Fifteen
B urak picked her up at her apartment that evening, texting to let her know he had arrived downstairs but to take her time. For just a moment, she considered inviting him upstairs to greet the cats, who she knew would be thrilled at his presence, but she thought better of it before her fingers even touched the keypad on her phone. The more she could do to begin extricating Burak from her life, the smoother the inevitable transition would be when she left.
Instead, she sent him a “Be right down!” and threw her hair into a ponytail, taking one last look at herself in the mirror. She had made an effort—another dress pulled from the back of her closet, another red lipstick—but not so much of one that Burak would be haunted by her stunning beauty, forever remembering her as The One That Got Away.
When she got down to the street, he was leaning against the driver’s side door of his car. As she appeared, he smiled, coming to his feet as he walked around to the passenger’s side of the car, intercepting her there as he opened the door for her. Before she could slip past him right into the car, he touched her forearm with his fingers, her eyes finding his warm and open, with nothing held back.
“Hi,” was all he said, the pressure from his fingertips inviting her to lean forward, to accept an embrace, a kiss on the cheek, some display of affection that right now felt entirely too much to bear.
“Hi,” was all she said back, forcing a smile and breaking eye contact as she snuck past him and into the car. This would all be easier if she didn’t have to feel his arms around her, smell his comforting smell, be so immersed in him .
Not that sitting mere inches away from him in his car was exactly the solution she would have hoped for. A solid steel door between them would be more effective, or perhaps the width of the Bosphorus would be enough to do the trick.
As Burak entered on the other side of the car, sliding into his own seat, he shot a glance at her. “Everything okay?” he asked, and she noted the concern in his voice.
“Mm hmm.” She nodded, but she still didn’t look at him. “It seemed like the cats settled into their new home really well. I did a head count when I left this evening, and there wasn’t even one kitten out of place.”
Burak exhaled out of his nose in an approximation of a laugh. “I’m glad to hear it. What about you, though? That’s what I meant, actually. You seemed…I don’t know. On edge about something? Is everything okay with you?”
Jasmine really didn’t want to have this conversation now. Not when he was behind the wheel, and not when there was an entire evening ahead of the two of them that was supposed to be full of good food and good company. “Just tired,” she said at last. “It’s nice to be going out and celebrating, even if there’s a part of me that would have been just fine curling up on the couch in my sweats and zoning out in front of a movie.”
Burak glanced away from the road then, his eyes serious when they found hers. “If that’s what you want, that’s okay with me.” His cheeks flushed as he focused back on the traffic ahead of them. “I mean, I’d be happy to join you, but I’m also happy to reschedule if you prefer to be alone.”
There was a twinge in her chest at his sincerity, at the vulnerability with which he had invited himself along, and then retracted his words as if they were spoken in error. She could imagine slipping so effortlessly into a comfortable routine with Burak, too many nights curled up on the couch to count until they finally forced themselves to venture out into the “real world,” to trade takeout in for the view of a beautiful sunset. Maybe in another life…
“This will be fun,” she said. And then, because she couldn’t resist at least dropping a hint that would keep his hopes from rising to a point too high he might be crushed in the fall: “I should go out and enjoy Istanbul every chance I have, after all, since I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around.”
Burak’s lips pulled to the side, a twinge that looked as if he had tasted something sour, but he didn’t speak.
The conversation wasn’t supposed to flow, and the evening wasn’t supposed to feel like the beginning of something. It was supposed to be a nice break from routine, a chance for whatever connection had bloomed between Jasmine and Burak to be acknowledged, appreciated, and laid to rest.
But things didn’t always go the way they were supposed to, and there was no truth that Jasmine was surer of than that.
From the moment Burak had parked the car and come around to open her door for her, she had known she was in trouble. He had selected, judging by where he was leaving the car at least, to show her the best that Istanbul had to offer. They were close enough to the water that she could hear the seagulls, a thrill of anticipation rushing through her as they began to walk.
The early evening sun was reflecting off the water, colors painted across the sky that made Jasmine think of Taylor Swift’s “Lover” album cover, adding further fuel to her suspicion that she was in trouble.
“I thought we could walk a bit, take in the sights. Is that alright with you?” Burak asked, glancing down at her feet. “If you didn’t wear walking shoes, we can find a closer restaurant, or drive some more.”
She looked down at her shoes with him, grateful for the opportunity not to make eye contact. It was little considerations like this that continued to set him apart. “I’ll be fine. I’ve always wanted to explore Istanbul more than I have, but I just got so busy with the cafe.” She looked around then. “Where are we, anyway? What is this neighborhood?”
“Ah, yes. I’ve brought you to the most touristy part of Istanbul, the sights you see on all the postcards. But it’s not like Times Square, I promise. People actually live here, and Turkish people actually come here, too.” He gestured around them then. “This, my dear, is Sultanahmet. We will take a short walk around and in no time at all you’ll see the Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia, and plenty of other beautiful and old buildings that you won’t even be able to remember them all. How does that sound?”
“Amazing,” she said in all sincerity. It was the precise evening she had dreamed of spending in Istanbul, the sort she had to explain not having to her travel-savvy friends who popped up on Instagram from time to time, asking her what she thought of the city and then relaying their own “24 hours in Istanbul” experiences and all the sights they had seen.
It was the perfect way to say goodbye.
Jasmine smiled at Burak and fell into step beside him, her own personal tour guide to one of the most beautiful cities she had ever seen. His interest in architecture served her well, too, as he filled her in on intricacies of the buildings and the architects who had dreamed them into existence that she was sure her friends hadn’t learned on their whirlwind tours.
Finally, after she had snapped her thousandth photo, as jaw dropping as the first, they were standing on the edge of the Bosphorus, the sun now fully set as the lights from the nearby buildings reflected off the water.
Burak turned to face her, a sincerity in his eyes that sounded the warning bell in Jasmine’s lizard brain. Danger, it was warning her. This man is about to get serious. He’s going to say things you can’t unhear, and you need to put a stop to it before it happens.
“Should we go get something to eat now?” she blurted, her hand coming to her stomach in the sort of gesture a hungry person would make, or at least an approximation of it. Her appetite had vanished, either due to her heightened level of excitement at exploring Istanbul or in anticipation of the conversation she needed to have with Burak.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Would you prefer something we can grab to go and eat here or sitting down in a restaurant?”
“Grab and go,” she blurted. The less romantic the setting, the better. An image of sitting across a candlelit table from Burak, holding a glass of wine by its stem as his eyes bored into hers flashed in her mind’s eye.
If Burak had noticed her abrupt nature, had picked up on the anxiety that was causing it, he didn’t say anything. He led her to a nearby d?ner stand, where they ordered two kebabs and ayran before making their way back to an empty bench near the water.
A few bites into her sandwich, Jasmine plucked up the courage to do what needed to be done. “I like you,” she said, the words tumbling out quickly enough to surprise both of them.
“I—“ Burak began, but Jasmine held up a hand to stop him from speaking further, from saying something she couldn’t unhear. For once, she wasn’t afraid a crush of hers was about to reveal that he thought she was a swamp troll, but the opposite. She knew his feelings already, and it would only make her impending departure that much more difficult.
“I like you, but —“
“I knew there would be a but.” It was Burak’s turn to interrupt her, and his eyes were downcast as he shook his head.
“The but isn’t about you,” she hurried to explain. “But it’s a big but. I mean…I’m going to leave soon. My grandmother will come back and move back into her apartment and start running the cafe again, and there just won’t be any point in me being here.”
The expression on Burak’s face was unreadable, but it was curious, no longer downcast. “Did she tell you that?”
Jasmine shook her head. “No. We’re supposed to talk tonight, actually. After I get back home…or, to her apartment, I mean. Not my home. And you know as well as I do that she’s not a cold person, not unkind at all. She would never kick me out of her apartment, would never tell me that it was time for me to get on with my life.” She sighed then. “But she has a beautiful life, Burak. A lovely home, a job to keep her busy that I know fills her heart with so many warm fuzzies, a relationship that supports her…and she should have the space to enjoy all of those things without me stepping on her toes and taking up her space.”
“She might argue that having you there in her space would only make all of those things better.”
Jasmine nodded. “You’re right. But it just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s one thing to be here when I’m helping her out, but it’s something entirely different to stay on once she’s back and perfectly capable of doing everything herself. It changes me from the one providing help to the one being helped, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”
Burak cocked his head at an angle as his eyes finally met hers. “That might be worth examining, Jas. If you’re comfortable giving help but not receiving it…it’s just interesting, is all. It might suggest that you think one of those positions is the superior one to be in, and in that case, helping someone else out might not be as selfless as you think it is. It might be nothing more than an ego trip dressed up as a good deed.”
Her mouth dropped at his words. “I…what? How dare you, Burak? I mean…” She shook her head. The last thing she needed was a sick burn like that, to be kicked while she was already down.
Though it was possible he was also doing her a favor on some level…his words did make it easier to want to say goodbye to him tonight and not regret what could have been.
Just as she was about to get to her feet and storm off in the direction of a taxi, she felt the weight of Burak’s hand on her forearm.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled for and probably not what you needed to hear in the moment. I wasn’t trying to accuse you of anything, but just trying to be helpful, if you can believe it.” He chuckled then, just once. “That was a lesson I learned myself, actually, not that long ago, thanks to your grandmother. I used to always want to be on the giving end of the things, picking up your grandmother’s morning pastry for her and shooting her down when she tried to buy mine for me. I realized it might have been at least partially borne out of an unwillingness to ask for help. And if I hadn’t listened to your grandmother, hadn’t accepted her help and been willing to ask for yours and for Enes’s…” He trailed off, his eyes on the water. “Well, you and I probably wouldn’t be here.”
The smile he gave her then was small, but it wasn’t sad, not defeated in the way that Jasmine would have expected. It was almost as if he was unwilling to accept what she had told him, as if he couldn’t yet believe that she was going to leave, that there was no future between them.
She was quiet then, unsure of what else to say. He knew what her plans were, at least as far as leaving went. Neither one of them knew what would come after that.
“We can keep hanging out until I leave,” she offered, her voice small enough to surprise her. “I just didn’t want you to think there was any real future here. But can we be friends?”
His gaze was intent. “Of course we can. And I want to talk to you tomorrow, after you’ve spoken with your grandmother.” He glanced at his watch then. “I should get you home. It’s important for the two of you to connect.”
Though Jasmine was surprised at how disappointed she felt at the impending end of the evening, she knew it wasn’t exactly fair to object. It wasn’t as if she had told Burak something he would be particularly jazzed to hear, and if he wanted to part ways to lick his wounds, then who was she to insist they stay out for just one more drink?
They walked back to his car, the silence between them tinged with something that hadn’t been there before. Even just a few hours before, any lapses in conversation had been comfortable—and short, quick to be filled with a joke, a story, a tidbit of Istanbul history that had equal odds of being made up, an elaborate joke, or a genuinely fascinating fact.
The change in the tone of the empty air between them flooded Jasmine with an unwelcome sadness. Not only was it completely inconvenient and impractical for her to want to keep Burak in her life, but she had been just fine without him only a few weeks prior. Surely she wouldn’t perish from a Burak deficiency when she left Istanbul, and there was no reason not to start reducing her exposure to him in the meantime.
“Thanks for a nice evening,” she said when he pulled to a stop in front of her apartment. She put a hand up to stop him as he reached for his seatbelt. “It’s okay, you don’t need to walk me in. I can wave down from the living room if you want to be sure I made it inside safely.”
She had been mostly joking, but his nod suggested that he was taking her completely seriously. “I would prefer to walk you up myself, but I’ll settle for a wave. Otherwise my mind is going to keep me up all night wondering if there was a hitman waiting for you inside or something equally chilling.”
She turned her head to the side, looking at him from the side. “If you think that’s a likely option, you probably watch too many thrillers. Just to be safe, though, should we have a secret signal? Some way for me to wave down at you and make it look to the hitman like everything is okay, while I’m also alerting you to his presence?”
“That’s a great idea,” Burak deadpanned. “And it can’t be something obvious like a thumbs up, thumbs down situation, because he’d definitely see right through that. What about waving with your left hand if everything is safe and fine and with your right hand if it isn’t?”
Jasmine shook her head. “I’ve already forgotten which is which, and I can’t risk you breaking down my grandmother’s door just because we forgot to decide if it was my right or your right, you know?“ She paused then, with her hand on the door handle. “What if it’s the position of my non-waving hand? I could put it over my heart if everything is okay, or I could touch the back of my neck if it isn’t?”
Burak nodded, leaning forward then to kiss her on the cheek. “Perfect. I’ll be waiting.”
As she closed the car door behind her, there was a pang of knowing. It was very likely the last time she would be climbing out of Burak’s car, waving at him through the window, unable to stop herself from smiling back at him, at the genuine joy he seemed to feel when his eyes were on hers.
You’re being absurd, she chided herself. Again. She hurried up the stairs and into her apartment, barely greeting the cats before making a beeline to the window. When she looked down, there he was, looking up at her expectantly. Jasmine smiled at him, waving, as she placed her hand on her heart. Burak smiled back, waving once more before putting his car in gear and driving away.
Jasmine flopped onto the couch with a loud sigh. Cheddar and Gator were quick to join her there, and she scratched them both behind the ears, letting the sound of purring ground her back into the present moment.
As if on cue, her phone began to ring with an incoming video call from her grandmother. Jasmine forced the unwelcome thoughts from her mind and smiled as she answered the call, surprised by the flood of emotion she felt at the sight of her grandmother’s face.
“Grandma!” she cried, swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat. “Oh my God, I miss you so much. I knew I missed you, but I didn’t know how much until just now.”
Viola Brody smiled back at her granddaughter, and she was the very picture of retired bliss and joy. She was glowing, as cliche as it sounded, and Jasmine couldn’t believe how well she was suited for life on a boat. While Jasmine would probably be green from sea sickness, her grandmother looked like she had replaced stress with sun, SPF, and good living.
“Hi dear! I missed you, too. Is that Gator on your lap? Lift the camera up, love, I don’t want to see his butt.”
Jasmine laughed despite the emotion she was feeling, lifting the phone with one hand and using her other hand to direct Gator’s jaw so that Viola could see her cat’s face.
“He misses you too,” she said, “And I’m sure he’s very happy you’ll be back soon.”
“Ah yes,” said Viola, with just a hint of hesitation in her voice. Jasmine turned the phone again so that only her face was on the screen, Gator hopping off the couch in search of food, and she raised an eyebrow at her grandmother. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Viola.
“Okay…”
“Are…are you liking it in Istanbul? Would you be up for staying longer? I don’t want you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with…”
“Oh, it’s been great,” Jasmine rushed to explain. “But I don’t want to be in your hair. I’ll move on when you come back.” She forced a brightness into her words that she didn’t feel. “I’m not sure yet where I’ll go, but that’s part of the fun of it all, isn’t it?”
There was a hint of deflation in her grandmother’s face. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “I just want you to be happy. I’ll figure out a different plan. Don’t you worry about it at all.”
Jasmine frowned. That wasn’t what she had expected to hear at all. “What do you mean, Grandma? A different plan for what? Aren’t you coming back?”
“I’m coming back, but just to get things in order. Morty and I want to…well, we want to make this whole ‘cruising the world’ thing a lifestyle. Keep going for as long as we can. I didn’t realize it was the sort of thing that people made a life out of until we got here and started making connections. And well, I think I figured out what I want to do when I grow up…or at least when I retire, which, technically, I am. But it’s fine, dear, if you don’t want to stay on in Istanbul. I don’t want to chain you down with the cafe, and I’m sure I could find someone else to do it or even sell it or—“
“I’ll do it,” Jasmine interrupted. Her voice wobbled and as she looked down at her hands, she saw they were shaking. Was this really happening?
Viola’s face spread with a broad smile. “Really? I mean…do you really want to do that? I don’t want you to take it on just because you feel obligated. There’s a whole big world out there for you to explore, and you’re going to get sick of making coffee if you never get to see any of it.”
Jasmine shook her head. “It’s exactly what I want. And trust me, I have you exploring more than enough for the both of us. Will you send me postcards from the cruise stops? I want to decorate a whole wall with them. Maybe link them with yarn to trace your route and make the whole thing look like it’s a mad detective’s attempt at solving a crime. And I’m sure I’ll take a vacation here and there, too. Plus, it’s not like I’ve even explored a tiny fraction of all Istanbul has to offer.” She had to stop herself from clapping her hands and squealing. “Is this real life, Grandma? Are we really doing this?”
“We are, dear.” Viola nodded. “And I can’t tell you how happy it makes me.”