LIZ LUNDI: Out in the cold

After my lunch with Fatma I am absolutely sure I know what to say to Harry the next time he calls me – and I know he will call me soon because he just can’t stay away from me.

And so when the day passes and I don’t get even a text message from him, I am mildly puzzled. “Oh well, I’m sure he’ll call me tomorrow,” I tell myself. But then Wednesday passes and still nothing. By Thursday morning I am convinced that something is up.

“Look, if you really want to talk to him you should pick up the phone and call him,” Fatma advises when I call her on Thursday morning to run this past her.

“Why did he choose now to do this?” I wail. “I was just getting warmed up to him!”

Fatma snickers. “After all that you put him through? Do you really think he knows what you’ve decided?”

“But…” I start to protest, but Fatma cuts me off.

“He’s not a mind reader. Call him.”

“Ok,” I nod, then I hang up. It takes a few deep breaths and a mental run-through of what I want to say to Harry. And when I finally do call, I am prepped and ready to make my speech. But then there’s no answer.

“Huh?” I pull my phone from my ear to stare in disbelief at the screen as the ringtone dies out and is replaced by the message ‘user busy’. I give it a few minutes then I try again. This time the ringtone cuts off after three rings, and soon after, I receive the message, ‘Sorry, busy right now, will call later’.

What is this?? Harry is not taking my calls?! Me?? Who on earth does he think he is? I’m the one doing him a favour by reaching out to him – I mean, he’s the one who’s been overexerting himself pursuing me! Oooh, I’ll show him!

Then I call Fatma again to relay the latest happenings. But instead of sympathising, she just laughs and laughs.

“Really, Fatma!” I snap.

“You got what you deserve!” she says through mouthfuls of laughter.

I am just about to issue my own smart reply when I notice that I have another incoming call. I look at the display: It’s Harry. “Oh, I have to go, he’s calling me back,” I tell Fatma quickly.

Then before she even has a chance to answer, I am already cutting her off and switching calls.

“Hi!” I say brightly, trying to sound like Harry and I never had an argument and like everything is fine.

“Yes, hi,” he says. His voice sounds tight, constricted, like he is upset – or maybe like I am bothering him.

“If you’re busy I’ll keep this short,” I say. “I don’t want to get in the way of your work…” I trail off, hoping to hear something encouraging from him. But there is silence. So I soldier on, not too sure what I want to say, but making it up as I go along. “I just wanted to see if you were free any evening soon for a drink, or a meal, or something?”

“I don’t really thing that’s a good idea,” he says.

“But why?”

“After our conversation the other day I realised that maybe you and I are not on the same page with things. Perhaps we’re better off just being friends.”

“But we’re barely friends,” I whimper. “I was hoping for a chance to work on that, actually. On friendship.”

“Well, Liz…”

“Yes?” I ask.

“You know, this is not the best time for this discussion. I am rushing from meeting to meeting…”

“Oh, ok,” I say despondently. I know when I am being brushed off. “Fine, I’ll call you later then.”

“Ok,” he says, and then he hangs up.

I stare at my phone despondently for a few seconds. I can’t believe that things went down the way they did just now. Then, almost on autopilot, I dial Fatma’s number again. I am feeling a little weepy, actually.

“So, did he agree to meet?”

“No…” I say sadly. “In fact I think our little flirtationship is over.”

“Oh, wow, that was fast, even by your record,” she says. “So what now?”

“I don’t know, Fatma. I don’t know.” And to be quite honest, I really don’t know.