No Sex in the City (31 page)

He pauses, expecting me to respond. But I don’t. I stare stonily at him. I’m not going to say a word. I’ll just sit here and silently wish him a lifetime of painful urination and infected mosquito bites.

For a second my silence ruffles his composure, but he quickly gathers his momentum again and says, ‘Let’s see how you go in the next quarter. I’m not saying we need to put this off for another financial year. I’m still very keen on seeing you rise up the ranks of the agency and I’m here to support you to do that. How about you send me a proposal of strategies that will assist you to be even more productive? An outline of things we can do as a team to help you go beyond your targets and KPIs?’

‘Sure,’ I say coolly. I stand up and he flashes me a triumphant smile.

You prick
, I think.
That’s it. Game over
.

I flash him an insincere smile, thank him for his time, promise to get the document to him as soon as possible, turn on my heel and storm back to my office.

Metin calls me on my way home from work. ‘So how was the party?’ he asks, a hint of hesitation in his normally confident voice.

I’ve been waiting for him to ask. When I spoke to him on Sunday he was obviously dying to know. At least he was sensitive enough to drop the subject when I told him about Nirvana. But it’s clearly been bothering him because before I have a chance to answer he quickly adds, ‘Was it a late night?’

‘It was a very late night,’ I say, all narky, ‘given the situation with Nirvana. But to answer your questions, the party was great and I left before eleven. Does that satisfy you? Do you want to check with my dad what time I got home?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m really giving you the wrong impression of me. I’m not trying to control you.’

‘Really?’ I ask doubtfully. ‘Because it doesn’t sound that way, Metin. I’m used to answering to my parents, but even they stopped questioning my movements years ago.’

‘Look, I can’t help it if I’m protective. You’re a beautiful, attractive girl. I think of you at Rhodes and I want to smash my fist through a wall, imagining all those sleazebags drooling over you.’

Oh God. Should I be worried? Or flattered?

‘I appreciate the concern, Metin, but trust me, the guys there weren’t distracted by my presence.’

He doesn’t need to know about the guys from the stag party next door who tried their pick-up lines on me (‘Do you put out?’).

‘I highly doubt that,’ he mumbles. ‘You’re too modest. They’d be crazy not to notice you.’

I feel my cheeks flush. A part of me knows that Metin is dangerously close to being unreasonably overprotective, but another part of me is enjoying the attention and compliments. And it’s that other half that seems to be winning out.

‘Mum, do you think there are some things that can’t be forgiven between a couple?’

Mum looks up from her book. ‘It depends on the couple,’ she says after a long pause.

‘What would you consider unforgivable?’

‘Why?’ she asks suspiciously.

‘No particular reason.’ I rack my brain for a plausible excuse. ‘Just that Nirvana’s having some problems with her fiancé. Well, ex-fiancé.’

‘Oh. That’s sad to hear. But what I might forgive, someone else might think unforgivable.’ She closes her book and looks at me. ‘The truth is, I’ve never had to think about it. Your father and I have always had such a good relationship.’

I swallow the lump in my throat. ‘But you must have thought about what you wouldn’t put up with in your marriage. There’s no perfect relationship.’

She laughs. ‘I didn’t say that. Our marriage is far from perfect. We’re happy because it’s possible to be happy and flawed. That doesn’t mean we haven’t had hard times, Esma.’ She smiles. ‘I remember I would sit up with you and Senem when you were little, while your dad was at work. I would have cooked and cleaned and picked you up from preschool. And sometimes you’d refuse to eat or sleep. I remember I used to think that marriages needed a reset button.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘A chance to reinvent yourself every three or five years. So you could start all over again, go back to when there was some mystery to the person you were getting involved with. Back to when you couldn’t possibly believe your life would be one endless routine.’

I smile at her.

‘But,’ she says, suddenly animated, ‘if you press reset, you lose all the shared experiences, the tenderness that comes with familiarity. It would be like learning a language and then suddenly forgetting it, having to start from scratch again.’

‘Hmm, that’s true as well.’

‘So?’

I look up at her, surprised.

‘So ask me what conclusion I drew from all this.’

‘Oh,’ I say with a laugh. ‘What did you decide?’

She winks at me. ‘I decided to let you and Senem sleep in the same bed so you’d fall asleep together and give me a much-needed break!’ I laugh. ‘That bought me some time to myself. It’s easier to stay in love when you look after your mind and body.’

‘So were there times you fell out of love with Dad?’

She ponders my questions. ‘No. Love can exist, even if it’s wilted and dehydrated. It’s not ideal, but that’s life. Love is the hardest thing in the world to keep in bloom. It needs attention every day. Some days I tried. Some days your dad tried. But that’s okay. Because we both knew we’ d never both give up trying.’

I’m not up to facing Danny today. I call in sick. The good news is that I get a call from a recruiter offering a job interview. I’m thrilled.

I’m meeting Metin tonight, which means I have the perfect excuse to buy a new outfit. I spend most of the day defying the theory that retail is suffering from a lack of consumer confidence. I’m pretty sure I’ve made several retailers happy today.

To my credit, I don’t indulge in any designer brands. Instead of buying one good quality item for a heap of money, I buy twenty bad-quality items for the same heap of money.

I’m in one of those cheap accessories chain stores trying hard not to lose control at the sight of rows and rows of earrings and necklaces in every colour. It’s too late. I see rose-petal earrings in white, red and green and it’s all over.

As I walk to the food court to grab a coffee, I call Nirvana. She’s at work.

‘Seventeen-hour labour,’ she says, her voice sapped of energy. ‘And the poor girl had to get a C-section in the end.’

‘Yikes.’ I shudder. ‘Have you finished your shift?’

‘No. I’m just on a break and having a coffee.’

‘How are you doing?’

‘He asked me out for dinner tonight. I said no. He’s so upset, Esma. He says he’s going to talk to his mum. He’s just waiting for the right moment because things are so bad with Neela and Sunil.’

‘I don’t know, Nirvana. I don’t think something this important should wait.’

‘That’s what I think. But this is the first time he’s acknowledged that it’s up to him to deal with this.’

‘Well, that’s a big step. For him, I mean.’

My phone vibrates, indicating I have a message.

‘Nirvana, hang on a sec.’ I check who the message is from. It’s Ruby:
CHECK YOUR FACEBOOK
NOW
!

‘Nirvana, I’ve got to go.’

‘No problem. I’ve got to help sew a woman up anyway.’

‘Too much information,’ I say queasily.

I log on to Facebook and scroll down my wall.

I can’t help it. I yell out, ‘The mother-fucker!’

A woman standing beside me asks me to watch my language in front of her child.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I fumble, utterly horrified. ‘But,’ I plead defensively, ‘he’s posted Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” clip on my wall with the message,
I thought you might appreciate this
.’

‘How dare you say such a thing in front of my child!’ She gives me a disgusted look – a look that implies she thinks I was raised by drug addicts who made me sniff petrol – and scurries off, dragging her young son behind her. I want to yell out,
You’re wrong! I was raised by uptight conservative Muslims who didn’t let me watch
Neighbours
because they thought it would corrupt me
.

My head begins to throb. Because under Danny’s post are twenty-four messages. Some samples:

Hey Esma, some things are better left unsaid.
Are you getting married?
Are you getting divorced?
Appreciate what? Virginity, or losing it?
Virginity is overrated.
No. I disagree. It’s underrated.

Who are these ‘friends’ posting such inane comments on my wall? I have absolutely no recollection of adding them. I can only guess I accepted their invites by accident, or as an act of charity.

I won’t respond. I’ll ignore it. I’ll pretend I haven’t seen it. New messages will be posted on other walls and this will be forgotten by tomorrow.

But not by me.

On the drive home from the shops I almost don’t hear my phone. I’ve got the music blaring loudly and I’m singing at the top of my lungs. I eventually feel a vibration and pick up my phone.

‘Hi, Esma.’

‘Hi, Metin.’

‘It’s been a really rough day.’

I try to forget about Danny. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. ‘Everything okay?’ I ask.

‘Well, Esma, actually, no, it’s not.’

‘Did you lose a patient?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Did one of your patients die?’

He laughs awkwardly. ‘No, Esma. Nobody died. Don’t forget I’m a GP, not a surgeon.’

‘Well, common colds can be quite deadly if you’re old.’

‘Are
you
okay?’

‘Not really,’ I say with a melodramatic sigh. ‘I wish it was the nineties.’

‘The
nineties
?’

‘Yes. When a social networking site was a café and sexual harassment was restricted to the workplace. God, they had it easier then.’

‘I’m not following you at all.’

‘Never mind,’ I say. ‘Just forget it. What’s wrong?’

He clears his throat. ‘Well, Esma,’ he says soberly, ‘I saw something that really concerned me today. On your Facebook wall.’

I wince.

‘Who’s Danny? And what was that post all about?’

‘Danny’s my boss.’

‘Your
boss
? And he’s mucking around like that?’

‘Yes. He unfortunately belongs to the segment of the male population that thinks misogyny is endearing.’

‘So this isn’t the first time he’s humiliated you like this?’

I let out a bitter laugh. ‘Nope.’

‘How can you allow yourself to be treated like that?’ he snaps.

A wave of fury floods through me.
Oh no
, I think, bristling.
I don’t give a damn how hot you are, you are not blaming me for this
.

‘For your information, it’s not as easy as me walking into his office and telling him to stop. Because I’ve done that and it hasn’t worked. These things are complicated.’

‘They’re not complicated,’ he says with deadly calmness. ‘It’s about nipping things in the bud. This is exactly what I was talking about. If you let them cross the line, just once, it’s all over. You can’t trust guys. There’s always an underlying motive. If you’d put a stop to things from the beginning, I guarantee it wouldn’t have continued. Joking around, innocent flirting – the way we behave gives people permission to treat us in certain ways—’

‘
Excuse me?
’

‘Sorry?’

‘What did you just say?’

‘I said how we behave gives people permission to treat us in certain ways.’

A sudden sense of liberation washes over me. ‘Thanks for making this so easy, Metin.’

‘You agree? What a relief! Because, Esma—’

‘I’ve got self-respect. And I won’t let you take that away from me, Metin.’

‘What do you—’

‘It was nice getting to know you, Metin, but I don’t see a future for us.’

‘But—’

‘I’m sorry your ex broke you.’

‘Huh?’

‘I’m sure there’s a girl out there willing to put the pieces back together. But that girl’s not going to be me. Good luck finding her. Goodbye.’

I know for a fact that there are people out there – many of them my mother’s friends – who would think my decision was wrong.
Rejecting a doctor! Just because he’s the jealous type! She should be flattered he cares.

I also know for a fact that there are girls my age for whom my decision would be equally shocking.
You don’t want to end up lonely, Esma. Don’t be so fussy
.

But I also know this: I’m whole, whether I’m single or married, in love or out of love. And I’m determined to be my own person no matter what.

I let myself be seduced, swept off my feet. Well, my feet are back on the ground now. And it feels good to have my balance back.

Aydin calls me to ask if we can postpone dinner to Sunday night. He’s been offered tickets to a film festival in Melbourne and he wants to meet a visiting director from the UK and pitch an idea to him. I tell him it’s fine.

‘You’ll like the new doco I’m working on,’ he says. ‘I want it to be about a group of asylum seekers and refugees.’

I squeal with excitement. ‘Do you have a group yet?’

‘Not yet. I’m looking around.’

‘Meet my students! They’re wonderful!’

He laughs. ‘Backtrack a bit.’

I start to gush. ‘You’ll love Sonny – he’s funny and unapologetic and brutally honest. Miriam is young but
so
mature for her age. Ahmed is shy but has these incredible moments when he forgets to care about what people think of him and this defiant spirit just bursts out of him. And then there’s Christina who’s so thoughtful and perceptive – oh, and Faraj who just wants to get on with life.’ I pause to take a breath and he laughs quietly.

‘Have they been in front of a camera before?’

I explain my digital storytelling plans to him. ‘I want them to have a chance to be more than refugees. I want them to have a voice. I want them – no,
they
want people to treat them as more than just victims of war. And they’re all so eager to tell their stories.’

I feel an electric charge through the line. Something special is happening and the pause on the other end tells me Aydin is feeling it too.