I opened my instant messaging program. Josh was connected, too. I was dying to know something, and I needed to know right away. I sent him a message.
I heard what Alyssa said after I left. What did Tarek say?
You mean about you “sleeping around?”
Yes. What did he say after she said that?
Nothing.
Nothing?
He waved it off like he didn’t want to hear about it.
He didn’t say anything?
No. He literally dismissed it.
“Wait, she said that?!” It was Eric. He sounded incredulous. He was trying to keep his voice down, I could tell, but he was doing a poor job of it. Freakishly loud Brazilian.
I whipped the swivel chair around and glared at Eric. He was looking at Josh’s screen. Pissed off beyond all measure, I slammed Eric’s laptop down, catching his right hand.
“Ow!” Eric protested
I whirled back around as fast as I could, but not fast enough. Several people around us were looking at Eric and me.
“Ms. Vilanova!” It was the professor.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit shit.
“What do you think?” the professor asked me.
I opened my mouth but no words came out. I felt like hundreds of eyes were glued on me, probably because they were. “I’m sorry, professor, would you mind repeating the question?”
“Yes, what is the significance of the case Warden v. Hayden?”
Luckily, I knew the answer. “Um, the Court found that any evidence related to or associated with a crime could be seized under a warrant, not only the instrumentalities used or fruits of the crime, and not just contraband. That is, any evidence can be seized.”
“Yes, very good.”
I sighed with relief; I had just dodged a bullet. I looked at my screen. Tarek had written to me, Is everything OK?
Yes, I answered. Then I shut down the instant messaging program.
At the one-hour break, I stood up.
“Jesus, what was that for?” Eric asked me, also standing up.
I whirled around. “For snooping. If you have a question for me, just ask!”
“OK,” Eric’s face suddenly had a look of determination, which was uncharacteristic.
He leaned toward me and motioned me closer with his index finger. Hesitantly, I leaned in so our faces were close.
“Why do you care what he thinks about you?” Eric spoke in a low tone and motioned toward Tarek as he asked me.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“OK, I can see that’s an honest answer,” Eric seemed satisfied.
“I have a question for you, Eric.”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you care why I care about what he thinks about me?”
He paused, as if weighing something. “Maybe I don’t want to see you get hurt.” His eyes changed; they got a little misty for a second. Then he was his usual self again.
“We’re friends, right?” I asked him.
“Yes,” Eric said.
“I’m sorry about your hand.” I smiled.
“I”m sorry for snooping.” He smiled back.
At the end of class, Eric said that he was going out that night with some friends, so he wouldn’t be walking to the metro with us. Dinesh had driven, so he wouldn’t be going with us either. That left only Tarek and me. My heart started to race a little bit as we left together.
Tarek and I walked into the metro station and down the stairs. I was starting to get sleepy and watched my feet so I wouldn’t fall.
It was just the two of us. We reached the platform and I turned around to face him. I didn’t say anything at first. He smiled.
“So what’s with the all-black clothing today?” he asked in his mild French accent. Had I always found the French accent sexy, or did I only find his accent sexy? I couldn’t tell.
“Oh, you know. I’m mourning the deterioration of our society into a welfare state, the deterioration of language and grammar skills, the emasculation of men, all of the above.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry about any of that.”
“Why not?”
“Because governments, and the latest fads, come in cycles. It won’t always be like this.”
“I’m not so sure,” I answered honestly. I had a lot to say on this subject, but I figured I would save it for another time.
“And the rest of what you said,” he continued, “There are still enough intelligent people in the world to make sure that society doesn’t completely degenerate.”
“I wish I could be as optimistic as you.” These were the things I worried about at work, and at night, when I tried to fall asleep. “I always think the worst about everything. That way I’m not disappointed later.” Eventually, I was always disappointed. It never failed.
I looked at the electronic sign that announced how long we had to wait for the next train. We had twelve minutes. I sighed, then looked at Tarek again.
I really wanted to know what he thought about what Alyssa had said, but I was afraid to ask.
Then I steeled myself. I was way too old for high-school shit. I was going to take the direct route. What the hell? I figured I would play one card. I had plenty left.
“So Sorority Girl told you that I sleep around, huh?”
“You heard that?” he said, looking at me quizzically.
I nodded and rolled my eyes. “She’s an idiot.”
He looked at me, a bit cautiously. “So is it true?”
“What? That I sleep around?”
“Yes,” he said, still cautious, like he was treading lightly.
I paused, weighing my words. “Well, that depends . . . on your definition of ‘sleep around.’ How would you define it?”
He hesitated. He seemed to be thinking about whether I was serious or not. “That’s very lawyerly of you, answering a question with a question.”
“Well, I am training to be a lawyer and all.” I paused and looked intently at him, weighing how honest I should be. “But,” I began, “if you tell me how you define the term, I’ll answer honestly.”
“Fair enough,” he was still looking at me warily, like he didn’t quite trust me to be honest. “To me,” he began, “if you sleep with random people—”
“Define ‘random,’ ” I said immediately.
He sighed, feigning impatience, or maybe it was actual impatience; I wasn’t sure. “If you sleep with people who you don’t know really well, who you aren’t dating, who you only intend to have a one-night thing with,” he looked at me, waiting for an objection.
“OK,” I said. “By ‘dating,’ you mean more than one date?”
He considered for a moment. “More than two. That’s why I included the term ‘one-night thing.’ He crossed his arms. “Isabel, you’re stalling now.”
But I didn’t give up. “Hmm, so you would expect a woman to have sex with you after two dates?” I was baiting him, but he was smart; he saw it.
“Objection, Counselor,” he smiled, “As this line of inquiry is irrelevant to the main issue. But I’ll answer the question.” He paused. “I would never expect a woman to have sex with me, even if I hoped for it.”
I thought of all kinds of questions to ask regarding his answer, but I decided against saying anything. I let him off easy, because his definition actually helped me, since that would mean I could include fewer men in my response. Under his definition, since I had hooked up with Saul three weekends in a row, I had ‘dated’ him. At least, that was how I figured it.
“OK,” I said. “Continue.”
“I would say—” he continued. He seemed to really be thinking about it now. “I would say that if you do that more than once a month, more or less, that is ‘sleeping around.’
“Interesting,” I said. “Well, based on the term, as you’ve defined it, I do not ‘sleep around.’ ” I held up air quotes for ‘sleep around.’ “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, or with anyone who does it.”
“I did
n’t say there was, necessarily.”
We looked at each other. I smirked a bit.
“So you sleep with ‘random’ guys, as I’ve defined it, less frequently than once a month?”
“That is correct.” I said slowly, wondering where this was going.
“So how often do you do that?”
“Less than once a month,” I parroted. “That is all you need to know, not like you need to know any of this.” In fact, I wasn’t sure why I was telling him about my ‘sleeping’ habits.
He smiled back. “Do you ever date them?”
“Who? The men I sleep with?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“You’re slow tonight,” I said, watching his reaction. He was actually keeping me on my toes, so that I had to think two steps ahead, but I wasn’t going to let him know that. He smiled and continued to look at me, waiting. Oh good God, I’ll answer the damn question and be done with this.
“No, I do not typically date the men I sleep with.”
“But you do date sometimes?”
“Not really, no.” I hesitated. “I mean, I’m not averse to it. I just haven’t—‘dated,’ ” using air quotes again, “anyone for a while.”
Our train arrived then. We got on and sat down next to each other. I thought that maybe he wouldn’t say anything else, but that was wishful thinking.
“Why not?”
Damn. Was he asking me all this because I had told him that I was lonely the other day? I should not have done that.
My hands were in my lap. I looked at them, thinking. Tarek didn’t say anything.
I began to get lost in my thoughts, and started thinking about Santi. I don’t know why. He was the last man I had really been in any semblance of a relationship with. “It’s too painful,” I blurted out, without thinking. Idiot. That’s what happens when you’re overtired!
Tarek’s face changed; he looked concerned. “What happened?”
“Nothing!” I was beginning to get miffed.
But Tarek wouldn’t let it go. I would learn soon enough that this was typical of him. He never let me off easy. “What you just said,” he moved closer to me, “that was from the heart.” There was a crease in his forehead. “You don’t usually do that. You’re so—”
“Guarded?” I offered, “suspicious?”
“I was going to say closed-off, but you are those things too.”
“Yeah, well—that happens sometimes. Every once in a while I say what I really feel.”
“You say what you feel all the time.”
“No,” I shook my head. “I say what I think all the time, that’s true. I never say what I feel.”
He nodded in agreement. Then he said softly, “You must’ve been in love with somebody, at some time—”
“I never said I haven’t been in love,” I snapped.
He ignored my snarkiness. It irked me that my general impoliteness had little to no effect on him. “And I refuse to believe that no man has ever loved you, I mean, a woman like you—” He stopped, and seemed a little embarrassed.
Wait, a woman like me? What did that mean? I considered embarrassing him further by saying something snarky, but I decided to leave him alone.
“I did once, I mean, I was in love once, with someone who was in love with me, a long time ago.” I was wistful, and started getting lost again. I had again spoken without thinking about what I was going to say. Any more and this is going to become a bad habit.
“Well, then,” Tarek said, his smile broader this time, his eyes twinkling, “Isabel Vilanova, there may be hope for you yet.”
“You’re an optimist,” I scoffed.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, you won’t be a good lawyer. The law is one of the few areas where pessimists outperform optimists.”
“Well, you will be an excellent lawyer then.” He paused for a moment. “So you’re not going to tell me what happened?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I played dumb. I knew what he meant.
“About the man you were in love with.”
I wanted to say something snide, but instead I told him straight, “That’s too personal.”
We sat in silence for a little while. Then Tarek looked at me and said, “I’m your friend, you know?”
I looked at him, taking in his huge dark eyes and long dark lashes. I could get lost in those eyes if I wasn’t careful. I smiled, but not in a mocking way. It was a warm smile, a genuine smile. “The jury’s still out on that one.”
He smiled back, his eyes laughing.
We talked about Crim Pro until Pentagon City.
I don’t know why I had said that. I really did consider him a friend. But I didn’t know if he was interested in only being friends with me or in something more.
FOURTH WEEK: TUESDAY
I was on my way to campus, walking up H Street, trying not to overthink things. I was attempting to distract myself by mentally going over the cases we had read that night for Crim Pro. It was only minimally working. Although I was trying not to be, I was excited to see Tarek tonight.
He confused and excited me at the same time. On the one hand, I was really glad to have another person to talk with not only about the law, but also about politics. I was also glad to have someone to talk to about my international experiences, and how I always felt slightly out of place in the U.S., even in DC, but how I also felt out of place in Spain and in Argentina. When people asked me where I was from, I never knew how to respond. I always paused, weighing how much to tell them and making a snap decision on it.
I was trying to figure out how I felt about Tarek. We were friends but we were also like law school soulmates. I had told him that we would never get together romantically, but I was starting to think that maybe I had spoken prematurely. I was hot for him; I was no longer denying that. I wanted to kiss him badly. What if I did? What if he and I had a one-night thing? Somehow, that seemed unfulfilling, like I would be left wanting more. I usually had no problem spending one night with a guy, but Tarek was different because we had connected on a higher level. If we did that, then things would be weird between us and we would probably spend less time together, and that thought was anathema to me.
I had almost reached the law school. I was a bit early and there weren’t as many students around as usual, running up the stairs late to class. Ahead of me there were two women pulling a red wagon with three or four kids inside. They must be daycare providers taking care of those kids. The women were chatting and the kids were enjoying the nice weather.
One of the kids was a little blonde girl. She was about seventeen or eighteen months old, and wore one of those helmets on her head, probably to help her cranium form properly, I guessed. She was so cute. I was at the bottom of the steps that led up to the school’s main entrance. I smiled at her, a big, broad smile. I couldn’t help myself. The little girl smiled back, a huge smile that lit up her entire face. I kept looking at her as I walked up the steps, and waved at her. She waved back. I was at the top of the steps and could still see her. I kept smiling and waving and she smiled and waved back, super contenta. I waved at her until she was out of sight.
I was sad then. Her parents probably missed her when they were at work, but in this town you really needed two incomes to make ends meet.
Then an unbidden thought crept into my head that started to make me feel downright depressed. I would never have kids. I’m thirty-four years old and unmarried with no significant other. Not that I minded being alone. Like I had told Lara and Ariel countless times before, it was better to be on your own than to be with someone who was not a good partner for you. But I would never have a little mini-me, someone to teach everything to, someone to watch grow up, someone to cheer for.
I was still standing there, thinking, when someone greeted me.
“Hey, Isabel.”
I turned at the sound of Tarek’s voice. I must have had a sad expression on my face, because he looked
instantly concerned.
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah,” I lied.
“I saw you, you know?”
“Saw what?”
“I saw you waving to her. She was really cute.”
“Yeah, she was.”
“I didn’t know you liked children.”
“I don’t—I mean, I don’t like them particularly. I—” I was suddenly at a loss for words, and didn’t like it. “My cousins in Spain have kids. I’m just used to them.” I looked pointedly at him. “And there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
For once, he didn’t press me. He could tell I didn’t want to talk about it. He changed the subject and I loved him for it.
“Did you read for class tonight?”
“Yes, did you?”
“Everything except the last case.”
“I’ll fill you in during the break.”
“Thanks.” He held the door open for me. I had my hands full, since I was carrying my Property book. We didn’t have Property class tonight, but I had been reading for the next day, since I was behind. I had been daydreaming too much.
When we stepped inside the building, Tarek said to me, “Let me get that.”
He then took my Property book gingerly out of my hands, like he was afraid I would bite him or something. “How was work?”
“It was all right.” I decided to keep up the conversation, partly as a distraction but partly to get his opinion on something. I was going to change the subject again.
“Turkish men are really direct, aren’t they? I mean, in general.”
I had run into the Turkish guy again near my job. He had asked me to go out for coffee but I had said that I was busy. I had also told him that I had a boyfriend. I didn’t know why he was so insistent. I was tiring of it.
His interest was piqued. “What do you mean? Is there a Turkish man you’re interested in?”
And why would you want to know that? I thought.
“No, I wouldn’t say ‘interested in,’ ” using my air quotes. “There’s this guy I keep running in to in Crystal City. He doesn’t work where I work; he works somewhere else. But he keeps asking me out.”
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