She had just turned fifty-nine years old, but she looked no older than fifty. She had been beautiful when she was younger, and she was still attractive.
“I hope you guys are hungry,” she said. “I made lasagna.”
Mom’s lasagna was legendary, and my mouth was already watering.
Then I saw what I considered to be the highlight of visiting Mom: her huge, furry dog.
Lola came bounding up to me. I liked to think that I was Lola’s favorite, but in my head I knew that Lola unconditionally loved my Mom. Mom spoiled that dog rotten, going so far as to cook for her and hand-feed her when she wouldn’t eat.
Lola was a pure-bred German Shepherd, and she weighed about eighty pounds. She was about twelve years old.
I squatted down and petted Lola with both hands, rubbing her furry Shepherd hair. Lola’s ears went back and she licked me profusely, as always. I had read somewhere that dog’s mouths and tongues were supposed to be very clean, and I wanted to believe that but really wasn’t sure. Well, her kisses wouldn’t kill me, I figured.
I straightened and looked at Mom. “I can’t believe you made lasagna. I haven’t had your lasagna in a while.”
Mark was there and we all hugged him. Mark wasn’t very tall, about an inch taller than Mom. He had thick hair that was completely gray, and he was always smiling.
After we greeted him, Mark continued setting the table. He was such a good guy.
Mom ushered us into the formal dining room to have dinner. The five of us would have fit at the kitchen table, but she preferred the dining room. Her house, her rules.
Patrick, Lara and I helped Mom and Mark carry casseroles, bread and salad into the living room. As usual, Mom had made a ton of food. That was a trait that I had inherited from her. I simply could not cook in small quantities. My freezer was, even now, packed with leftovers.
We all settled into our chairs at the dining table. Lola was not far away; she had lain down in the living room.
We all started to dip up our food. I was hungry. I took a huge helping of lasagna, bread and salad.
“Isabel, you look like you’ve lost weight,” Mom told me. “Working too hard?”
I rolled my eyes a little bit. Mom always told me that I had lost weight, even if I hadn’t.
“No, I haven’t, Mom.”
“So how much can you benchpress now?” Mark asked me, smiling.
I smiled back. “My max is only like eighty pounds,” I told him. “It’s all right.”
“That’s pretty good, for someone your size,” Mark said.
“Isabel, I want to hear all about school,” Mom told me then.
I sneaked a look at Lara. She half-smiled at me, but concealed it.
I was thinking about Tarek, and how I would see him in class tomorrow, but I wasn’t going to tell Mom about him.
“It’s going well so far,” I told her.
“What classes do you have?” Mark asked me.
I told him.
“Criminal Procedure,” he mused. “That will be very handy.”
“Hopefully no one at this table will ever be arrested and will ever have to call me for help,” I said, trying to smile a little.
“But you don’t want to do criminal law, right?” Mark asked then.
“No, I—I’m hoping to do corporate law, transactional work, ideally.” That kind of work would allow me to mostly work by myself, reviewing contracts all day. Kind of like now, except that I would be reviewing their legal contents and making legal recommendations instead of thinking about how to render them in a different language. “But,” I continued, “the legal economy is not so great right now. So I’m open to a bunch of different options. I’m considering litigation, immigration, national security work, regulatory and other stuff.”
“With your languages, you should be in great demand,” Mark said. He was always so nice to me, and so positive.
“Why don’t you stay with the government?” Mom asked then. Here we go.
“I don’t work for the government now, Mom. I work for a contractor.”
“Well, can’t you just stay with your current company?” Mom asked. Here was where she started twenty questions.
“I could, and that is my fallback plan.” She and I had already spoken about this. Why she felt the need to talk about it again, I had no idea. My mother was nothing if not insistent.
“Well, don’t you have any contacts in the government, like at the Department of Defense or something?”
“I’m looking at all options.” I considered what I was about to say, then went ahead. What the hell? “I’m applying all over the place.”
“Really?” Mom asked. “Where?”
“I’ve applied to places all over the country, DC, New York, Miami, Delaware, Texas, for example.”
“So you might move?” Mom asked.
“Maybe you’ll meet someone at your new job,” Mom wouldn’t quit.
I closed my eyes and lowered my head a little bit, so Mom wouldn’t see my expression.
“Yes, I’m ancient and my ovaries are about to dry up, so I guess I need a man, right?” I started to get a bit pissed off. “I mean, I can’t be a real woman without a man and a couple of kids, right?”
“I didn’t say that,” Mom said.
“She didn’t mean that.” Lara was always conciliatory.
Yes, that is exactly what she meant.
“Mom, Lara and Ariel will give you grandkids. Don’t worry about it.”
“Not for a few years,” Lara said. I shot her a look that said, you’re not helping me right now!
“I’m not worried about that,” Mom answered.
“Then what are you worried about?” I asked her point-blank. “If I meet someone, bien. If not, bien tambien. Not everyone wants kids and wants to be tied down, Mom. Besides,” I paused for a breath, “You know something? You continuing to harp on my not having a boyfriend does not make it any likelier to become true.”
Mom sighed, and shook her head a little bit.
“Don’t pity me, Mom. I can’t stand it,” I told her.
Patrick asked for more lasagna. Mark cleared his throat. I picked at my dish. And she wonders why I don’t come over here more often. That seemed to close the issue.
I was wrong.
“So—” Mom said then, glaring at me, a look of determination on her face. “Who was the person you were meeting to study with the other day when I called?”
Damn. My mother was so incredibly stubborn. I found myself thinking of my father for some reason. He had always tempered her moods a little bit.
“No one you know.”
“Yes, you told me that on the phone. Who was it?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Is it a guy?” Mom asked then.
I was a jackass but I wouldn’t lie. For some reason, I hated to lie. I considered it almost a sin. I didn’t know why I felt that way.
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