Raven's Flight

by Chrys Cymri - BooksGoSocial Fantasy P

  “I’m surprised to hear that you have a sister. You strike me as an only child,” I told Tarek.

  “No. My sister is younger than me.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, Zaida.”

  “Oh, that means Maria in Arabic.”

  “Yes, how did you know that?”

  “I’m not an idiot, Tarek.”

  He looked surprised. “I didn’t say you were.”

  I ignored his comment.

  “I work with a bunch of Arab men. I listen to them chatting in Arabic all day. I figure these things out.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I would say that my company translates mostly Arabic and Spanish. There’s so much demand for Arabic translations.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” Tarek paused and looked at me curiously. “So is that why you have a bad impression of Arab men?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem not to like Middle Eastern men. Some things you said to me.” He paused, smiling. “I believe it was something like, ‘you’re a typical Arab man, freaking arrogant.’ Something like that.”

  I was embarrassed. I deserved to feel that way. I didn’t really know you then, I thought.

  “Look, Tarek, if I offended you, I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s OK, you didn’t.”

  “It’s just—” I paused. It was difficult to explain.

  “Are the men at work rude to you?”

  “No, not really rude—” I didn’t quite know how to say it. “Some of them are nice. And some of them—”

  “They kind of look at you?”

  How did he know this? “Yes, they’re very direct. Some of them like, study me, like I’m a lab experiment or something.”

  “It’s because—they probably think you’re very attractive, and—different.”

  “It’s probably because I have a big nose or something.”

  He laughed. “It’s not, I promise. They’re—kind of—fascinated by you.” He smiled slightly.

  “Why?” I asked, not fully understanding.

  He shrugged. “Because you’re—” He struggled with how to articulate it. “You’re direct,” he said finally. “They’re probably not used to it.”

  “You mean, culturally they’re not used to it?”

  “Yeeesss,” Tarek said slowly, “that would be a good way of putting it. I mean, don’t take this wrong, but for a Hispanic woman—”

  “I’m very direct.”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  I shrugged. “I know that. I—I’m not always comfortable with attention.”

  “Do they kind of flirt with you?”

  “Some of them, but most of them are married.”

  “But the ones that do, you don’t go out with them?” he asked carefully.

  I gave him a hard look. “You’ve got to be kidding me. No, I don’t go out with them. I don’t need to complicate my life further by dating my co-workers.”

  He smiled. “It’s rude of them to make you feel uncomfortable. In the U.S., staring like that isn’t really socially acceptable.”

  Like the way I stared at you like a piece of meat the day you asked me to study with you? “I can deal with it.” I smiled.

  “Do you want me to talk to them?”

  “Would you?” I cocked my head playfully.

  “Gladly.” He smiled broadly.

  The kettle boiled.

  I prepared his tea and my coffee. He took sugar, and I had to hunt for it, because I didn’t usually use sugar for anything unless I was baking. I hadn’t had time to bake in a while.

  We sat down at the dining table. I was thinking about the paella, and thinking about Tarek at the same time. I had an idea, but I was nervous about it.

  Darn my mother. I had spent my entire life telling myself I wasn’t like her, but in the end I was the perfect mix of her and my father. Like my father, I was a loner. Like him, I was an intellectual. Like him, I was coldly logical. But like my mother, I liked people. I did, even though I didn’t like to admit it. I loved little children, and I loved dogs. And the few friends that I did have, I cared about, and I had a good time with them.

  And also like my mother, I couldn’t refuse to offer guests something to eat. There was a small, maternal part of me. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was like my mother in that way, or because I was a woman and, sooner or later, women became maternal.

  I thought about the fact that Tarek didn’t have a job and was paying for law school, his apartment and his expenses. I felt bad for him. It must be difficult. How much debt was he going to have? And he was so skinny. Was that because he didn’t eat? I made a decision then.

  We were both looking at our Property notes. I looked up at him, at his head full of curly black hair.

  “Is—um—is there anything you don’t eat?”

  “Sorry?” He looked up from his notes.

  “Is there any food that you don’t eat?”

  “No, I—I eat pretty much everything.”

  I hesitated. “Look, I made a ton of food. I always do.” I smiled nervously. “Do you want to eat dinner later?”

  “Sure, thank you,” he said politely. “It looks amazing.”

  “OK. You can eat as much as you want. I never trust a man who is skinnier than me, anyway.”

  “I’m not skinnier than you.” He smiled.

  “And blind. I don’t trust a blind man either.”

  Tarek laughed, showing his white teeth. Then we got down to organizing our Property notes.

  It was 6:30 and we decided to stop and have dinner. I was experiencing the effects of the law of diminishing returns. My effort at studying was not producing an equal rate of return.

  I was getting plates out.

  “I’ll help you,” Tarek said.

  “No, it’s OK. You can finish outlining that case and then email it to me.” I smiled at him.

  “You know everyone stops outlining the cases after the first semester, right?” he said.

  “Yes, but we’re not everyone. Besides, by ‘outlining’ we’re talking about pulling the rules and any distinguishing facts, not doing the one-page formal outline for each case like we did the first semester.”

  “True,” he agreed. He moved his laptop to the side.

  I came back with the plates. I had been sitting at one of the shorter ends of the table, the “head” of the table as it were, and he was sitting next to me, on the longer end. I reached over the table to set a plate down. Suddenly he completely averted his eyes from me, turning his face.

  “What’s your problem?” I said, confused.

  “Nothing,” he said quickly, but he wouldn’t looked at me.

  “What—” I looked down, and noticed that my flowing shirt was totally hanging open as I leaned over the table, exposing the tops of my breasts and my black bra!

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, smiling. “I didn’t mean to offend your sensibilities.” I stood up straight to correct my blouse. “Like you’ve never seen a pair of breasts before. At least I was wearing a bra.” My words were careless and nonchalant, but inside I couldn’t believe I had done that. I was so embarrassed. I hoped he didn’t think that had been on purpose.

  “Well, I’ve never seen a pair like that before, that’s true.” His eyes popped open for a second.

  I opened my mouth in shock, reached over the table and playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Ow!” he protested.

  “Dude, if I really wanted to hurt you, I would.”

  We quickly forgot the incident, ate dinner and chatted about our classes.

  I thought of something then. “You’re driving, right? So you don’t want any wine?”

  “Um,” he seemed to think about it, “If you’re having some I’ll have a little bit.”

  “I only have reds, because I only drink reds. Sorry if that’s a little uncouth since we’re having paella with chicken. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I poured Malbec for bot
h of us. I preferred a Cabernet myself, since I liked the bolder reds. But a Malbec was a little lighter and probably more appropriate for the paella.

  “Malbec is your favorite wine?” Tarek asked me then.

  “No, but it probably goes pretty well with this dish.”

  “Oh. I thought it was, because that’s what you had last Thursday.”

  I smiled then. I couldn’t believe he remembered that. I didn’t remember what type of beer he ordered. I had been too fixated on him.

  “If I could, I would drink Cabernet all the time.”

  “It’s quite bitter.”

  “Appropriate, don’t you think?”

  “How so?”

  “Because I’m a bitter person.”

  “Are you? I hadn’t noticed.”

  I looked at him with an expression of irony. “Oh, you’re funny.”

  His expression changed, becoming a little wistful. “In all honesty, Isabel, I don’t think you’re really like that deep down.”

  “How the hell would you know what I’m like ‘deep down’?” I said, using my air quotes.

  “I don’t know for certain. I’m speculating.” He paused. “You know, I’ve never seen such a beautiful woman who cursed so much.”

  I was shocked into silence for a couple of seconds. Then I regained my composure enough to speak. “No one’s ever accused me of being beautiful.”

  “Not to your face,” he smiled a little. “Why would they? It’s not like it would have any effect on you.”

  I was going to protest but he was right. It would not have had any effect on me.

  “It would be a lie anyway,” I ended up saying.

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so, Tarek. Men in this town look for bottle-blond superficiality in a woman, with a super skinny waist, narrow hips and amorphously large boobs.” Like Sorority Girl.

  His eyes were sparkling. I wondered what that meant. “Only stupid men look for that.”

  “And this city is full of them.”

  “I don’t disagree.” He paused again. I had the feeling he was still trying to figure me out. “Why do you care what the men in this town are like? Are you looking?”

  “No!” I said immediately, a little too emphatically. “But I can’t stand being surrounded by lameness.”

  “Well, that makes two of us then.”

  I looked at him. Was it him talking or the wine? I took a sip from my glass.

  “My sisters got all the looks in my family.” And I got the guilt.

  “Isabel,” Tarek started to say slowly, “I haven’t seen your sisters, other than those family photos up there of them when they were younger,” he gestured toward my television console, “but I highly doubt that.”

  “I told you before I don’t respond to flattery.” That was still a lie.

  “I know. I’m stating a fact.” Then his expression became a little contrite. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you. You’ve been very nice to me, with dinner and everything.”

  “I also don’t get offended easily.” That was sometimes true, sometimes not. I smiled a little. “It’s OK.”

  I decided to change the subject slightly.

  “Speaking of ‘looking,’ ” air quotes again, “I’m kind of surprised you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  Tarek smiled. “What makes you think I don’t have one?”

  I gave him a look that told him not to mistake me for an idiot. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be hanging around with me. And—she would have driven you home after studying last weekend instead of me.”

  He smiled. “Maybe she’s back in Miami.”

  I smiled back. I was going to call his bluff because I knew the answer. “Is she?”

  He hesitated for a moment. “No. You’re right. I don’t have a girlfriend.” He paused and seemed to be remembering something. I found myself wondering when the last time he had had a girlfriend was. Then I found myself wondering when the last time he had had sex was. Then I thought about having sex with him.

  Get a grip! I told myself.

  “So why don’t you have a girlfriend?” I asked, just to say something and get my mind off sex.

  “Why are you surprised that I don’t have a girlfriend?”

  “Why do you always answer a question with a question?”

  “I always answer a question with a question?” He was amused now. “Well, it’s like you said, we’re studying to be lawyers, and that’s what lawyers do, right?”

  “You mean, they deflect questions they don’t want to answer?”

  In our own strange way, we were actually flirting. This wasn’t lost on me. I had told him before that he was gorgeous; now he was telling me that I was beautiful. But the verbal parries were a new thing for me. In the past, when I was sexually attracted to a man and wanted to sleep with him, I would literally grab him. This interaction was more interesting, but also more confusing.

  I decided then to answer his question because I was tired of the back-and-forth. If he wouldn’t get to the point, then I would.

  “I’m surprised because you’re attractive and very smart and gentlemanly.” I was not telling him anything new. I had referred to him as “gorgeous” the first time we had actually had a conversation. And he knew that I thought he was smart. And he obviously knew that he was gentlemanly.

  “Sometimes I think women don’t want a man who is gentlemanly.”

  “Well, they’re idiots then.” I took another sip of my wine. “I promise you, Tarek, you won’t last long in this town. A single man like you—” My eyes went from his face to his chest and back. I was remembering seeing him in that tight-fitting black T-shirt. “You won’t last long,” I repeated.

  “Hmm,” he murmured. Then he answered my question, or started to. “I don’t have a girlfriend because—” he seemed to be at a loss for words. I was intrigued since to date I had never seen him at a loss for words. “I just haven’t met anyone, I guess.” He looked at me. Then he added, “But I’m open-minded.”

  I could feel my pulse racing.

  He was looking at me in a way that was slightly disconcerting. It was an intense look. I stared right back, right into his eyes.

  “Isabel,” Tarek began, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  I sighed. “Why do you ask? Because I’m old?” I knew that wasn’t what he meant, but I was trying to avoid answering the question.

  “No, you know I didn’t mean that.”

  I hesitated. “It’s like you said, I haven’t met anyone.”

  He crossed his arms and appeared to be studying me. Or maybe he was deciding whether to say something. His brows furrowed.

  “I get the impression you don’t want a boyfriend,” he finally said. His expression was serious and his eyes were intent.

  I opened my mouth, but couldn’t think of how to respond. I sighed and shook my head.

  “Is that true?” Tarek continued.

  I was thinking. “Not—not exactly.” I suddenly felt a hole in my chest and looked away.

  I opened my mouth again. “I mean, I’m so lonely.” Then I realized what I had said and immediately regretted it. My voice had been so low that I hoped he hadn’t heard.

  Tarek uncrossed his arms and leaned toward me. “Isabel—I’m sorry—”

  I whipped my head around to look at him, and our eyes locked. His eyes were on fire, and held me there so that I couldn’t pull away, although I wanted to. For a second I felt like grabbing both his hands in mine and kissing them furiously.

  “What I meant was—” I shook my head to break the connection, “I totally prefer to be alone than to be with just anyone. So the answer is yes, I mean—I don’t—I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

  In that moment I felt so exposed. I felt more exposed than when I had random sex with some random guy. That exchange with Tarek had been so intimate that it left me feeling raw. I spoke quickly again to fill the silence.

  “I think most men are intimidated by women lik
e me, anyway,” I said, shrugging as nonchalantly as I could manage.

  “What do you mean, women like you?”

  “Women like me. Outspoken, a little aggressive, self-confident.” I paused. “Abrasive. I don’t take anyone’s shit.”

  “Real men wouldn’t be intimidated by that.” Tarek smiled.

  I could feel myself blushing. My face felt hot, and I was sure that it was almost the same color as my blouse.

  Then he spoke. “I’m surprised you and Josh haven’t dated.”

  I laughed. He had probably said that because Josh was attractive. “My mother asked me the same question. I love Josh like a brother. But he’s not my type. I mean, I don’t like him in that way. He and I also argue constantly about politics. It’s just—I don’t feel that way about him.”

  There was silence again between us for a few moments. Then Tarek spoke.

  “I would bet that there are more men interested in you than you think.”

  I leaned across the table toward him. My wall was back up and I felt like myself again. “I highly doubt that. And if by some miracle you’re right, none of them have the balls to do anything about it.”

  “Just wait. One of them may do something one of these days.”

  In spite of myself, my pulse quickened even more.

  THIRD WEEK: SUNDAY

  I was waiting for Lara and Patrick to pick me up to go to Mom’s house. I couldn’t stop thinking about Tarek. We had talked for a long time after dinner. He had left my house at around 9:30 after paella, wine, dessert (I hadn’t prepared anything but I had some cookies) and tea.

  We had each had about three glasses of wine. More than that, and I would have started getting giggly and I would not have trusted myself to keep my hands off him. I’m a cheap drunk.

  I hadn’t been able to tell if he had stopped at three glasses because he had to drive home or because he didn’t want to drink more than me.

  I was anxious to tell Lara all about my conversations with him on the drive down. When he had left last night I had walked him downstairs to the main door. He had asked me what I was doing today, Sunday. I had told him the truth, that I was going to visit my mother. I wasn’t sure if he had asked because he wanted to ask me to do something on Sunday, or just to make small talk. Then he had thanked me for dinner and had touched my forearm. I had suddenly felt an electric pulse running through my veins.