No Sex in the City (28 page)

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?

Metin: Where is she holding the party?

Me:
He
holds it at different venues. This time it’s at a Greek restaurant in Leichhardt.

Metin: Rhodes?

Me: Yep.

Metin: I hate that place.

Me: I’m not a fan either. But Ruby and I missed the last party. Alex really wants us to be there.

Metin: And Alex is a guy?

Me: Yes. The instructor. Who, by the way, I have zero interest in. He treats us all like one big family. It means a lot to him for us to celebrate with him. And we’ve made some good friends. That’s what group pain sessions do.

Metin: What’s the point of you going? You don’t drink. That place is known to be a pick-up joint.

Aydin: How about lunch under the bridge at Kirribilli?

Me: Relax. I know how to take care of myself. I’m a big girl, remember. Survived twenty-eight years without a problem so far.

Aydin: Sorry, lost in translation there. Is Kirribilli a problem for you?

&*(@&)(@&#)(@#)@()@#&) !!!!!

Me: Sorry Aydin! I was just chatting with another friend.

Aydin: I’m not stimulating enough for you?

Me: No! No! You’re very stimulating.

Aydin: Wow. I’ve never impressed a girl so much with such little effort

Suffice to say, I end up making plans to see Aydin for lunch and Metin for dinner, both on Sunday.

I log off and rest my head against my desk, thoroughly exhausted.

Dad calls me as I arrive at the Sydney Refugee Centre.

‘I spoke to some real estate agents,’ he says. ‘If we sold this house and paid the bank, we could buy a flat or small town house.’

My ears prick up. This is progress. ‘Okay. I’m listening.’

‘But not in this suburb. It would need to be out west, where it’s much cheaper. Do you think your mother would consider living in a flat? I won’t need to tell her the real reason for selling. I’ll try to convince her that something smaller is easier on us. Not mowing the lawn, less housework.’

I throw my bag under a desk, sit down, put my head in my hands and sigh deeply.

‘Esma, are you there?’

‘Yes, Dad. I’m here.’ I sit up. ‘Even assuming this is an option, how will you explain the bank taking a chunk out of the sale proceeds? Don’t you think Mum would notice that? She has to sign the papers, you know. Her name is on the house too.’ I am struggling very hard to avoid sarcasm.

‘Oh, I can probably explain something about fees or capital gains tax.’

‘You wouldn’t be subject to tax as it’s not an investment property.’

‘But she doesn’t know that.’

I snap, ‘Dad! Can you hear yourself? You’re worried about her discovering what you did because she’ll feel betrayed, and yet you’re considering lying again! Mum is not a child, you know. Sheez!’

‘Esma, I’m doing this because I love her. I want to protect her. Please understand, I’m only doing this to save our marriage.’

‘I can’t deal with this now, Dad. There are some kids here who have real problems.’

Silence on the other end of the line. I’ve gone too far. My stomach lurches.

‘I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean that,’ I say quietly.

‘It’s okay, darling,’ he says sadly. ‘You’re twenty-eight with the problems of a fifty-three-year-old.’

Something inside me twists, and guilt at pushing my father like this sets in.

We’re writing poetry in class today. Christina raises her hand. ‘I met American soldier one time. His first time leaving his country is war in Iraq. He know nothing about me or my people. I am trying to writing what I feeling in my poem. I am writing something about the boat I come on. It being a wooden whale. We being like Jonah. But we inside the whale more than three days. I was inside two month.’

Christina’s too shy to read the poem aloud and I don’t push her. Sonny volunteers instead. He stands and throws his shoulders back confidently.

I come in boat

To a new country

My family waving goodbye but hearts breaking like bones of friends soldiers broke

When will I become a refugee, not boatperson?

When will I become a human being, not a refugee?

When will this country becoming home, not refuge?’

He grins at me. ‘You like? I think it very good, yes?’

I smile fondly at him. ‘Yes, it is, Sonny.’

I turn to face the whole class. ‘When we get the digital-storytelling training, you can perform your poems to the camera. Tell your story on the screen.’

They nod and we spend the rest of the class working on their poems.

Later, I step outside to do some photocopying when Lisa pops her head out of her cubicle and asks me if I’ve heard from Nirvana.

‘Heard from her about what?’

‘How she is?’

‘I spoke to her a couple of days ago. Nothing new. Engagement party preparations. She helped deliver triplets on Tuesday. Crazy mother-in-law. Why?’ I eyeball her.

‘I’ve just been so busy ... I’ve been meaning to call her but haven’t had a chance.’

I study her face and give her a quizzical look. ‘Honest?’

She waves her hand airily. ‘Everything’s fine.’ She looks behind me, through the window at the students, hard at work. ‘You better get back to class.’

I’m up late tonight talking to Aydin when the conversation turns towards our past. The dating kind. Given that I don’t have much of one, he’s the one in the confessional.

‘So have you been in love before?’ I ask.

Okay, so it’s the same question Metin asked me, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to have the same reaction.

‘Yes. But then life got a bit complicated and my girlfriend couldn’t handle it.’

I twirl my hair around my finger. ‘What do you mean, complicated? What happened?’

‘Just stuff,’ he says.

‘Ah, Mr Mysterious, hey?’

‘Why is my past important anyway?’ he asks cheerfully. ‘I’m a different person now. I’m looking ahead, not behind. All those girls are irrelevant. Does that reassure you?’

‘I’m not asking you because I feel threatened or insecure. I’m just curious because the past shapes us all.’

‘Yeah, the past sure does shape us,’ he says dryly.

‘You said life got complicated ... I just wanted to know what you meant by that.’

‘I won’t be hostage to my past,’ he says. ‘Some things you want to keep out of the present.’

‘Aydin, I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say impatiently.

‘Give me some time, Esma,’ he says. ‘There’s plenty of time to focus on the past. Let’s just enjoy now.’

I pluck at my pillow. You know what? I don’t need Aydin’s confessions, I don’t need to know everything about him. If information is power, then there must be a power in withdrawing any interest in that information.

So I change the subject.

Ruby and I are getting ready for the boot-camp party. Ruby is all boobs and long legs tonight, in a short white Grecian dress and killer heels. Her hair looks magnificent, spiralling down her back, highlights dancing off each curl. She’ d stop traffic.

‘I’m cheering for Aydin,’ she says as she runs the hair straightener through my hair. I’ve been filling her in on what’s been happening. ‘There are some things you just can’t put up with in a guy. Being a tight-arse, for example. Being a mummy’s boy. And being the jealous type.’

I sigh heavily. ‘Yes, I know, Ruby,’ I say. ‘But I don’t think Metin’s the psycho-jealous type.’

‘There are no acceptable degrees of jealousy. You either trust or you don’t.’

I nod slowly. ‘But ...’

‘But what?’

‘But I honestly think he’s just reacting to what happened to him and once he feels secure with me he’ll relax.’

Ruby rests the straightener on the dressing table and rolls her eyes. ‘Esma,’ she thunders, ‘he’s got some serious emotional baggage. And you’re still in interview mode, on your best behaviour, but Metin’s already got two strikes against him. Cut it off now before it starts to get messy.’

I stand up and rub some serum in my hair. ‘Yeah, I know, I know,’ I say wearily. ‘I’m meeting Aydin for lunch tomorrow afternoon, then I’m having dinner with Metin in the evening.’ I put my face in my hands. ‘Ruby! This is shocking! My mum’s to blame. It’s all her fault: “What if you miss out on your
kismet
?”’ I say, mimicking my mother’s voice. ‘I feel like an absolute bitch!’

‘So it’s time to make a decision and ignore all that fairytale destiny talk.’

I groan loudly. ‘I’m going to make a decision tomorrow night.’

‘Good girl.’

Don’t think the irony isn’t lost on me. I’m getting to know two guys at the same time and possibly rejecting one because I think he has an unreasonable paranoia about being betrayed. I need to make a decision and take a risk. It’s only fair. Not to mention that, under the circumstances, I feel like a major hypocrite trying to convince Metin to trust me.