I drop by Ferit's office building the next day with every intention of hearing him out with an open mind. He had surprised me at my home so I felt it was only fair to repay the favor.
The lobby is impressive, quintessential Chicago, art deco style with high ceilings, green terra cotta, and gold accents. I walk up to the receptionist and let her know I am here to see Mr. Ferit Aslan. She looks at me skeptically, taking in my casual dress and uncontrolled curls with a furrowed brow, but pages Ferit's office.
"He'll be a few minutes," she tells me, gesturing to where I can take a seat to wait for him. While I'm waiting, I respond to my sister, making plans to have dinner to celebrate her engagement, just us.
Ferit's secretary arrives to usher me back towards his office. She's a middle aged, very stern looking woman. I wouldn't want to get on her bad side. Though the way she is throwing me judgmental looks, I feel like I already am.
"Mr. Aslan, your drop-in." the woman announces after opening the door to Ferit's office. Ah, I guess I messed up her schedule. Now, I feel a little guilty for not calling ahead.
I nod at her in gratitude, trying to be polite despite her annoyance with me. Ferit is at his desk, wearing the classic business man uniform: white shirt, black suit, black tie. I look around the office to try to distract myself from how delectable he looks. He has reading glasses on today which only makes him more attractive.
The office is sparsely decorated with a few pictures of Bulut and the entire family, but not many other personal effects. His desk is large and imposing and the sofas on the other side of the office are no more inviting. I imagine he's not doing a lot of friendly entertaining in this office.
"I'm sorry, I should have scheduled a meeting." I say, settling into one of the chairs in front of his desk.
I sense that he is not entirely happy with my spontaneity, but is trying to be accommodating out of politeness. "Don't worry. Are you ready to sign?"
A surprised chuckle escapes me at his certainty that I am here to say yes. I suppose I should have expected that. "Well, I have some questions."
"Okay." He says tightly. There are no signs of the kindness and warmth I've seen from him in previous encounters. I feel embarrassed that I waltzed in here as if we knew each other.
"I can come back, if now is not a good time..."
"No, you're here now. What are your questions." He folds his hands against stomach, leaning back in his chair.
"Well...how would our partnership work?" He's given me no details at all, so that feels like a good place to start.
"Right, well the contract isn't ready yet, but I will certainly send that to you when it's drafted. Essentially we will split the costs, 50/50, though I am of course willing to lend you additional money if the initial investment is too much, and I'll have to approve any decisions you make—"
"What?" I hadn't anticipated having to run my choices by him.
He sits up, rummaging through some papers on his desk. "You know, before you do anything major. I'll have to approve location, menu, concept, things like that."
He finds what he's looking for, and hands it to me. "Here. This has some more details."
I take the paper, but don't look away from him, still trying to understand. I know I should have expected he wouldn't just give me his money and leave me alone, but I don't want a repeat of the situation I just left. I want to do this on my own.
"I'm sorry, Ferit. I don't think this will work. Thanks for your time." I stand to leave.
He frowns. "Are you serious?"
"Yes." I'm a little irritated he's so surprised. If he wasn't my friend's brother, I might accuse him of being an entitled know-it-all.
"What's the problem. I thought you wanted to open your own restaurant."
"Yes, but if you have a say over everything, it won't be my own."
Now, he seems irritated. I fear that I am coming off as naïve, but I've been burned too many times by profit-seeking businessman to willingly enter into this arrangement. "Sejal, you can do whatever you want, within limits."
The condescension is dripping from his voice, making it harder and harder to hold back. "Ferit. I need your money, not your input." I walk away from him, heading towards the door.
He gets up as well and follows me, scoffing at my words. "So you think you know everything? You've never opened a business before. I have."
He's not wrong, but I'm not exactly thinking logically at the moment. I whip around at his rudeness. I do know everything, I think to myself childishly. Maybe if his arrogance hadn't derailed this conversation, I might recognize that his experience would make taking on a risky venture easier.
But, my stubborn side is in control. "This is a restaurant, Ferit. You know nothing about restaurants. I have worked in this business for a decade, I think I know what I'm doing." I spit at him, walking towards him in an attempt at intimidation. He may tower over me, but I have a bad habit of overestimating my fighting power.
He gets closer to me as well, neither one of us willing to back down. "There's a difference between being a chef and a restaurant owner, Sejal. You're smart enough to know this." His voice is emotionless, but I can see the annoyance in his eyes.
"Stop treating me like an incompetent child." I growl. "What I do not know, I will figure out." Like I always have.
"Stop acting like a child then!" He barks out, finally letting the anger seep into this voice. He seems to regret this outburst immediately and takes a pause, looking down, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I am here to help you, Sejal." He says, in a calmer voice. "You have your strengths, I have mine. Together we will be successful." He's trying to ease back into Diplomatic Dealmaker, but I am not so easily swayed.
"I don't need you to be successful! I have never needed anyone and I certainly do not need you." I'm revealing a little bit too much in my anger. Belatedly, I realize this is the second time in a week that I have been completely unable to keep my cool.
But, he is unknowingly striking at a sore spot. I am not good at accepting help, let alone admitting I need it. I was left alone to deal with the fall out of the worst event of my life and I've made it this far. What is opening a restaurant in comparison.
He either doesn't pick up on how personal this has become for me or chooses not to comment. Instead, now fully in control of his emotions again, he responds coolly, "Well, you don't have a choice. If I am to be an equal partner, then I will be taking an active role. Either cooperate and make this work, or we don't have an agreement."
We have been progressively inching closer to each other in our frustration and the awareness of our closeness appears to dawn on us at the same time. I'm too distracted by his lips to respond to his ultimatum. Long moments of silence pass between us as we stare at each other. I'm even more irritated by the undeniable attraction I feel for him, the nearly irresistible urge to run my fingers through his hair. I step back, forcing myself to snap out of it, trying to focus on my anger.
But, I can see that I am not going to win this argument. At least not right now when I am too emotional to combat his logic.
I let out a frustrated shriek, conceding defeat. As I turn to walk out of his office, Ferit yells that he will follow up with me later. Nearly at the door, I turn to glare at him. The sight of his smug face almost makes me lose it again. I'm sure he's expecting me to be compliant after I've had some time to cool down. I force myself to keep walking, having made enough of a scene already.
Sejal thinks about Ferit's offer
Like everyone else in my life who has a job, Ozan is too busy to listen to my angry rambling. While I wait for him to be free, I decide to take a walk, heading east from Ferit's office in the general direction of the lake. I have a sudden urge to visit my father's beach so I walk to Michigan and Jackson and catch the bus going south. I get off at my stop and walk the remaining distance to the water behind the cultural center.
This place marks the last strong memory I have of my father. We had stopped here during a bike ride along the lake shore so he could show me his secret spot. I had been so grateful for the break, trying to hide how tired I was, slightly embarrassed that my father was in better shape than me.
After my mother had died, he had turned to exercise with renewed rigor. I was never sure if he felt pressure to remain healthy for us or if exercise was a distraction from his pain.
That day, we had shared a banana and just looked out on the water. Being here brings back the grief as acutely as it was that first day. It's always in the background, but sometimes the force of it overwhelms me.
I wonder what he would think of my unemployment. I already know my mother would have been horrified, but proud of me for telling off my boss. She had stood up to a few clueless superiors in her day. It was one of the many things I realized we shared only after she was gone. I had her fire.
I sit atop the picnic table, my feet resting on the bench and look out at the water. I try to clear my mind by closing my eyes and listening to the quiet lapping of the waves. I haven't stopped to pause in days despite all the emotional turmoil. I let the sadness take root, now that I am alone, surrounded by quiet. All my bottled up feelings about losing my job and watching Laila get engaged without my parents flow out of my eyes as tears. I am relieved at the release.
Some time passes before I check my phone. Ozan has texted me, letting me know he can meet me in an hour at a bar near his restaurant in the West Loop. Apparently, he has some time off in between the lunch and dinner shifts that we can take advantage of. I wipe my tears and hop off the bench, heading back the way I came. I scroll through my podcasts, looking for something to distract me out of this mood.
By the time I arrive at the bar, I have composed myself – all outward signs of emotional turmoil wiped from existence. Ozan is already sitting at the bar and nods at me as I enter. I slide in the bar stool next to him, grabbing the happy hour menu.
He greets me and tells me a rather animated story about how he selected his drink. Apparently he had been chatting with an older woman before I arrived that had sworn this wine had changed her life. I roll my eyes at his dramatics, but laugh along, grateful for the silliness to bring me out of my funk. Ozan sells his drink so well, I ask the bartender for the same when she arrives.
"So, how was your meeting with Ferit." Ozan asks, getting right to the point.
I tell him the whole story with all the gory details, emphasizing Ferit's rudeness and exaggerating my righteous walk out. He doesn't seem to be entirely buying my version of events, but doesn't interrupt other than to ask a few questions.
When I've finished, I take a sip of my drink and reach over to pull some peanuts towards me. Ozan has a suspicious smirk on his face when I turn back to look at him. I can already tell he's going to be annoying.
"Sejal," he says in a sing-song voice.
"Ozan," I repeat back to him in the same tone, rolling my eyes.
"Would you be this aggravated if it wasn't a rich man offering you partnership?" he grins wickedly, certain that he's divined my weak spot.
I sputter indignantly. "Would a woman be trying to control me like this?" I shoot back.
He tilts his head, conceding that I might have a point. "Sejal, I think his argument makes sense though." Ozan says, serious now. "He is experienced in things you are not and he will be an equal financial partner. Seems fair that he would want some control over things."
I sigh. I know all of this in my head, but my stubbornness is rearing its ugly head. And, if I'm being honest, I'm a bit hurt that Ferit was so cold to me today. I had expected more kind eyes and small smiles. I swirl my drink around, trying to fabricate a defense that I'm willing to own up to.
"This was supposed to be my dream, Ozan. If I agree to this, it becomes only half mine." It's an honest rebuttal. I did leave my last place of employment because of a lack of freedom. And a controlling man. I feel like I have every right to be hesitant.
"It doesn't sound like he is going to try to argue your creative vision, Sejal. It just sounds like he wants to be able to protect his money if he thinks you are making unsound decisions."
"I don't make unsound decisions!" I yell offended, throwing my hands up in the air. Ozan only raises his eyebrows at me, clearly thinking of a number of occasions that would prove my claim false. I drop my arms and try to give his argument its due. It's not that Ozan is wrong or that Ferit is wrong, but that I don't trust Ferit to trust in me.
But, Ozan refuses to accept that argument either. "But, Sejal he barely knows you. And he's already willing to take a risk on you. Doesn't that speak to his trust in you?" He's making a lot of sense. "Don't you trust in yourself? He will learn to trust you when he sees how good you are." Now, he's just flattering me. How am I supposed to argue against my own brilliance?
"You're annoying." I say pettily. He laughs at my childishness, smug in his victory. I promise him I will keep thinking about it, hoping we can move onto to a subject where I get to be right and he gets to be dumb.
Luckily, Ozan makes this transition himself. "As thanks for this wonderful advice from your loving friend, I would like you to help me with Deniz."
Oh goodness. I guess no other unsuspecting woman has caught his eye since Laila's engagement party.
"Ozan," I try to warn him, "really, Deniz is not a good idea. She's going through stuff of her own and I just—"
"Please, Sejal!" he begs with his puppy dog eyes that he knows I cannot resist. Ozan may be irritating, but ultimately he is too much of a sweetheart to treat with any meanness. Even though I am trying to protect him with my warnings, I cannot disappoint him.
"Fine!" I acquiesce. Ozan does a small happy dance in his stool. "But," I begin forcefully, wagging my finger at him, "you must promise me you will back off at the first sign that she is not interested. I refuse to help you harass her."
"I'm not going to harass her!" Ozan protests.
"Maybe not intentionally, but if she does not want the attention, you will leave her alone. Are we clear?" I have my sternest face on, trying to drive home that I am completely serious about this. As much as I love Ozan, I don't want to subject that woman to any more interactions with men she doesn't want anything to do with.
"Okay, okay" he promises, trying to reassure me. I relax my posture and reach for my drink.
"What happened at the party between the two of you anyway?" I ask, realizing I hadn't gotten the full story.
"Well now I don't really want to tell you." I glare at him until he gives in. "Okay, fine. I just went up to her and asked if she needed any help. She yelled at me that not all women are looking for a white knight."
"Yes! Exactly! Ferit wants me to treat him like a white freaking knight!" I exclaim. "Deniz is so great."
Ozan narrows his eyes at me, irritated that I am on the wrong side. I shrug, unapologetic. It's not my fault men have been socialized to think we need them.
"I can't believe you asked a professional musician if she needs help setting up her own equipment. What do you know about setting up for a set?"
Embarrassed now, he takes a sip of his drink to buy himself some time. "Okay, then help me. How do I talk to her in a way that won't get her to bite my head off?"
I can't help my amusement at that image. He seemed equally terrified and in awe of her. Deniz really was my hero. "Look," I begin, trying to be helpful. "Just don't try so hard. Be friendly, at most. Don't try to impress her and be stupid while you're trying to impress her."
"But, how do I impress her if I'm not trying to impress her." He asks, genuinely perplexed.
I sigh, placing my head in my hands. "Trust me, Ozan. Any active pursuit of her will only piss her off. She has to be in control." I implore him.
He considers my words and seems to accept the logic in them. We hang out a little bit longer at the bar until he has to go back to work.
I leave feeling rejuvenated, Ozan's point about letting trust build swirling in my head. Maybe, against all odds, my friend is right.