“What do you want to do after law school, ideally?” I asked then.
“I was originally thinking politics, but I’m kind of turned off to that now. I think I want to stick with corporate, maybe regulatory. I wouldn’t mind either working for a firm or for the government. I can’t afford to be too picky in this economy, anyway.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. “Are you going to do a summer associateship?”
“Yes, I hope so. I interviewed with a bunch of firms and am waiting to hear.” He told me the names of the firms he had interviewed with. Some were in DC and a couple were in New York; one was in Miami.
“Well, I’m sure that any of those firms will be happy to have a CPA there,” I told him.
“What will you be doing next summer?” he asked.
I sipped my wine. “For the moment, staying with my current job. I’m trying to see if I can get something, but it would have to be something with a salary, because I have bills to pay and an apartment to maintain.” I smiled. “I’m too old to do an unpaid internship.”
Tarek nodded and smiled. “If you tell me what you’re interested in, I can keep my eyes open.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Two weeks ago, if he had told me that I would have been defensive, and would have felt offended that he thought I needed “help.” But now that I had more of an idea about what type of person he was, I did feel appreciative.
“It’s no problem,” he said.
I smiled at him then, a genuine smile. I was not liberal with giving them, and I hadn’t intended to give him one now. He smiled back, his head leaning against the back of the couch, framed by his black curls.
“What’s that for?” he asked me.
“What?”
“That smile,” he said.
“You honestly believed I was only twenty-eight years old?”
“At the most,” he said.
I shook my head. “Tarek Cordiez, there may be hope for you yet.”
His grin widened.
We were on the metro on the way back. It was almost 10:00 p.m.
Tarek asked me if I would be OK all the way home to Franconia.
“Of course,” I told him. “I do this all the time.”
“OK,” but he didn’t seem convinced. “It’s—you shouldn’t be taking the metro home alone so late.”
I smiled. “I’ll be all right,” then I added, “Mom.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Are we studying this weekend?” he asked then.
“Sure,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant but excited at the prospect of seeing him again. “Um, would Saturday be OK? Like, in the afternoon, maybe three-thirty?” That would give me time to read in the morning.
“Sure,” he smiled. “Same place?”
I hesitated for a second. “Yes,” I said.
We were at Pentagon City. “OK, then I’ll see you Saturday.”
“OK, bye.”
He left the train.
THIRD WEEK: SATURDAY
Saturday came faster than I had anticipated. The day kind of ran away from me. I read in the morning, then around lunchtime started to make paella. It was something I could do while studying, because it had to simmer for a long time, and I could read and stir once in a while. I was making a ton, two pans, and figured I would have leftovers and could freeze some for later.
Then my mother called and my day started to be thrown off track. She had a million questions. As usual, she spoke in her porteño accent. She was forever asking me to slow down when I spoke. My accent was more Castilian. For some reason, I picked up my father’s accent more than my mother’s. Also, my time living in Spain had rubbed off on me. Even the Spanish thought that I spoke really fast.
First, she kind of laid me out for not calling her.
“It would be nice to hear from you once in a while,” she said. There was sarcasm in her voice.
“Sorry, Mom. I’ve been busy since school started again.”
“I mean, you live by yourself, Isabel. I need to hear from you once in a while. I have to ask Lara for updates on how you are, and she’s busier than you are.”
I was going to protest that, but decided against it. I mean, Lara was doing her medical residency, that was true. But I was working full-time and in law school. I figured I was as least as busy as she was, as far as Mom was concerned.
“I’ll try to call more often, Mom.” I’m thirty-four years old. I don’t have to check in with you, for God’s sake.
“How is school?” she asked then.
“Good, like always.”
“Have you met anyone new?”
“I always meet new people every year, Mom.”
“Anyone with possible boyfriend potential?”
“No, Mom.”
My mother, God bless her, had been trying to set me up with a boyfriend since I was sixteen years old.
“I mean,” she began, “your sisters have found men, and they’re a lot younger than you. I can’t believe that in your entire class there isn’t one person that interests you.”
Well, there may be one person, but I wasn’t about to tell my mother that and have to suffer through her questions every week.
“There are a lot more eligible women than men in DC, Mom.” I didn’t know if that was true or not.
“You should go out more.”
“I do go out, Mom.”
“Aren’t there any eligible men at work?”
“No, Mom.” Not unless you wouldn’t mind seeing me with an older or married man.
Then I changed the subject. “How is Mark?” I smiled to myself, thinking about what Lara had told me.
I still thought that my Mom liked the fact that she and Mark didn’t live together. My impression was that she liked her independence but needed to have a partner. Mark was American, and he was a friend of one of Mom’s coworkers. Mom taught Spanish literature at the local university, and had met Mark at a party the coworker had at his house. Mark was divorced, with no kids. He was retired military, and he was so nice to my Mom. I thanked God for giving her such a nice guy, so that she could spend time with him and bother her children less.
“He’s doing well. We’re going to visit his parents soon. They are getting up there in age.”
Mark’s parents were in their eighties.
I wondered why she didn’t tell me what she had told Lara, that Mark had talked to her about marriage.
I looked at the time.
“Mom, I’m sorry but I have to go. I’m meeting someone.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
“Oh, really? Who? Anyone I know?”
“No.” If I wanted a quick exit, one-word answers were better. “Look, I’ll tell you about it next weekend, when I see you.”
Lara, Patrick and I had been planning to go visit Mom next Sunday for dinner.
I hung up with Mom. Then I stirred the paella, a little worried now that it wouldn’t be ready in time for me to leave. I checked the chicken. It was almost done but still a little pink in the middle. I stirred it some more.
I thought about Lara and hoped she could still go next Sunday. I preferred to visit Mom with her and not by myself.
As usual, when I was thinking about Lara, she suddenly called me.
“Punk, I was just thinking about you!” I happily exclaimed.
“That’s why I called!” she said.
Luckily for me, she was still free next Sunday and, yes, she assured me, she and Patrick would come with me to visit Mom.
We chatted about her week at the hospital. She had a bunch of interesting cases to tell me about.
Then she asked about Tarek. I had emailed her after our first study date and had told her everything. She really enjoyed reading my updates as a break when she got home from her shift.
“How are things with him?” she asked gently.
“Good. He’s really smart. I think it was definitely a good idea studying with him.”
“I bet it is!” Lara said, with so
me attitude.
“Oh my God,” I laughed, “You think you’re so funny.”
“I am!”
“Speaking of Tarek, I’m meeting him this afternoon so I have to go, I’m sorry! I’m so glad you called!”
“Of course! See you next Sunday, and we’ll talk before then. Let me know how it goes today.”
“OK, love you!”
“Love you too!”
We hung up. Let me know how it goes today, she had said. How it goes studying or how it goes something else? I figured she probably meant the latter.
I looked at the time. It was 2:15. The paella was not quite done, but almost.
Oh! This is so frustrating! I started to panic. As usual, I had been too ambitious with my plans for the day. I didn’t have time to finish the paella and be at campus at 3:30. And I didn’t want to meet later than that because it would be too late. I wanted to get a lot of studying done today.
I made a decision then. I picked up my cell phone again and called Tarek.
“Hey, Isabel,” he said in his deep voice.
“Hey,” I began. “I was wondering—would you mind if—” I suddenly had trouble speaking, “um—can we meet at my apartment instead of at campus?” I felt the need to explain so he wouldn’t think I was up to something. Wait, what would I be up to? Ugh, say it already! I told myself. “I’m sorry. My mother called, and then my sister called, and I did the reading but—”
“Isabel,” he said slowly, “It’s OK. I can go to your house. It’s no problem.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“OK, thanks.” I sighed a sigh of relief. “If you want to take the metro I can pick you up at Franconia.
“No, I’ll drive.”
I gave him directions to my apartment building, and told him where he could park.
“I’ll have to let you into the building,” I told him, “So call me when you’re here and I’ll come down.”
“OK. See you in a little while.”
We hung up.
By 3:15 the paella was done and I had finished reading and taking notes on the remaining couple of cases. I was hoping to start with Property today.
Then I looked around my apartment. It was decent. I closed my bedroom door since my bed wasn’t made. I also didn’t want Tarek to see my bedroom. Thinking of him and my bedroom at the same time made me uneasy and a little turned on.
I looked around my apartment. I suddenly remembered that I had a lot of personal things out here, and that maybe I hadn’t totally thought through having Tarek come over. Oh well. It was too late now. I couldn’t uninvite him.
He would be here soon. I quickly washed my face and applied foundation, mascara and lip gloss. I was wearing dark skinny jeans and a loose, long-sleeved fuchsia top with a slight V-neck cut and an understated ruffle. I didn’t like anything too ruffly, but a little bit was feminine enough.
When Tarek called, I was a little nervous. I didn’t usually have people over at my place. Of my law school friends, only Josh and Melanie had been here. In fact, I was kind of amazed that I had invited him over. And I was excited to see him.
I ran down the stairs, then forced myself to walk slowly down the last couple of steps. I looked through the main glass doors, and saw him walking to the entrance from his car. I opened the door for him.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hi, Isabel.” I saw his eyes pop wide for a second, then they readjusted. Did he think I looked good? I couldn’t tell. Stop overanalyzing, I told myself. It’s probably from the dim light in the interior of the building.
I held the door for him. As he walked in, I got a whiff of his aftershave. But it was more understated this time. I smiled to myself. It smelled so good that I wanted to nuzzle my face against his neck.
He was wearing a button-down shirt today instead of a T-shirt, and jeans. His shirt was a deep burgundy. It looked great on him.
“Thank you for coming here,” I said.
“It’s no problem.” He smiled. We started walking upstairs. “It’s probably more comfortable here than at campus anyway.”
“Not really, no. I don’t have any furniture to sit on. I’m trying to save money. So we’ll have to sit on the floor.”
“What—” he started to say, then I laughed softly.
“Oh, you’re joking, oh my God. Sometimes I can’t tell.”
“That’s the idea.” I looked at him; his eyes were alive, always turned on. He always appeared to be calm, but his eyes betrayed him. There was a pent-up passion there. I wondered if I would ever see it. I had the feeling that he was thinking all the time, like I was. I wondered what he thought about.
I opened the door to my apartment and we walked in. The aroma of paella permeated the entire apartment.
“What are you cooking? It smells so good,” Tarek said.
“Just—um, paella.”
“Just paella?” He asked. “It’s a lot of work, isn’t it?”
“No, not really.”
I had cleared off the dining table. “We can study here if it’s OK.”
“Sure,” he said agreeably. He started unpacking his laptop and his books.
“So . . . you said you were talking to your mother before?” he asked me.
“Yes.” I paused. “She talks a lot, a typical Argentine woman. And then my sister called right after that.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“You never asked,” I gave him a playful look.
He smiled. “Where does your mother live?”
“About an hour south of here.”
“Oh, that’s great, so you get to see her often.”
I nodded.
“Do you only have one sister?” he asked then.
“No, I have two. I’m the oldest.” I checked the paella and turned the stove off. “Look, I’m going to make coffee, did you want any?”
“Oh, no, thank you.”
“You don’t drink coffee,” I said then. It was a statement, not a question. Coffee was the ubiquitous life blood of all law students. It was obvious when someone didn’t drink it. The rest of us, especially Josh and me, always had our takeout coffee so we could make it through class. I had noticed that Tarek usually had tea.
As though he had read my thoughts, he said, “No, I’m more of a tea drinker.”
“I have tea. Would you like some?”
“Sure, if it’s not a lot of trouble.”
I looked at him and smiled. “It’s not.” I filled the kettle and put it on the stove. Tarek walked into the kitchen.
“Thank you.” He was so polite. It reminded me of Santi. Santi was uber polite. He would leave me little notes. Isabel, he would say, I went to the lab to work. If you want to eat lunch with me, I’ll be back at 3 p.m.
Tarek was talking. Wait, what did he say?
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Do your sisters live nearby?”
“My middle sister, Lara, lives pretty close, in Old Town Alexandria. She is actually a first-year medical resident at the hospital, at the same university we go to.”
“Are you serious? So you get to see her?”
“Yes, although she works crazy hours, and she’s married, but we try to see each other when we can. And we talk on the phone all the time.”
I realized that I was quite nervous. Talking about my sisters helped me to relax, so I continued. “My little sister, Ariel, lives in New York. She finished business school recently and works for a consulting firm. She lives with her boyfriend.”
“Ariel? That’s a Jewish name.”
“Yes.”
“Is your family Jewish?”
“Is that a dealbreaker?”
“No, not at all. But you said you were Catholic.”
“I am. I mean—my family is. Like I told you before, I don’t really go to church, but I pray. I—I pray all the time.” I prayed to forget, to have strength to keep going, to be too busy to think about things. “I mean—” I was tot
ally rambling, so I stopped and took a deep breath. I didn’t look Tarek in the eyes when I spoke. “My mother liked the name Ariel.”
Then my eyes met his. Tarek had a strange expression on his face. “Why do I get the impression that you’re constantly trying not to like me?”
I was floored. He was right. Part of me wanted to spend time with him, but another part of me, a more cynical part, a part that never believed I would have a chance at happiness, was telling me to get the hell away from him. That part was telling me that I would end up getting hurt. It was telling me not to trust a man, any man. And that part was looking for excuses for him not to like me. I kept thinking that he would see or hear something about me that he would hate, and then he would leave.
“I’m not,” I lied.
“You’re very—”
“Abrasive, I know. It’s off-putting. It’s by design.”
“Why?”
“I’m used to people in this town insulting me for my beliefs and how I think.” That much was true, at least.
“I’m not like that, Isabel.”
“I know. I just forget sometimes. Force of habit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s OK.”
We looked at each other for a few moments. Then he smiled.
“You are an impressive family, a doctor, a lawyer and a business major.”
I smiled and shrugged, not really knowing what to say.
The silence made me nervous, and when I was nervous I talked more. “So you said before that you were in Miami before coming to DC?”
“That’s right.”
“How long had you lived there?”
“Several years. When we left France, we moved straight there. My mother and my sister still live there.”
Of course, such a glitzy city. His family must come from money. I wondered about that. His father had been in the military, and could not have made that much money. And his mother’s family fled Lebanon, so if they had money they must have made it afterward, maybe after coming to the U.S.
I kept talking. “Ariel lives in Brooklyn, in a tiny apartment. But Brooklyn is a nice area.”
I noted that he said his mother and his sister lived in Miami, not his parents. I wondered about his French father but didn’t say anything.
We were waiting for the tea. I was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking at him. My arms were still crossed because I didn’t know what else to do with them.
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