No Sex in the City (15 page)

However, despite their perfect relationship (they only argue about Anil’s unfortunate habit of forgetting to apply the handbrake, which has, so far, not resulted in any loss or injury to life or property), a dark force hovers at the edge of it, threatening to send them plunging into relationship oblivion.

Anil’s mother.

Cue theme music to
Jaws
.

(Description: regal and menacing looks, albeit with a tyre of fat around her stomach that sits proudly above her sari.)

Anil’s mother, Preedi, has nothing personal against Nirvana. It’s just that she has something against any girl who is going to take her son away from her. The eldest and only son, Anil, is the golden child, who stood beside her in her dark days as a single mother. Preedi has struggled to accept any girl Anil has brought home. And now Anil is engaged to be married, and Preedi must pretend to be happy when really all she wants to do is banish Nirvana from their lives. Because now she will lose her firstborn forever. Not to mention that Nirvana doesn’t seem to want a big traditional engagement party. She wants something ‘intimate’ and ‘classy’. Fifty people! Not the two hundred people that should be there. What would the community think??? This formerly struggling divorced mother is now the proud wife of a rich man and more than capable of sending off her son in STYLE, thank you very much!

‘She’s a witch!’ I cry, scaring the girl who is buffing my toenails (she doesn’t speak much English, so she can only smile and nod at me).

‘Your mother-in-law is just
such
a cliché,’ Ruby says.

‘Can’t she do the whole evil mother-in-law thing with a bit more of a twist?’ I say. ‘I mean, it’s so
old
.’

‘Playing devil’s advocate for just a moment,’ Lisa says calmly, ‘try to see things from her point of view. It might help you work out how to deal with her. If she feels she was ostracised because of the divorce, then that clearly affected her relationship with her kids. And she seems to want to get back at everybody in the community who gave her a hard time.’

‘I know,’ Nirvana says ruefully. ‘But it would be so much easier to appreciate her point of view if she wasn’t so manipulative. For example, at dinner the other night, Anil and I were talking with his stepdad—’

‘Master Splinter,’ we simultaneously correct her.

Nirvana giggles. ‘Oh, that is so mean. He’s the
nicest
guy.’

‘We know,’ I say matter-of-factly. ‘But he’s a dead ringer for Master Splinter.’

She pauses, thinks for a second, and then grins. ‘You’re right. So, Anil and I were talking with Master Splinter,’ she looks at us and we nod approval, ‘about the engagement plans, and Anil’s mum was quiet. When Master Splinter left the room she looked at us sadly and said, “I’m so happy for you both.”’

‘Well, that’s good,’ Lisa says.

‘
Wait!
Then she said, in this
pitiful
voice, “But it’s hard for me ...” She patted Anil on the hand. “You will always be the best man in my life, darling. Husbands come and go, but not sons. As happy as I am for you, I’m sad to lose you.”’

Ruby, who has just taken a sip of soft drink, coughs. The Coke comes out through her nose, sending us into a hysterical fit.

‘I couldn’t help myself,’ Nirvana continues once we’ve calmed down. ‘I told her I felt hurt by her comment and shouldn’t she feel instead that she was gaining a daughter? And Anil, who by then had given his mum a big reassuring hug – BARF – laughs and says, “That’s right, Mum, I’m not going anywhere. You’re not losing me. You’re gaining Nirvana.”’

‘How did you not puke on all the clichés?’ Lisa cries.

Nirvana bristles. ‘Believe me, it took all my self-control. She was supposedly fighting back tears and forced herself to reassure us she was very happy and not to worry, she’ d be
fine
.’

I suddenly let out a giggle. My pedicurist has started with the pumice on the balls of my feet. This is not a good thing – I am ticklish and I wriggle around in my seat. I can’t exclude the possibility that I might kick her in the mouth. She is looking at me and smiling while she scrubs my feet raw.

‘Can’t Anil see through it all?’ I ask when the torture session has finished and we’re on to the more soothing task of applying nail polish.

‘Of course not,’ Nirvana says wearily. ‘I love him to bits, but he’s a mummy’s boy through and through.’ She puts her face in her hands. ‘It’s going to take all my fortitude not to commit a homicide before the engagement party.’ She looks up sharply. ‘Not to mention she is so intolerant of my dieting.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

‘You know how I always carry a small cooler around? For my ice cubes. She thinks I’m mad.’

A couple of months ago Nirvana read that eating cold food burns calories as the body has to heat up the food to body temperature for it to be absorbed into the bloodstream. Ever since then, she’s insisted on the majority of her meals being served cold (it always throws waiters). Then she came across the bright idea of munching on ice cubes all day. So it’s not unusual to see her carrying a small cooler in her oversized handbag and popping ice cubes like chewing gum.

‘Nirvana!’ I thunder. ‘I’m on your mother-in-law’s side with this one.’

Nirvana opens her handbag, takes out the cooler, lifts the lid and throws an ice cube into her mouth.

‘You’re mental,’ I mutter at her.

‘I’m burning calories just sitting here getting a pedicure. That’s not mental. It’s smart.’

Lisa rolls her eyes. ‘Please extend my sympathies to Anil.’

When we finish and I’m at the counter paying, my pedicurist hands me a receipt and says, ‘If mother-in-law dog, give her bone.’

‘Oh,’ I say, startled. Then I flash a charming smile. ‘Is that a Thai saying?’

‘No,’ she says gruffly. ‘Experience.’

Senem sends me an instant message at work.

Senem: Guess what? Me and Farouk might be moving in with you guys for six months while we save for the deposit!!!! It’ll be like old times!!!

My jaw drops.

Me: Really? When?

Senem: The lease ends in five months. But we can’t afford to renew it
and
save. We’ll only be staying for six months. I know it’s a burden on Mum and Dad but Farouk and I will insist we help with the bills.

Me: You know Mum and Dad will have a fit if you suggest paying the bills. They’ve never taken a cent from us.

It’s not a lie. Before the debt, Dad had refused any offer from us to contribute to the shopping or bills. If I wanted to help out, I bought groceries without asking anybody and just put them in the cupboard. But to actually give my parents money would send them, especially my dad, into a fit of anger. Which is why I’m sure that asking me for financial help has deeply wounded Dad’s pride.

Senem: Well, Farouk will try anyway. And I promise I won’t hog the bathroom. And you and Farouk get along so well, so it won’t be like all those other horror stories you hear about. Mum’s so excited. Are you?

Me: OF COURSE.

My use of capital letters is the equivalent of a forced smile. There are many words I can use to express my feelings, and excited is not one of them. If the situation were different – if I wasn’t basically spending most of my salary trying to save Mum and Dad’s house from being repossessed – then I would have welcomed Senem and Farouk back home. But the fact is that they’re moving back to Mum and Dad’s so that they can save to buy their own place. And I can’t save to buy my own place because I’m paying off a loan that I never asked for. The cruel irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. Nor is it lost on my dad, who calls me within the hour, Senem presumably having spoken to him about the plan.

‘Esma, have you heard?’

‘Yes,’ I mutter.

‘I don’t know what to do. Your mother is so excited. There’s no question of refusing. She’s my daughter, of course we can’t refuse.’

And what about me, Dad?
I want to scream.

‘I’m sorry, Esma. I really am. It will only be six months. They’ve promised that. And I have good news. I’m getting a pay rise. That will be forty more dollars a week into the loan. Everything makes a difference, yes?’

‘Yeah, of course ...’ My voice falters.

‘I’m taking on an extra shift at work, too. With Senem and Farouk moving in, the bills will be higher, and I don’t want that to affect you.’

‘Okay, Dad.’

‘God will reward you for being so kind to your parents,’ he says. ‘He won’t ignore that I don’t have an atom’s weight of disappointment in you, Esma. Only pride and love.’

I bite down on my lip to stop myself from crying.

Danny pops his head into my office as I’m about to leave for the day.

‘Any plans this weekend?’ he asks.

‘Not that I’m aware of so far,’ I say cautiously.

His face breaks into a grin. I have no idea what’s going on with him. Ever since Sara’s visit, and the subsequent tense work meeting in which he basically took it upon himself to exercise control of our reproductive rights, he’s been relaxed, pleasant, jovial even. The random compliments have even returned (apparently I’m ‘dressed to kill’ today; this was offered at the same time as Danny complimented Shae on her new bag, so I couldn’t exactly take offence).

It’s as though our little spat never happened. Once again, I’m left confused. Every instinct in my body tells me that Danny has crossed the professional line one too many times and that his antics are unacceptable.

Maybe the best thing is to try to find another job. I’d probably have a case for constructive dismissal, but to sue Danny would mean witness statements and rallying staff to stand by me. It would all be so messy and stressful that I don’t think it would be worth it.

I tell myself to take each day as it comes, and try to ignore the voice in my head that says that’s just a cop-out.

Eleven-forty-five. Snug in bed. Coaxing myself into sleep with a fantasy involving Colin Firth (who, in my fantasy, has converted to Islam after meeting a Muslim extra on the set of
Pride and Prejudice
and therefore now ticks every conceivable box in my checklist), his proposal of marriage to me (during an Oscar acceptance speech), Turkey consequently being accepted into the European Union (even the EU has a thing for Mr Darcy), and Colin and me becoming national heroes (in Turkey, the UK and Australia) and a text message ... Huh?

Who’ d be texting at this time? I roll over to face my bedside table and check my phone. It’s from Ruby.

Can you bring your Mink headband to boot camp tomorrow? I want to wear it. See you then!

I try to recall my fantasy but the moment has gone. I’m left thinking about push-ups and sprints and fall asleep exhausted.

‘GIVE ME AS MANY SQUATS AS YOUSE CAN IN THIRTY SECONDS, STARTING NOW!’

My legs are burning from the half-hour of kickboxing we’ve just done but I throw myself into my squats, trying to lower my butt as far down to the ground as I can. If my muscles could talk they’d be shouting filthy curses at me right now. I look over at Ruby. The mink headband is a bit lopsided now and she’s struggling with the squats, stopping every time Alex turns his back. As soon as he turns around and is looking in our direction, she’s trying her best, scrunching up her face in a look of intense concentration. I’m too tired to laugh.

Later that day I’m on my way to an appointment with a client when Ruby calls me.

‘What would you say if I told you that Alex went to the same Greek weekend school as me when we were kids?’

‘I’d say, “Wow, what a coincidence, and did he do push-ups for fun during recess?”’

‘I wouldn’t have a clue. Probably. But he was two years above me. So while we may have crossed paths, I can’t remember him and he can’t remember me.’

‘You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?’ I say with a laugh.

‘I stayed back after you left class and talked to him,’ she tells me. ‘Then a few of us went for a coffee. His – how can I say this ... his
vocabulary
, is deceiving.’

‘What do you mean? Did
youse
have fun?’

She laughs, but not as heartily as she would have done a few weeks ago. ‘He’s not some dumb-arse. I know the way he speaks is unpolished and, dare I say it, a little
westie
—’

‘Not everybody can – or
wants
to – live in the eastern suburbs or over the bridge, you snob.’

‘Yes, yes, I know, which is why I’m qualifying what I’m saying. I had my preconceptions. I’ve been fed a diet of them growing up.’

I pretend to yawn and she yells at me.

‘You know what I mean!’ she barks. ‘Give me a break.’

‘Luckily you’re my best friend, otherwise I’d suspect you actually thought the
educated classes
only lived in your suburb.’

Ruby, being Ruby, ignores me and goes on. ‘Alex is a high school drop-out. Okay, I accept that. But he’s turned himself into a businessman. He’s running these classes all over Sydney and doing corporate sessions too. His dad didn’t have much of an education either, but he’s built up an investment property portfolio. Apparently his dad isn’t happy with his decision to build a personal training business as opposed to taking on the family business. Alex says it’s been a struggle to get his family to approve, but now that he’s doing so well, they’re starting to accept his decision.’

‘Sounds to me like you’re struggling to come to terms with the fact that you’re interested in a guy who comes from a completely different background to you.’

She lets out a short laugh. ‘I’m attracted to him. And there’s chemistry. Lots of science-lab, Bunsen-burners-exploding chemistry.’

‘Okay. That’s good.’

‘The problem is that, like it or not, I’ve been raised to believe the only kind of relationship that will work for me – and for my family – is one in which the guy is Greek, educated, successful and moves in the same social class as we do. My family defines itself by its status in the community. Alex’s family might be from the same island in Greece, but they move in a different crowd, attend a different church ...’ Her voice trails off.

‘In a nutshell, you move in different socio-economic circles?’