No Sex in the City (34 page)

He leans closer and motions to me to lean in. ‘I’ve never gone all the way,’ he whispers.

‘You’re a virgin!’ I cry.

‘Thanks, Esma,’ he says dryly. ‘The entire football oval is going to take that home with them now.’

I laugh.

‘Oh, and laugh while you’re at it too.’

That only makes me laugh harder.

‘What’s so funny?’ he says, although he’s smiling.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘You said you had girlfriends and mucked around.’

‘I may be a virgin, but I’m still a big hypocrite. I mean, I’m not exactly innocent here. I just never went
all
the way. Something always stopped me. Guilt. Shame. A feeling that I was selling out to a double standard, wanting to settle down with a girl who would be with me for her first time but applying different rules to myself.’

‘Oh,’ I say, too stunned and touched to offer more.

‘So are you relieved? Disappointed?’ he asks eventually. ‘What are you thinking?’

A smile. A long pause.

What am I thinking? I’m thinking this guy has character. I’m thinking that I don’t care what the movies or magazines or society says, sex is a big deal and being with someone who ‘saved’ himself for me is exciting and terrifying and thrilling all at once.

But I’m not about to tell him that. Instead, I look at him, smile and say, ‘I’m thinking I’m happy. That’s all ... What are you thinking?’

‘Exactly the same thing, actually.’

My parents call a family meeting on Sunday morning. Senem and I exchange an anxious look as she walks through the front door, Farouk behind her.

‘Hey, Esma,’ he says softly. ‘It’ll be okay.’

I nod and give him a grateful smile.

We all sit down in the family room. Mum and Dad sit beside each other on the couch. I try to interpret their body language, but they’re not giving anything away.

Dad speaks first. He clears his throat and fixes his gaze on a spot on the coffee table. My mum is picking at the tassels on the cushion.

‘We’ve decided to sell this house.’ His voice is composed, if a little choked. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s no choice. I can’t expect Esma to sacrifice her life because of my mistakes. I’ve spoken with the bank and there’ll be enough left after we sell to buy something small.’

‘Where will you buy?’ Senem asks.

‘It won’t be in this area,’ my mum says bluntly. ‘There’s nothing we can afford here. It will be something small. Probably a flat. Maybe a small town house. We’ll look at the options.’

Dad clears his throat again. ‘Senem and Farouk, I’m so sorry but we can’t offer you a place to stay while you save.’ Dad looks down at his lap and swallows hard. His guilt is palpable, and I can feel the weight of it around my heart.

‘It’s fine, Dad,’ Senem says breezily. ‘Don’t worry about me and Farouk. We’re both working. We’ll get there eventually. Just think of setting yourselves up.’

‘I want you girls to know that I’ve forgiven your father,’ Mum says, a slight tremble in her voice. ‘But I want you all to know this too: I haven’t forgiven him for your sake, or for his. Don’t any of you ever again assume you can predict how I’ll react. Of everything that has happened, being kept in the dark has hurt me the most. I’m not a child. Do you hear me?’

We all nod, and Senem and I start to cry softly.

Mum’s crying too but she still manages to talk. ‘Yes, I’ve made sacrifices for the sake of my family, but I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do. I will not be thought of as a woman who lives only for her husband and children. I live for myself too. I never want to be protected from the truth in the name of love. That is not love. That is a lack of trust. So. That is the last I will say of it. We have to move on from this.’

My dad speaks next. He wants to acknowledge how much of a burden he imposed on me, what an amazing woman Mum is for allowing him to rebuild all he’s broken, how he hopes we can all forgive him for what he’s done – and my mum is looking at him with what appears to be a new sense of confidence. It’s as though she’s taken the terrible facts of what Dad has done and used them as a chance to prove her strength and character – not to my dad or to us, but to herself.

We all misjudged Mum, including me. I’m ashamed of how patronising I was towards her. How little credit I gave her.

Mum asks Senem and me to keep her company that night. I can’t refuse. I call Aydin and start to apologise, but he won’t let me.

‘It doesn’t need any explanation or apology, Esma,’ he says. ‘Be there for her, simple as that.’

So our dinner plans are cancelled. The good news is that he’s free to come to the Sydney Refugee Centre this week to meet my class and do a screen test for his documentary, as well as start on some digital storytelling training. I can hardly wait.

The group is nervously waiting for Aydin. They’ve all come to class dressed in their best outfits. Ahmed’s drowning in his aftershave and sits at his desk, tugging at his shirt. The girls share a compact mirror as they fuss over their hair and make-up. I keep catching Sonny looking at his reflection in the window, and Faraj is sitting silently, jiggling his foot up and down. When I ask him what he’s thinking about, he says he’s practising his sentences. I feel so close to them at this moment. Proud and humbled and happy for them.

When Aydin walks in with his filming equipment, my heart skips a beat. I’m excited for the group, and thrilled to see him, and conscious of not allowing my feelings to be obvious. I feel my face flush, so I busy myself with some random task to deflect any attention.

I introduce Aydin to the group and then let him talk to them about his documentary. Within a couple of minutes I can tell he’s made a connection with the class. He’s funny and warm and self-deprecating and, most importantly, he’s making it clear that this is about empowering
them
. I sense the group sit up taller.

‘You can talk about whatever you want. It doesn’t have to be about the trauma you’ve gone through, all the suffering you’ve seen. Maybe you’re sick of talking about that. Or maybe you don’t feel you’ve talked about it enough.’ He smiles warmly at them. ‘The point is, nothing’s off limits.’

Aydin’s enthusiasm and energy are infectious, and soon the kids are clamouring for a turn in front of the camera. Some of them talk about life in the camps, and the horrors of their journey to Australia by boat. Sonny, however, is more interested in talking about the need for extra buses and trains in the outer suburbs of Sydney.

‘How we expecting to integrating when there not enough buses and trains? If I could drive, I no affording a car anyway. We needing transport to be better. You showing the government my video and maybe they do something, yes?’

When everybody’s left, and Aydin and I are alone packing up, I start to thank him and he laughs it off. ‘Oh come on, I should be thanking
you
. They’re amazing.’

‘I know,’ I say cheekily. ‘I was just being polite.’

He takes a step towards me and there’s a sudden intensity between us. I’m sure he can hear my heart hammering away at my rib cage because he quickly steps back and starts to chatter cheerily as he finishes packing up his bags.

As we leave the building, a familiar figure suddenly appears before us.

‘Metin!’ I feel dizzy, as though I’ve been punched in the guts. ‘What are you doing here?’

It’s as if he doesn’t see Aydin, even though he’s standing right beside me.

‘You can’t just break up with me like that,’ he says, a tormented look on his face. ‘Without a proper explanation. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m—’

‘What’s going on?’ Aydin asks, looking at me in confusion. ‘Who is this guy? What’s he talking about?’

Oh my God, I’m in a soap opera. This can’t be happening. I feel sick. ‘Metin, just go, please.’

Metin looks anguished. ‘But I thought it was going well.’

‘What was going well?’ Aydin asks, crossing his arms.

There’s nothing I can say to him. And even if there is, I’m not going to say it here. I feel the colour draining from my face.

I turn to Metin. ‘I told you I don’t want to see you again. You have no right to come here. I never made you any promises. We were just getting to know each other and I decided you weren’t the guy for me. I’m sorry. Now please leave me alone.’

But Metin can’t take no for an answer. He tries to plead with me until Aydin tells him to back off and get out of here.

‘She’s asked you to leave her alone. It’s not a hint.’

Metin’s taller and bigger, but that doesn’t seem to perturb Aydin.
This is so humiliating
, I think to myself.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Metin demands, puffing up his chest.

I forget to breathe, waiting for Aydin’s reply. For all he knows, Metin and I could have been seeing each other last year. I might get away with it. As the thought runs through my mind, I realise I’ve reached the heights of hypocrisy.

‘That’s none of your business,’ Aydin says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Metin stares at me one last time. There’s anguish and disappointment in his eyes. As controlling and jealous as he is, I know he doesn’t deserve this. I do not have the moral high ground here. I feel so small.

He takes one last desperate look at me, mutters something and storms off. I stare after him stupidly and then heave an exhausted sigh.

‘Wow. What on earth was that about?’ Aydin asks me. And what hurts so badly is that there isn’t the slightest suspicion in his eyes. I can’t let things start on a foundation of betrayal. If I’ve learnt anything these past weeks, it’s that lying is never the better path.

‘Can we talk?’

He searches my eyes. ‘Sure. Come back to my car. It’s cold outside.’

When we’re sitting in his car he says lightly, ‘The past rears its ugly head, hey?’

I tuck my hair behind my ear and take a deep breath. ‘Aydin, Metin wasn’t in my past ... He came to my house with his parents a couple of weeks before you did. I didn’t want to say no to meeting you because I didn’t know if I might be turning away the right person ...’ I don’t look at him as I talk. My eyes stay fixed on the dashboard. ‘I never,
ever
thought it would drag on for as long as it did ... I was confused ...

‘I ended it with Metin last week,’ I continue. ‘Not only because he seemed pretty controlling, but because ...’ my voice cracks and I try to clear my throat, ‘I fell for you ...’

I look up at him and feel a contraction of fear around my heart. The muscles in his jawline are tense as he stares stonily ahead. Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t want to cry. I want to retain some semblance of dignity at the end of all this.

‘I’m so sorry, Aydin. I’m not saying that because I got caught. I honestly am ashamed of how things turned out. If only you knew me ... really knew me ...’

‘It just doesn’t make any sense,’ he says after a long silence. ‘We sat in my car. We spoke about honesty, we confessed our secrets. And you didn’t bother to mention Metin.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I get that you needed time to decide between us. I just wish you’d told me.’

My heart ruptures. I’ve lost him.

‘I can’t offer you anything except sorry,’ I say. I know I’m about to cry, so I quickly open the door, get out and walk to my car. It feels like the longest walk of my life.

Then I hear a car door open behind me.

‘Esma.’ Aydin’s voice is low but firm. I turn around and before I know what’s happening he’s in front of me, kissing me long and hard on the lips. He pulls back, gently holding my face in his hands. There’s tenderness and forgiveness in his eyes. ‘I understand you didn’t do this deliberately to hurt me or lead me on. And I can’t imagine the situation has been easy for you. You have too much integrity not to have taken this seriously. I’d be a hypocrite and an idiot to let you go.’

I look at him and smile and he wraps me in his arms.

Oh
, I think.
So this is what
kismet
feels like.

On Monday morning I send an email to reception:
Sick again. I’ll be in tomorrow.

Within half an hour I’ve got three missed calls from Danny. I ignore them. Then a text message from him:
What’s going on? Are you okay?

I reply:
I’ll see you tomorrow. Bright and early.

He shoots back:
Excellent! The office is so dull without you. Let’s meet to talk about the promotion again. We’ll go through the proposal plan. Maybe over lunch?

I don’t reply. Instead I get dressed in my best power suit for my job interview today. Then I send Ruby a text, arranging a meeting at her office at one.

I turn on the charm and wit for the interview. The job doesn’t pay as well but I’m beyond caring about money. The position itself is almost identical to what I’m doing, with the added incentive of working in a bigger office with more opportunities and, importantly for me, more accountability and structure. I walk out feeling confident I’ve made a good impression. I’ll be disappointed if I don’t get the job. But if that happens, I’m feeling philosophical enough to accept the experience as a good practice run.

After the interview I walk the few blocks up to Ruby’s building. She ushers me into her office and takes a seat at her enormous desk, piled high with folders and files. I walk over to the massive window with a view of the Harbour Bridge and Opera House. I cross my arms and stare out, captivated by the view.

‘How do you get any work done?’ I say breathlessly.

‘I don’t have time to appreciate the view,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘That’s why my back faces the window.’

I don’t respond, just stare out in silence. Ruby doesn’t press me. She just sits quietly, waiting for me to speak.

I turn around and face her. ‘Okay,’ I say grimly, ‘let’s write that letter of demand.’

She grins at me. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

The next morning I arrive at work groomed to within an inch of my life. My make-up is dramatic, my hair voluminous and ready to be tossed and flicked at whim. I walk through reception confidently. I do trip over a slight hitch in the carpet, but that’s entirely beside the point.