Page 63 of Statistically Speaking
One Missing Jacket
The week after is midterm exam period, but I go into school on one of the days to run drop-in sessions for students who need some extra help. Only three turn up, but it’s better than nothing.
Karim has been decorating his apartment, and I have been helping him. I have been swimming again with Margie, and I have spoken to my mother on the phone to keep the lines of communication open between us. Erin and Katie have gone to Middlesex to visit relatives, and I am calling in to water their plants.
I have, in short, been concentrating on the glass being half full.
Karim has shown me more pictures from the party, pointing out his sisters and his dad and his ex, Zara, with her own kids. She is sleek and beautiful and has a smile that could power the whole of Liverpool. I had a flicker of jealousy when he showed me and obviously didn’t hide it well enough—he pounced on it, delighted and gleeful at my reaction.
“You don’t need to worry, babe,”he said, wrapping his arms around me.“I only have eyes for you!”
It was a strange and new emotion, jealousy, and I’m not sure I like it. I do, however, like the fact that it made him so happy. Relationships are mysteries to me. We have even arranged for me to go and meet everyone in Birmingham when we break for the Christmas holidays—which seem far enough away for me to handle the idea calmly.
Again, despite my uneasiness, it made him so happy that I’d agreed to it. Perhaps this is the key to at least one of those mysteries—shelving your own qualms for the sake of someone else. Compromising because you care how they feel. Maybe I’ve been alone for so long not because I’m broken but because I’m just selfish—and Karim is teaching me the joys of giving. He is so decent, so kind, so thoroughly good that it feels impossible not to respond in kind.
We went to the pub quiz the night before and he stayed over at mine, as usual. It is now one of those rare days when neither of us has a lot to do, and we have luxuriated in bed for way longer than normal.
“I feel like I could stay in bed forever today,” he says. “Decorating is harder work than it looks.”
“Yeah, you really should work on your fitness levels,” I reply, grinning already. Karim is the very picture of fitness, and even though he knows I am winding him up on purpose, I still get a poke in the ribs for it.
“I’m a godlike creature and you know it. You can’t get enough of me, woman.”
I laugh, and he wraps the covers around us a bit tighter, creating a cocoon of warmth.
“This is nice,” I say, “cozy. I feel all snuggly and happy.”
He kisses the top of my head and replies, “It is nice. I love waking up with you. And going to sleep with you. And thethings we do before we go to sleep. And pretty much everything in between. Maybe one day we might even be grown-up enough to move in together...”
I tense slightly as he says this and then immediately work hard to relax my muscles. Karim is finely attuned to my body and its responses, as well as my mind.
“Maybe,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. I have never lived with another person as an adult, and I am not sure how I would cope. I value my privacy, my territory, my own little kingdom, so much more than other people do—because I didn’t have any as a child. I was always jittery, never safe, and then when I was in foster care, I always had to share. It’s made me fiercely protective of my living space.
“Wow, don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiasm! It was just an idea, for the future—don’t stress about it.”
I wriggle around so I am looking up at him, so I can make eye contact while I talk. He is smiling and does not seem offended, and that is a good start.
“Karim, if I was ever going to move in with anyone, it would be you. I can’t promise it, and I’d be lying if I said the idea didn’t freak me out a bit, but you know all the reasons for that. You know what I’m like, and why. I hope you also know that I’m committed to this. That I’m trying really hard to be less... me.”
He strokes my face, and pulls me closer, and tugs the duvet over our heads so we are in a little cave.
“I know. And I don’t ever want you to be less—I just think that perhaps together we might be more. It’s okay. I get it. I’m happy the way things are, happy to let it all play out the way it needs to. Happy with you.”
“Good,” I say firmly, pulling the duvet away. “Now I think you should go and have a shower. Somehow you still smell of paint!”
He sniffs his own skin and wrinkles up his nose before climbing out of the covers. He tucks me in and walks naked and proud toward the bathroom. I lie still and content, telling myself that it will all be fine, that I just need to relax and let life happen. Even as I think it, though, I am staring at my duvet cover, counting up how many times the fleur-de-lis pattern is repeated in different colors.
After a few minutes, Karim walks back into the room. He has a towel tied around his waist, his body damp and glistening. It is a pretty picture, and one I enjoy a great deal.
He raises his eyebrows at me and gives me a half smile, and I know that he knows what I am thinking.
“You’re thinkingDamn, what a hot bod; aren’t I a lucky woman?Aren’t you?” he says, posing in the doorway, flexing his biceps and grinning.
“No,” I lie. “I’m thinking,I wonder if that strange wet man in the pink towel would mind making me a coffee?to be honest.”
“Fibber! I’d say your pants would be on fire, but I’m pretty sure you’re not wearing any... So, coffee, or world-beating sex? Your choice!”
I am pretending to debate the two in my mind when the landline rings. Karim pulls a face, and I know he would prefer if I ignored it. So would I, truth be told, but it might be Margie—she is the only person who usually uses that number, and I don’t want to be that woman who abandons her pals as soon as a man is on the scene, no matter how hot he is.
