No Sex in the City (25 page)

Wait a second. Since when am I this superficial? Dinner with Aydin last night was amazing. But there’s no question that I feel more physically attracted to Metin. Metin’s got the wow factor. The ‘I want to jump you’ factor (in a religiously compliant way, of course). His eyes, his skin, his dimple (case closed), his body, his towering, manly height. I’ve always had a thing for tall guys and it’s the kind of thing that goes against every feminist bone in my body. I feel protected in a helpless-heroine-engulfed-in-the-arms-of-a-strong-prince kind of way. Monumentally pathetic.

Metin and I are eating at a Mexican restaurant in the city. It’s been an hour and the conversation is improving. Admittedly, it doesn’t flow as it does with Aydin, but there’s so much chemistry between us that I find myself forgetting to be annoyed by the fact that the talk is always about Metin. He’s a flirt too. Holds my gaze. Winks a lot. Stirs me up. He has a story for everything, and maybe I’m becoming more tolerant of him dominating our conversations because his stories are so fascinating and I like imagining him rock climbing in Sweden (T-shirt off, of course) and swimming in Bosnia (Speedos? Six pack?). Or maybe I should just admit it’s because he’s so damn hot.

‘So did you save anybody’s life today in your boxer shorts?’

No. I don’t ask him that. I want to, but I resist.

My phone beeps, alerting me to a message, and Metin urges me to read it. It’s from
MyNaseeb.com
. At first I’m bewildered, but then I remember that this was one of the matrimonial websites I joined and realise that I must have forgotten to delete my profile. I quickly scan the message. In seconds, my shoulders are convulsing and Metin’s staring at me with a questioning smile.

‘What’s the joke?’

I could make something up. After all, admitting that I’ve gone down this path is potentially humiliating. I don’t care how common online dating is, as far as I’m concerned it’s usually a last-resort option. And the last thing I want Metin to think is that I’m last-resort material.

But then it strikes me that Metin is easy-going and fun-loving and something like this will probably just make him smile, not think less of me. So I tell him how, in a moment of desperation after yet another failed matchmaking experience, I decided I’d venture into online dating.

He chuckles. ‘I’ve been there too.’

‘You have no idea what a relief it is to hear that,’ I say. Then I read him the message. ‘
I’m looking for a Muslim woman who adheres to the tenets of Islam and is able to assist me in all endeavours. She has to be attractive and beautiful with curves that excite my sacred minaret.
’

We both double over in hysterics; the people seated at the table beside us flash disapproving looks in our direction, which only makes us laugh harder.

When we’ve finally recovered our breath, Metin asks how long ago I was online. I tell him it was only recently and his eyes narrow.

‘Something wrong?’ I ask.

‘No,’ he hurries to reassure me, but there’s a tightness in his voice. ‘So you deleted all the accounts?’ he asks.

‘Yep. Except I forgot to delete the one I just read to you.’

It takes me by surprise when Metin asks me whether I’ve ever been in love. He must notice me hesitate before I answer. ‘Yes.’

‘
Really?
’

‘Why do you sound so surprised?’

‘I’m not,’ he says. ‘So tell me about it. Who was he?’ He puts his fork down and gives me his full attention.

‘There was a guy in my last year of university,’ I say. ‘His name was Seyf. I met him at a Turkish ball, of all places. We got to know each other over several months, and I honestly thought he was the one. We never spoke openly about it, but it was implied. We both just knew that what we felt for each other was strong enough to last.’ I shrug. ‘And then one day it all came crashing down.’

‘What happened?’

‘His ex was pregnant. He didn’t know until she was six months into the pregnancy. She wanted to get back together with him and he felt he owed it to her and the baby to give it a try. And even though I understood and respected his decision, he broke my heart.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Did they stay together?’

‘Yes. They’re married. The last I heard, they had three children.’

For a split second, a shadow crosses his face. Even his dark side is sexy, I think to myself. Then he asks whether I’m still in contact with Seyf.

‘No. But we have mutual friends on Facebook. You know how it is. Everybody’s life’s on display.’

‘Do you still have feelings for him?’

‘No!’ I say with a laugh. ‘It’s been five years. He’s got his life now, and I’ve got mine. What about you? Have you been in love before?’

There’s a long pause. ‘I’ve been engaged,’ he says.

‘
Really?
’ He nods. ‘You never mentioned it,’ I say, a hint of reproach in my tone.

I hope she was fat and ugly with acne on her back. Yep, I’m as immature as it gets.

‘She was German. We met at university, too – she was studying medicine with me. At first my parents didn’t approve, but when they knew I was serious about her, and I’d proposed and she’d accepted, they backed down.’

‘They wanted you to marry a Turkish girl?’

‘That was their preference. But once we were engaged, they actually became very fond of her. We had a lot in common. She was an enthusiastic rock climber too.’ His eyes darken. ‘And then disaster hit.’

Oh God, I think. Don’t tell me she fell off a cliff and he’s never really got over her. I can’t compete with that kind of baggage.

‘She cheated on me.’

Whoa. It’s worse than I thought. ‘While you were engaged?’

‘She fell in love with my best friend. We often went away together with a group of friends. Apparently they were seeing each other for a couple of months and then, when she’d decided she had stronger feelings for him than me, she dumped me.’

I exhale. ‘That’s horrible.’

He clears his throat and then gives me a gentle smile. ‘I’m over it.’ Oh sure, I’ve heard that one before. ‘I’ve learnt my lesson. It was partly my fault, losing Giselle. There was so much that I let pass and in the end I was betrayed.’

Giselle?
A silence settles between us, and the change in mood is dispiriting.

Metin sets down his glass and smiles at me uncertainly. ‘So,’ he at last manages. ‘I want to say something, but I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.’

I let out a nervous giggle; clearly acting like a bimbo in such moments is the rational way to go.

‘Promise me you won’t be offended or take this badly?’ he says nervously.

In other words, you are about to be offended and take this badly.

I frown. ‘I can give you a false promise but there’s no point. I have no idea what you’re going to say.’

He leans forward and suddenly grabs hold of my hand. I inhale sharply. Is it possible not to melt at the touch of his hand? This is the first physical intimacy we’ve ever had. In fact, I’ve never gone further than holding a guy’s hand. I think I hear the sound of several million bodies falling to the ground in shock.

‘Look, I’ve never felt this way about anybody since Giselle,’ he says.

(While he’s still holding my hand.)

‘So I don’t want to blow it by not being honest.’

(He’s still holding my hand.)

‘We’ve got to go into this knowing each other, as much as we can.’

(Still with the hand.)

‘Okay,’ he says solemnly. ‘I noticed ...’ He stalls and then tries again. ‘I noticed you have a lot of male friends on Facebook.’

HUH?

I instinctively pull my hand away from his. I hadn’t expected such a ... weird statement.

‘Do I?’ I wonder aloud, frowning as I try to remember my list of friends. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ I let out a short laugh. ‘Most people don’t even know half of the friends they add. School, university, all the million things in between.’

He’s clearly disappointed with my response. ‘Do you just add anybody who sends you an invitation?’

‘No!’ I say, my voice trembling. ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say.’

He tries to backtrack. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Esma. It’s just that I’m very particular about who I add.’

I look at him dumbfounded. ‘Look,’ I say in a sharp tone, ‘why is my Facebook profile suddenly an issue? We’re adults, aren’t we? The last thing I would have expected was to be discussing my list of Facebook friends.’

He looks at me. ‘To be honest, I don’t believe guys and girls can just be friends.’

‘I think that’s a bit of a generalisation,’ I scoff.

‘Well, I think my experience justifies the generalisation, Esma.’ His tone is low and gentle. ‘There’s always going to be an element of attraction, so why put yourself in that kind of position? Why allow yourself to be tempted?’

‘Tempted to do
what
? I know guys who I would never think twice about being with.’

‘That’s what you think now. But it’s naive—’

‘I’m not naive,’ I shoot back.

‘Love can come from friendship. It’s often the best kind of love.’

‘But if I’m in love with somebody else, I’m not going to allow myself to ever cross the line with a male friend. I wouldn’t even think twice about it.’

‘You can’t know that,’ he argues. ‘That’s the point. Everybody is vulnerable at some stage.’

‘It comes down to two people being secure in themselves and their relationship.’ I fiddle with my napkin.

Oh, Metin! Male model from Germany, doctor with potential for good future and gorgeous kids, don’t tell me you have trust issues. Have a wart or hairy birthmark (but not too big), but not
trust
issues.

‘You can always trust your partner,’ he says, ‘but how can you trust others? How do I know those male friends don’t want something more from you? I just believe that if we’re to be together we need to cut ourselves off from our past. From your male friends and from my female friends.’

‘Metin,’ I say gently. ‘I know you’ve been betrayed, but you have to learn to trust me. We can’t segregate ourselves from the opposite sex; that’s not how the world works. Each of us is going to be thrown into situations where we’re tested. Ultimately, it’s about our character.’

Another long silence settles between us. I stare at the table as I fiddle with the salt and pepper shaker. And then, quite suddenly, he leans over and I almost pass out.

Because he takes my hand again and gently raises it to his mouth and then presses his lips once against my fingers. My insides go all funny. I’m practically paralysed, but obviously not totally because I’m so shocked by his move that my hand drops when he lets go.

Idiot
, I think.

But then my conscience reminds me about my ‘thou shalt not touch before the ink on the wedding certificate dries’ rule and I accept it’s probably a good thing that my hand has fallen into his tortilla.

‘I’m so sorry!’ I cry, mortified, and quickly grab a napkin.

He starts to laugh, a great hulking laugh that rises up from deep within him, until I’ve joined him and am laughing so hard that I nearly choke.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says when we’ve calmed down. ‘I know I must sound paranoid.’

I cut him off. ‘You have to learn to trust again. I’m telling you now, I can be trusted.’

But then the irony of my words hits me hard and my head begins to throb.

Metin walks me to my car. I’m aware of how close he is to me. I can tell he wants to hold my hand again, even put his arm around me, but I’ve folded my arms over my chest, not trusting myself. I’ve never been this close to a guy before. Even Seyf never crossed the line with me. But with Metin I feel there’s so much sexual chemistry that it’s muddling my thoughts.

When we say goodbye I hurry into my car, not daring to linger.

Every instinct in my body tells me he wants to kiss me goodnight, but if I let him kiss me, I know I won’t want to stop. Isn’t that the whole point of abstinence? That sexual desire is such a powerful, intoxicating force that one small kiss can lead to much much more. If the end of that journey is forbidden to me, then so is the start, because there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that if Metin were to start that journey, I wouldn’t want him to stop.

I roll down my window and his eyes scan mine.

‘I’m sorry, again,’ he says, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. ‘Let’s just forget I ever mentioned anything. I know I’m overreacting.’

I give him a reassuring smile, even though I feel like I’m the one who needs reassurance.

Because this is the thing: people are not black or white. They can’t be neatly defined: ‘crazy jealous type’, ‘tight-arse’, ‘fanatic’. If they could, it’d be so much easier to dismiss them outright. But we’re all a jumble of personality traits, some of which may surface only haphazardly, depending on our circumstances. In the end, I have to try to weigh up whether Metin’s jealous streak is going to overshadow his generosity, his playfulness, the chemistry between us. The thing is, I can’t tell yet.

Nirvana, Lisa and I have planned to have lunch at Bondi and Nirvana has invited Anil to join us. Ruby’s got something on at church with her parents.

We stroll through the Sunday markets on our way to an Italian restaurant. Lisa and Nirvana spot a jewellery stand and make a beeline for it. The last thing I need is temptation to spend money, given my tight finances. So I wait with Anil, enjoying the live music. Although the weather is cool and the sky a little melancholic, Bondi still draws a big weekend crowd and the place is bustling.

It’s easy to chat with Anil. The more I talk to him, the more I realise my first impression of him as arrogant was wrong. Sure, he has expensive tastes and can afford to indulge them. Maybe there is a little bit of vanity in that, but I don’t think he’s aware of it, and it’s not that he’s shallow or shows off in a way that makes you feel like he’s putting you down. Even though he’s a bit too materialistic for my liking, at least it’s balanced with the warmth of his personality. I ask him how the engagement plans are going.

‘So far, so good,’ he says. ‘We’ve booked the hall and photographer, and our outfits are just about ready. Or so Nirvana and my mum tell me. I’m not really involved in the organisation.’ He smiles. ‘Even if I wanted to be, I don’t think I’d be allowed!’