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“He’s fine. Busy at the hospital,” I reply.
“Mhm. So, is he, like, dating anyone at the moment?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“But is he talking to any girls? Like texting and all that? Wait! Is he on Tinder?” She pulls out her phone as if she’s expecting Evan to materialize from there.
“Carol … to be honest, I don’t know. I don’t think he’s on Tinder. He’s not that kind of guy. He likes stable, committed relationships.”
She claps her hands as if I just told her that Santa Claus is real. “Oh, good! Could this day get any better? A rich doctor who only wants a serious relationship? Not to mention how handsome he is! It’s like he’s a unicorn!”
I’m feeling more and more uncomfortable with the way Carol objectifies Evan. It’s as if she sees him as nothing more than a type or a category, rather than a human being.
Maybe this lunch was a mistake…
“Listen, Carol, this is—”
She cuts me off. “So, how come you two never dated? Oh, no! Is there something wrong with him? Is he … is there something wrong with his…” She raises her eyebrows all the way up on her forehead, trying to make me understand the innuendo.
“Carol, listen. Evan is my best friend. I’m really not okay with you talking about him like this.”
“Come on, Emmy! Don’t be such a goody-goody! This is girl talk!” she says.
“Not about my best friend.”
“So, what kinds of women does he like? Does he have a type? Wait, is he into some kind of … stuff? Is that why he’s single?”
And now I’m reminded why Carol and I don’t hang out outside of work.
“Alright. I think that’s quite … enough.” I signal the waiter and he comes to our table.
“Please wrap up all the food. I’ll take it with me. Thank you.”
“Of course, Miss.”
“Carol, I think I’m gonna go. I feel kind of tired, and my arm is starting to hurt,” I lie.
I know the right thing to do would be to confront her directly. But … I still have to work with this woman when I go back to the beauty shop; I don’t want to antagonize her.
I can’t have both her and my boss as my enemies when I return to work.
“Oh, alright. Well, this was fun!” she says, completely missing the social cue.
“It was … something.”
I’m sitting on my couch, eating the Turkish food I brought home with me, venting my frustration regarding Carol to Larisa and Jo.
Larisa: I don’t understand. What did she ask about Evan?
Me: All these questions like: what he likes to do, what kind of women he likes, and … more.
Jo: More? What does “more” mean?
Me: She asked me … private stuff about Evan.
The more I think about the conversation I had with Carol over lunch, the more upset I get about it. As a result, I feel the need to dissect it and get a second opinion from my friends.
Our little group chat is on fire now, with messages coming from all three directions, with Larisa, Jo, and myself each sharing opinions about the topic at hand.
