Metin Tuncay

As it had become routine for Gabriela, once they were done having sex, and after lying next to Metin for a couple of minutes, she stood up and walked to the bathroom. Metin watched carefully as she collected her clothes off the floor, along with the condom wrappers that were a bit everywhere. She closed the door and the music started playing; more than the water running, music was the indication that she had stepped into the shower. The first couple of times, he’d join her, take her once again against the cold tile of the wall, but then, as time went on, he’d just walk in on her quietly, enjoying as she danced while pretending not to see him. He couldn’t do it this time.

He knocked as he walked in, startling her. The shampoo dripping from her hair down her breasts excited him more than he had anticipated, but he couldn’t let that distract him. He cleared his throat.

“You told me Frédéric was going on a business trip next week, right?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, massaging her hair.

“Do you think you can send your kids to your in-laws for a couple of days? Maybe we can go to Marseille.”

They had talked about going somewhere together, spending the night and all that, but it was only pillow talk, something to break the spell, to ease them back into reality. They were not together, and theirs was only a temporary fix to deeper problems of neglect and loneliness.

“It’s quite short notice, don’t you think?” she said, as the shampoo started to wash off her hair, rushing down her body.

His mind wavered for a minute, forgetting what he had come to say, overwhelmed by the need to jump into the shower and have her one more time. He couldn’t, though, at least not yet; he had to settle this first.

“I know, but you think you can make it?” He insisted.

“I mean, I’m not sure, I’d have to check with work and—” Her sudden silence could only mean one thing. She knew. “This is about Emine, right?”

“They approved her application. She’ll be here by the end of the month.”

“Oh,” she said, turning the water off and reaching for her towel. “That’s good, right?”

“It is, yes,” he said, trying to sound more convinced than he actually was. “But, there are still a couple of things I want to do with you before that happens.”

That was the agreement, from the beginning. Cheating on her spouse while living under the same roof was okay for her, but it was unthinkable for him. That was the only way he was able to justify it to himself: Gabriela was nothing but a placeholder, a person to keep him warm while his wife was away, nothing that couldn’t be understood—a man, alone abroad, had his needs, better to meet them with only one person than to keep accumulating bodies like UNO cards.

“What is it?” She said, drying her hair with the towel. “What do you want to do?”

“Well, going on a holiday together, and…” he paused.

“And what?”

“And I want to kiss you under the Eiffel Tower.”

She started laughing in a way that only made him feel judged, “do you also want to hold hands and go on a picnic?”

“I’m serious, Gaby, just do that one thing for me.”

“Are you crazy? What if someone sees us? I don’t want to risk Fred’s friends or family seeing me kiss some rando under the Eiffel Tower.”

“Rando,” he repeated. “Nice.”

“You know what I mean. Plus, I thought we had a deal. I was your caseworker at the immigration center. I got you your work permit, and now you have a job, beyond that, I don’t know you, you don’t know me.”

“I know, I know, but believe me, it’s important for me.”

He didn’t want to give it more importance than he actually should, but he did feel like he needed to close that circle, to settle everything before Emine’s arrival, to make sure that he left everything in the past if only to be able to look at her in the eye when he picked her up from the airport. Gabriela was a fling, yes, but she had meant a lot for him over the past three years, too, and not always physical. There were the messages, the calls, and the simple feeling that if he needed someone to talk to, she’d do anything to be there for him. Thanks to her, he hadn’t felt alone.

“We can go to Marseille,” she finally said. “But we’ll put a pin on the whole kiss thing. We can go to the Eiffel Tower, take a picture together maybe, but I don’t think such a risk is worth taking for either of us.”

Metin felt a smile drawing on his face, “at least can you promise you’ll be open to changing your mind?”

“I can promise I’ll be open to changing my mind, but I don’t think my mind will change at all.”

He was satisfied with her answer because he had heard it before, when he’d first asked her to meet him outside of her office for a coffee.

“It’s not okay for a caseworker to go have coffee with her client,” she’d told him. “Here they’re very strict about it.”

“It’s not meant to be anything inappropriate. I just really need someone to talk to. Plus, I need to practice my French and I thought maybe just spending some time with a native speaker would help me.”

“I’m not a native speaker,” she’d corrected him. “I’ve been here for long enough, though, but I still have an accent.”

“It doesn’t matter, really, you speak French very well and I think it’d help me if I spent time with you. Come on, just one coffee.”

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t. Plus, you need to go, I have four other people in the waiting room.”

“Okay, I’ll go. But promise me you’ll be open to changing your mind. About the coffee.”

“I can promise you I’ll be open to changing my mind, but I don’t think my mind will change at all.”

He looked at her there, in front of him, naked and with water still dripping from her skin, her intoxicating fragrance invading the bathroom. She had changed her mind once, and he knew she would again. And then their story would end almost the same way it had started.