Page 2 of My Turkish Fling
No longer Cem’s manager, I’d been at a loose end, feeling increasingly anxious. For years, his drama-filled life had distracted me from my own. Or the lack thereof. With Cem happy and settled with no crisis looming in the horizon, I’d have to turn my attention to the struggling antique store. Or even worse, myself. What was I doing with my life?
Growing up, I’d been good at many things. I’d studied business, but I’d never built one for myself. I knew I’d one day inherit my father’s antique store.
The opportunity to become Cem’s manager had come at the perfect time—the perfect distraction from the life I didn’t want and a woman I was trying to forget. I’d poured my energy into turning my brother into a star, and succeeded, beyond our wildest dreams. And now he didn’t want to be one.
We drove through endless greenery, and the emptiness of it soothed my nerves. No people, only sheep and cows.
“We shouldn’t have left our parents together like that,” Aria’s voice wobbled with concern, hands tight around the steering wheel. “What if they fight and cancel the engagement?”
Cem shot her a sharp glance. “They can’t cancel anything. It’s our wedding.”
“Engagement,” she corrected.
“Why are there so many steps?” Cem moaned, adjusting his chair until it hit my knees. “Can’t we skip the rehearsal and get married? We got the marriage license and everything.”
“That was to check how it works. Because of the immigration and—”
“But we have it! Why can’t we just—”
Aria’s voice brimmed with frustration. “Because the health sector is in crisis, and we can’t have four ambulances on stand-by for all the heart attacks. We have to ease them into it. If they survive the engagement, they might survive the wedding.”
“I think she’s right,” I told my brother.
I’d walked in on Mom crying more than once. She was losing her baby to a stranger on the other side of the world. My family had already thought Cem was back together with his old co-star Burcu and nobody was more invested in that outcome than our mother.
With Cem away in New Zealand, I’d broken the news to them and spent a long time explaining the events that sounded eerily similar to plot lines of Mom’s favoritedizis(Turkish soap operas). Yes, my brother had fallen in love with a New Zealand woman who was the spitting image of Burcu, and no, she didn’t speak Turkish or come from a Turkish family. She wasn’t even Catholic. Whenthe reality finally sank in, I’d dealt with the backlash—tears upon tears, elaborate prayers and long phone calls with trusted friends and relatives.
I didn’t mind. Over the years, I’d become accustomed to being hated. Water off a duck’s back, I told myself.
“Besides, we couldn’t ask Janie to host our wedding,” Aria added, turning onto a small, tree-lined driveway. “Even the engagement party is a big ask. She’s been through a divorce and running the place by herself.”
“We’ll take care of everything,” I said. “We can check her into a hotel—”
“No.” Aria threw me a warning look over her shoulder. “Janie would never go for that! She’s already planning the party. She’s… involved.”
Oh, great. One of those. This Janie sounded a lot like every one of my aunties.
“Okay, fine. But we will cover the cost and hire her some help.” I was representing my parents. I could almost hear their voices in my head, behind the words that came out of my mouth. Regardless of how they felt about the union, they were proud Turks and would insist on helping and showering the couple with gifts.
“She’ll appreciate that,” Aria said diplomatically. “But don’t suggest she leaves her house. She’d never.”
Aria parked on the side of a large turning bay, and I took in Janie’s house. That’s when I understood. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave this place, either. A sprawling timber building nestled on the side of a hill, bathing in the sun. The flowering trees createdan atmosphere someone else might have described as romantic.
I catalogued the photo opportunities, raising my trusted Sony camera. I hung back as Cem kissed Aria, whispering something in her ear. The evening light made everything glow golden. I raised my trusted Sony and snapped a couple of pictures of them.
When the kissing turned French, I directed my lens at the house, framing the entrance between tall bird of paradise bushes. The spiky, orange flowers hung over the stone steps leading to the blue door.
A familiar rush traveled through me, almost overtaking the headache. I enjoyed photography: The journey of looking for the perfect angle, perfect lighting and that perfect moment, capturing it and later, teasing out my vision in Photoshop.
I checked the focus and pressed my finger on the shutter. And that’s when the front door opened. My finger kept rapid firing on autopilot as a willowy blonde hopped over two steps and strode down the path towards us. Her tiny shorts showed off long, tanned legs, which disappeared inside heavy-duty rubber boots. Her hair fell over her shoulders in golden waves, and she smiled so brightly I almost reached for my sunglasses.
“Welcome!” She offered her hand to Cem and Aria, then turned to me.
“Hello! I’m Janie. You must be…”
I lowered my camera. “Emir Erkam, Cem’s brother.”
I held her hand and gaze a moment too long, unable to look away.
