Sunday

She was running out of time, Monday was arriving too fast. She had already exchanged some emails with Samantha, the girl in Human Resources, mentioning her absence to come, and she had sworn that the medical certificate excusing her existed on this dimension, but the thing was, it did not. The day was a typical dry cold and sunny autumn day and some trucks from the municipality had started hanging the wintertime lights and decorations on her street, an ambitious endeavor, marking every quarter of a block with Las Vegas style patterns of what could either be glittery lines of snowballs or frowny smiley faces made of light bulbs.

She had woken up on the floor on her yoga mat, finalized her tucking in of Barry around noon and painfully stretched her arms, arched her back. Was that how her colleague Margot said she felt like after trying Jennifer Lopez’ workout program for a week? For sure, that had to be worse. She didn’t have a lot of time to fight her fatigue and act, she had to get things done. Eugenie was noticing that, with hours going by and turning into literal days, forming a weekend, she freaked out less when she thought of Barry. Maybe she was too tired for freaking out, she didn’t know but, hey, you had to grab what you could if the chance presented itself: less rehashing, more proactive behavioring!

She undressed in her bathroom, counted twenty five different bruises on her body, from being kicked, falling a number of times, hitting furniture, all sorts of colors on her upper back and thighs and elbows, some of them a pretty pink color. Reluctantly getting closer to her reflection in the mirror, she saw that her upper lip was slightly swollen from getting struck by Barry’s knee the night before, “shit” that was not going to help her next step, but she continued to keep her thinking at a minimum and just carefully stepped into the shower. The steamy hot water on her skin was pure delight, and she permitted herself an entire twenty-minute session of it and its healing effect. There was always the fear of getting stuck in the shower, being unable to exit it and face the horror of the real world after so much bliss, and it was a real fear creeping around.

In the misty room, she dried herself and wrapped herself inside a soft towel, brushed her air neatly, and silently stepped into the bedroom where Barry was still sleeping to reach the closet, picked a simple brown dress, a pair of tights, and closed the bathroom door again. Wiping the mirror with the towel to chase the fog, she did her makeup, simple, just a touch of mascara, some discreet blush, a light gloss on her lips, deploring that the enterprise was unable to do much against the fact that she looked like someone who had not slept for days and hit her mouth on something hard, but well, she was well launched into her plan.

Sitting on a chair in the living room which was overlooking her flattened and wrecked dinner table, Eugenie finally used her cell phone to call someone. She dialed Chedli’s number. It would be the first human voice she would hear since everything had gone to shit with Barry’s arrival and she didn’t know if she could speak like a normal person again. Enthusiastically? A bit, yes, she’d have to be, she thought while the phone was ringing. Sounding detached? Sounding horny? She didn’t have the energy to pretend. She cleared her throat when Chedli picked up and she straightened up on her chair, “Chedlii how are you?” She deemed the level of enthusiasm sufficient and sensible.

He was fine. He was happy she called. He was actually just thinking about her when the call had come in. “You are lying” she forced a laugh, and then asked him out. What are you doing, she looked at the men at work attaching the seasonal decorations to the light poles on the street, busy with a mix of absence of fear of heights, adroitness, aesthetical equilibrium, and the physical strength to lift those huge-ass frowny faces –I mean snowballs.

What are you doing? The voice asked again

You really want me to explain this to you? I am going to sleep with Chedli so he can give me a medical certificate for a week-long absence. What else?

There was simply no other alternative. Just as Barry had resorted to her as the only acceptable health defender on his list on Friday, she was reaching out to the only doctor she personally knew on Sunday.

“Lunch?” she asked. Get him full of food

“Lunch? Eugenie”, Chedli spoke, his warm voice chuckling on the other end of the call, “it is 3 pm.”

“Fuck, really? Already?” she looked at the little clock on her chimney, only now noticed that the corner of it had been chipped, probably during Barry’s bolting to steal the phone from her hand when she had tried to flee into the corridor and call 911, “so, coffee?”

Get him drunk, GIRL, you are covered with bruises, your lip is busted, you bear a striking resemblance with Smeagold, you’re going to need a cocktail, you—

Chedli accepted the coffee invitation, a little surprised after a long period of ghosting, so Eugenie hung up, unable to identify a real feeling in her heart about the whole thing, and then headed out to honor her request for a date. Before closing the door of her apartment, she fed the cat and stood quietly near the bed, on which Barry was flattened, his eyes closed and the sound of his breath filling the room. Steady, calm.

She entered back into the apartment, snatched a post-it note, a thick marker and taped a message big enough on the door of her bedroom that Barry would see it without having to move: BE BACK SOON. She added an exclamation point, then changed her mind, used the line of it as the long trunk of a Christmas tree, found the idea ridiculous and threw the whole thing in the bin. Barry had not gotten shot in the brain, he would understand by his own means that she was gone and meant to return.

She locked the door, took a deep breath, went down the stairs, buried her nose inside her scarf in the cold temperature of November, shocked that the voice was still pestering her while she was trying to focus and be productive. You truly believe that Chedli will have sex with you, you crazy pineapple bitch? You will seriously get rid of your clothes and climb on top of him with in the shape you are, vaulted like Quasimodo? You believe he will feel aroused when he sees your spectral and spooky face?

Crazy bitch, Gollum, the Hunchback of Notre-Dame, how was that for references used in a pep talk? I wish you addressed me in a kinder manner, I’m trying to save a life after all.

Yeah but you are doing it the idiotic way.

“What other hope do I have?” she mumbled grumpily inside her scarf, pacing fast through the street, slaloming between the pedestrians and their bags, their strollers, their scooters, their dogs on leashes, appreciating the warmth of the sun on her face, “I need a medical certificate so I am off work next week”

Sex is sex, she added, bitterly, I smell good, I’m uh… she looked for another encouraging word, another attribute she was bringing to the sex-appeal table, found the mission extremely challenging, I have soft hair, I am uh… enthusiastic, and she was mocked again by her voice. Did every adult have an inner dialogue such as hers? Eugenie was pretty sure that at least parents did, as she saw her student’s mothers and fathers and guardians suffer from harsh self-judgements all the time. It must be pretty difficult to raise a child, she had always thought and, very early on, decided against maternity. What a way to invite the voice inside to tell you that you were shit at life, not just sporadically but every day.

She really hoped that she wouldn’t have to engage in sexual intercourse with Chedli more than twenty minutes, twenty-five, at the longest. Her body wouldn’t be able to go through real hours of real lovemaking. The fresh air and the stroll helped re-energize her, but the exhaustion at her core and limbs was cumbersome.

“Eugenie?” someone tapped her on the shoulder and she spun, startled. She had zoned out the whole walk to the coffee shop and she was there now, her inside voice suddenly evaporated, and a very real Chedli two heads taller than her. He was more than two meter in height, had always stubbornly preferred golfing to basketball, and his beard was very long, very hipster under his hat. She hadn’t lied to her voice, before: he was quite good-looking. When he was younger, when they had met, he had a baby face but had soon grew a beard over it, gained a bit in masculinity and attenuated his boyish looks. He dressed well, wore glasses elegantly and his eyes were warm. He had nice posture too. She stiffened, thinking about her own disastrous posture of the moment, as her back pain was testing her, and her butt was sore, and her legs were slightly bent.

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“Oh my gosh, Chedli” she hugged him, cringing, lazy and bored to check all the boxes of the date to come: greetings, solving of the who-would-pay-or-should-we-split-the-bill-up question that never failed to happen, sitting down showing the profile of her face that was the least detrimental to her image, eating, yes, that would be pleasant, but eating like a lady, maintaining eye contact, without letting any croissant crumbs fall inside her sleeve. It had happened to her before, that she had been devouring a sandwich in front of a guy on whom she had a major crush without noicing that some lettuce leaves were sliding out from the bread slices, into her sleeves. Finally, would reveal itself the real objective of the date and, lowering her gaze and choosing a whiskey voice, she would have to suggest, your place or mine?

ARE YOU INSANE, you cannot propose to him to go to your place! Are you stupid? Aye Madonna, are you—

GOT IT NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP “Long time no see!”

“Are you alright?” Chedli grabbed her arms and pushed her away from him to have a better look at her, “you look like a gh… I mean like you have seen a ghost!”

“Well, school has been a little wild, I guess”

Eventually, they sat down with their hot beverages and some scones, for which Chedli paid without having to discuss the sharing of their outing, because, as it turned out, he was in a splendid mood. He announced to Eugenie that he was engaged and about to get married in two months. Eugenie’s mug stopped one centimeter from her mouth and she stared at the man, “you’re not going to say anything? You look shocked” he said, eagerly waiting for her reaction.

“Nononononono” she spilled some of her coffee on the table when she brutally put the mug down, “I just didn’t expect that at ALL, this is great news Chedli!” Great news that I don’t have to sleep with him, but now, what am I suppos— “mashallah” she remembered some words in Arabic that she had learned with him. Arabic was undoubtedly top of the list of the most beautiful languages she had ever learned, especially his, from the Maghreb.

Mashallah my ass! Change of plans, Eugenie! She didn’t expect either that the voice would use her real name over a usual insults, bombard him with joy, drown him in questions, men love that, prepare for hours of tales, request the background story and… you’re not going to like it but—

“I hope that you are not too… disappointed” he said, with genuine care for her. That moved Eugenie. He was a nice man, wouldn’t ever hurt a fly. Always respectful, always a thought for someone else. She was not against sleeping with him because she didn’t like him or because his personality was insufferable, no, it was simply because sex was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

“Noo, are you serious Chedli? Not disappointed at all!” She eyed the scone on her little plate. A child at the table nearby, clinging to his mother’s shoulder, did the same. What am I not going to like to hear? She asked the voice

Request some pictures

Noo please, Eugenie’s shoulders melted a little bit, in disinclination.

Engagement pictures

NOO

She did her best and spent two hours there and let Chedli whip out his tablet from the pouch he was groovily carrying over his shoulder, where Eugenie watched his index finger press a couple of dots on the screen and enter a folder titled Lurv Photoshoot. Was it really better than quick shitty sex in an improvised corner of the world or even on Chedli’s old bachelor couch –soon to be trashed? She wasn’t sure which was the worst, but she had come here for a reason, and she gave it all she could, complimenting the bride to be, grilling him about who she was and even venturing as far as asking the audacious How-did-you-guys-meet question. Many scones were consumed during the listening of those takes she didn’t give a fuck about.

“And the venue?” she questioned him

Impressive, the voice recognized.

Yeah, no, I’m not going to hold back. There would be descriptions of places and visits and reservations and consideration for the temperature and the light in the hope to recreate some cozy oriental vibes and hide the show from the outside world— nothing she cared about.

“Who will be there at the wedding?”

Impressive as fuck, admitted the voice. There would be infinite listing of names that she had never heard and family connections tracing way back when something else of no importance to Eugenie’s heart took place, attempt to make her visualize a floor plan and a seating plan “Traditional Muslim wedding, everyone will be there. But with a modern twist, like, for instance, the cake, which we will cut into parts and shove into each other’s mouths like regular Western peasants” Chedli’s eyes shone hungrily but he had not touched his scone.

“Did you already pick a cake?”

Admirable. There would be endless episodes of showing up at spots in the city where the walls, the floor, the outside windows and inside decorum was so pastel even the Easter Bunny would throw up.

“Did you alrady pick a song for your first dance?”

Hands down. There would be recounting and recounting of mixed tapes and ancient nostalgic histories of tracks being played, someone’s body being possessed with notorious two left feet, a sad song to a deceased loved one from the Bled, killing the mood temporarily before some clapping restored it.

“Tell me all the details of how you proposed”

GIRL, my bad. Boss Level, the voice was in awe. For the remarkable man that Chedli was, there would be several chapters, probably an intimate one with the chosen one of his heart followed by a more formal one to the father of the fiancée. There would have to be teary eyes to react to that sort of anecdote. An even bigger faster surge and butt jump at the picture of a very very very shiny rock now following the movement of a hand under a sunset in another unbearable photo shoot. My bad, you earned it, you earned your paper.

My paper, Eugenie remembered.

“You will wear your djelaba?”

“It’s called a ceremonial sherwani, Eugenie”

Sexy, she agreed. But my paper, I cannot leave without my paper.

At the end of it, Eugenie was vanquished, shriveled up inside and she had retained nothing of the identity of Chedli’s soon-to-be wife, nor of anything he had described to her. She watched herself raise a timid finger and mention a week-long medical certificate to excuse her from her job. She was so spent that she didn’t care about Chedli’s opinion regarding her request and she just blurted it out, spat out one last crumb of scone. Then, she watched him nod empathically to her, something on his traits that looked like friendship or, worse, pity, motivate his browsing of the device on the table in front of him, and open a very different file on his tablet’s desktop, display a document and add his digital signature to it, “here” he said, “I’ve excused you for two weeks. Pneumonia”

“Yeah?” she felt some real tremors, this time, excite her.

“It’s in your email, you can send it to your school. You look like you need it.” Between Chedli and the owner of the night shop from which she had obtained cigarettes, peanuts, alcohol and whipped cream, added to the free-hug man at the exit of her Friday night parking lot, she kept hearing that ‘she looked like she needed it’ Perhaps she had to acknowledge it., “Would you prefer bronchitis? No? A combination of both?

She realized the days were getting shorter, nearing winter season as the decorations carried up to illuminate the paths of pedestrians there were nearing it too. Chedli stepped outside of the coffee shop not before having reassured her that he would eventually find true love too, especially after taking those two weeks to, perhaps, think about a little makeover or self-care stay at a spa. They waved each other goodbye and promised to meet up again very soon after the wedding, inshallah, and then he walked away merrily, with entrain, as the sun was already starting to set, basking everything in warmer, deeper tones. Not just him or people who accomplished things society dictated were blessed by golden hour. Everyone was.

Too tired to get up, Eugenie caught the waiter’s attention and ordered herself a hot chocolate. Changing her mind at the last minute, she opted for some mulled wine. She sat for half an hour, looking through the café’s window at everyone walking her large boulevard, its boulevard-size through the city a thick vein cutting a heart, bringing murmur and a pause to the effervescence, everyone busy, the tourist groups and their guides speaking Spanish, Dutch, Korean, some languages she didn’t identify.

A lot of visitors strayed from regular tours, lured by the deceiving peaceful aspect of the neighborhood, ventured on her darker corner of the city, unknowingly putting themselves in danger or being mugged. She imagined Barry sitting opposite her. The fatigue massaged her body heavily, her bones, her gravity center, and the seat under her butt was so comfy, and her beverage was warm, and she heard Barry say: “All those people, they have no idea. How many times we rescued them, from the worst. They go about their lives, and we, from the Team, protect them”

“It’s lonely, I imagine” she whispered.

“It’s okay” she heard back, so she paid for her drink and darted out of the place, rushed back home with her fake two-week medical certificate inside her cell phone.