Another Shot at Forever, page 10
Since clearing out their old home in the city seven months ago and moving to her cute little seaside town, Zaynab’s mother hadn’t returned to London for a visit.
She would have asked for her to come over, but she knew the nearly five-hour journey for her mother would be too exhausting. Despite conquering several rounds of chemo, and enduring plenty of hospital stays, her mother happily being on remission from cancer didn’t completely scrub Zaynab’s concern for her. So it was out of the question to put her through the kind of travel that might wear her down and undo all her mother’s healing progress.
But when Zaynab had hoped to visit her with Ara instead, her mother had insisted over the phone that they not worry themselves with the journey. She cited Zaynab’s pregnancy and chided her on traveling when she was in such a delicate state. Arguing with her hadn’t worked, mostly because her mother had talked Ara into her line of thinking.
“I know you want to see her, but she could be right. A lengthy car ride won’t be comfortable for you, or for Button,” he’d said to her after they had gotten off the phone with her mother.
Petty of her, but Zaynab paused brushing her teeth and frowned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, annoyed still that he hadn’t taken her side on the matter. Wasn’t he her husband? Sure, they might be headed for divorce, but shouldn’t their bond count for a little more support?
She knew she was being silly, and that they both only wanted what was best for her and the baby, but it didn’t stop her from grumbling about it while getting ready for the Eid activities in store for her and Ara that day.
It wasn’t until she was fully dressed and opened her bedroom door that her irritation came to an abrupt halt.
Zaynab sniffed the air and closed her eyes, immediately placing the familiar scent. It was cambaabur, and its freshly baked aroma wafted through the halls and permeated the whole house as she climbed down the floating stairs to the ground floor. It had to be Ara. Since discovering he could seriously cook up a storm, he’d been treating her to scrumptious meals, day and night. Ramadan had always been special to her, but it was made only more so when she was rewarded after a long day of fasting with one of his culinary masterpieces.
And she really shouldn’t have expected Eid to bring an end to him delighting her with his food.
Her mouth watering, she followed the divine smells to the kitchen and beamed when she saw Ara’s back to her as he stood over the stovetop. Sleeves rolled up and an apron tied around him, he was moving steadily, pouring the yellow batter and working between two frying pans. And judging by the plate of towering, steaming fresh cambaabur behind him on the shiny marble countertop of the kitchen peninsula, he’d been cooking for a while. She would even guess that he’d gotten up at sunrise since it was only a little after seven in the morning.
Ara was so busy toiling at the stove, he hadn’t yet noticed her presence.
Zaynab didn’t rush to inform him. Seizing the moment to watch him instead, she leaned against the side of the arched entranceway to the kitchen and pressed a hand to her chest, her heart so full knowing that he was working hard to make this Eid meaningful for them.
If she thought about it, it already was pretty momentous. Because it’s our first Eid together. And not just the two of them, but their baby was technically there too. Zaynab raised her free arm and wrapped it around her stomach, the smile splitting over her face lighting up her insides. She didn’t think anything else could make her happier right then. Except she didn’t count on Ara glancing over his shoulder at her as he finally realized she was there.
“Good morning,” she said with a shy little wave and walked into the kitchen. After pulling out a stool at the peninsula, she sat facing him and tracked his movements as he lowered the dials on the stove and, covering both frying pans with lids, he turned to her.
“Good morning,” he rumbled back, his smooth, deep voice rousing a thrilling little shiver from her. He then nudged his chin at the cambaabur and said, “Go ahead and eat without me. I’ll join in once I finish up the rest of the batter. Can I get you anything to drink? Tea or yogurt?”
“Yogurt,” she said quickly. “Definitely yogurt.” She wrinkled her nose at the suggestion of pairing cambaabur with tea.
Like he had the Eid pancakes, Ara whipped up the yogurt drink for her, even stirring in the sugar before he passed the mug over.
“So good,” she moaned at her first bite, her eyes nearly rolling back in pleasure. “It even tastes like my mum’s.”
“That’s because it is your mum’s.”
Zaynab’s eyes bulged at his comment, but when she went to open her mouth, the small bite of cambaabur jammed in her throat. She jerked forward and coughed violently and thumped her chest.
Ara was by her side in the blink of an eye, pushing away her cup and plate and patting her back. Together, their efforts dislodged the food and got her breathing easier.
One last thump of her chest and she croaked, “W-what did you just say?”
The smoke detector pealed before he could answer.
Calmly walking over to a security panel, just one of many scattered throughout the house, Ara pressed in an alphanumeric code, aligned his thumb to a biometric reader and finally silenced the fire alarm.
He then pulled the frying pans off the stove and, prying the lids off, fanned at the thick acrid smoke pluming out at him.
Zaynab was focused on him, and even rose up from her seat to lend a hand, when a new voice floated into the kitchen.
“Have the cambaabur burned?”
“Mum?” Forgetting to help Ara, Zaynab popped out of her stool and onto her feet and stared at her mother like she was seeing a ghost. As shocked as she was to see her, she rushed over and embraced her mother tightly. It was only once the welcoming scent of her mother’s favorite bakhoor perfume filled her nose that she didn’t think she could ever let go. “Mum, what are you doing here?” she said, still clutching her.
If her mother hadn’t peeled her back by the shoulders and kissed her cheeks, Zaynab would have continued clinging to her.
“What do you mean? To celebrate Eid with my beautiful daughter and her handsome husband, of course.”
Zaynab stifled her exasperated groan. “Okay, but how are you here?” Not that she didn’t love the idea. No, she was fighting back happy tears.
Her mother gave her a secretive smile and then tipped her head over Zaynab’s shoulder. At Ara.
Understanding slowly, Zaynab turned to him. “You did this?”
“Ara called me a few nights ago, after we had spoken and decided for you to both stay in the city. He told me how much it would mean to you to have me over for Eid.”
“Well, he’s right,” Zaynab agreed, sniffling again and then flicking her watering eyes up to the ceiling with a laugh. “But I don’t understand. How did you get here so fast?”
Her mother’s eyes twinkled. “I flew on a private plane. A very big, very beautiful plane that my son-in-law sent to me.”
“Is this true?” Zaynab spun around to Ara.
He nodded. “It seemed the safest and fastest method.”
And now because of him she had her mother with her, and right on time to celebrate Eid.
“I love that you’re here, Mum. I’ve missed seeing your face, and talking over video calls doesn’t count.”
This time her mother engulfed her in a hug, pulling Zaynab down to her height and rocking her from side to side.
Drawing back, her mother cupped Zaynab’s cheeks and smiled, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I missed you too. Now let’s stop crying. It’s Eid, and we all should be happy.”
“But these are happy tears!” Zaynab laughed again and, pulling back from her mother, fanned at her face to stave off the waterworks. When she was positive her makeup wasn’t running, she waved for her mother to sit and eat with her. And when her mother asked for some tea with her cambaabur, Zaynab used the excuse of popping on a kettle to sidle up to the stove beside Ara and whisper, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Your mother made me promise to keep it a secret. In her defense, she wanted to surprise you.”
She didn’t know which filled her with joy more: that he was defending her mother’s reasoning, or that he’d helped orchestrate bringing her mother to her so that they could celebrate Eid together. Never would she have ever imagined that Ara would have done something so sweet for her. At least, she wouldn’t have thought him capable of it a couple months ago. But since they’d moved in together again, Zaynab recognized that he was making more room in his overflowing schedule for her. Beyond feeling less and less invisible to him every day, she also no longer felt like a task he could cross off his to-do list, and more like a partner in this marriage that once seemed so utterly doomed to her.
It’s everything I wanted from the start.
Everything that was now making her question her previous, possibly hasty impression of him and their unhappy past attempt at living together.
* * *
Ara had been keeping a tally of things in his life that had changed since Zaynab reentered his world.
Right off the bat, there was a lot more laughter. Especially now that she was growing comfortable around him. And she’d have to be comfortable to be laughing at him in the background after some older aunties had stopped him outside the masjid following Eid prayer and practically tossed their daughters in front of him.
Extracting himself from them, Ara hurried over to where she stood, a hand clapped to her mouth but her eyes shining their mirth at his expense.
“You could have lent a hand,” he grumbled at her, fighting his own smile when she guffawed at him.
“And shatter the hope of those poor aunties? I think not. Besides, I can’t imagine you didn’t soak up that attention. Come on, admit that you—”
Zaynab gasped as he snaked an arm around her shoulders and pulled in close to her. Ara hadn’t meant to cut her off midsentence. It was simply that he’d noticed the aunties had been hovering in the wings, watching his interaction with Zaynab carefully and he hadn’t wanted to give them any more hope.
Because even if he and Zaynab divorced, he’d already decided that marriage with anyone else wasn’t for him.
From his peripheral vision he could see the brood of aunties collectively sigh in disappointment before scattering through the courtyard—he only presumed in search of eligible bachelors.
Following them with his eyes until he was certain the coast was clear, Ara looked down at Zaynab, the apology ready on his tongue evaporating.
Gawking up at him, her head slightly tipped back, eyes wide and frozen on his face, and her soft-looking painted mouth rounded in astonishment, she had a hand to his chest and the other clutched at the simple gold necklace that echoed the gold threads in her lustrous pink dirac. He didn’t normally care for the traditional Somali garb, but on Zaynab, Ara seemed to have unearthed a newfound appreciation.
Even though the dress hung over her loosely and she wore a blazer that covered most of her top half, the white belt cinched above her swelling belly had taunted him with the hint of womanly curves he knew she possessed. Curves that were now pressing into him and unlocking the desire he kept sealed away for both of their sakes. But wanting Zaynab? That was always simmering below the surface. And with each day that passed together, the temptation of giving in to his lustful urges grew more appealing.
No. I can’t do that to her, at least not again.
She’d come to him for a divorce, and what had he done? Seduced her into bed and impregnated her.
Ara ground his teeth at the memory of his barbarism. Though he’d been intensely attracted to her from the very first moment they had met, he had done well to keep it under lock and key for a reason. He was damaged. His confidence broken ever since he’d lost his parents, and his trust was only further abused when Zaynab’s father had then gone on to betray him with his crimes. Ara had married her to protect her from the threats her father’s criminality might pose her.
So when that threat was locked up with Sharmarke, he’d hoped that he could repair what he might have broken with Zaynab.
But then she’d asked for a divorce, and though it destroyed that hope he had for their marriage, Ara knew that he’d be doing right by her if he gave her the clean break from him that she clearly yearned for.
It should have been a lesson to him this time around, and a reminder that they were only living together once more for their baby.
That’s all that matters now. This baby, and the family the two of us will build around him or her.
But even as he thought this, he didn’t make a move to drop his arm off her shoulders or pull away. Instead, he raked his eyes over her, taking in the swell of her breasts as her chest rose and fell rapidly under his stare, then over to where her henna-painted fingers curled into the front gold embroidery of his black thobe.
She appeared as entranced by him as he was spellbound by her.
And despite being in the center of the overly populated sahn outside the masjid, when she sucked in her bottom lip, he was transported back to several months ago, in that hotel room of hers in Berbera. A kiss was what had undone him then—and it was looking like a kiss would be doing it again.
Eyes glued to her mouth, he lowered his head, his heart sounding loudly in his ears and filtering out the Eid merriment filling the masjid’s large central courtyard.
A little closer...
An inch or two more.
He could feel her sweet breath puff over his sparking lips, and then—
“Zaynab? Ara?”
Her mother calling out to them jolted him back from her and, simultaneously, saved plenty of unsuspecting witnesses from being scandalized.
Ara dropped his arm off Zaynab and she stepped away, shyly bowing her head and keeping him from seeing her expression.
Zaynab nudged him then. “Come on. I don’t want to miss the Eid festival.”
As she dragged him along to the festival, her hand on his long, loose sleeve, Ara caught the amused grin stretching his cheeks up.
Zaynab saw it too as she smirked back at him and hauled him along with the Eid crowd spilling out from the masjid and onto the city streets.
Across from the masjid was a park, and though Ara hadn’t paid it any mind when they’d arrived at the masjid for Eid prayer, he could now see that the expansive area of greenery hosted an abundance of tents and stalls, and a large central stage for the festival’s musical entertainment.
“Hurry!” Zaynab urged, pulling him with her to the heart of the party. “I don’t want us missing out on all the fun.”
CHAPTER NINE
AS THEY SQUEEZED their way through the crowded thoroughfare between stalls and tents, Ara calculated that there must have been hundreds if not thousands of people there. Normally he would’ve regarded that many people in one area as a viable hazard, and then he’d be expending all his energy on how to minimize said hazard, missing what was in front of him. But right then security risk assessment couldn’t be further from his mind.
They took pictures together and then joined the dancing near the stage where a live band played catchy, chart-topping tunes for the crowds. When they’d started slowing down around noon, Zaynab lured him toward a food truck parked nearby, and they hauled fizzy drinks, cheesy chips and gravy and doner kebab to the first empty picnic table they spotted beneath a cluster of early blooming cherry blossoms.
“Having fun?” she asked him, her grin ever present.
He chuckled. “Fun isn’t the word I’d use, but it’s close.” Exhilarating would be more like it. His humor slipped as he recalled when the last Eid he’d celebrated with his parents was, over sixteen years ago. Had he known that his parents would die a couple months later and that would be the final time he’d get to celebrate with them, he wouldn’t have dared act the way he had to them.
Banishing the rest of where that memory would take him, Ara blinked free of the past and stared into the unease on Zaynab’s pretty face.
“Ara? What’s wrong?”
She lowered her fork and swiped her mouth with a napkin, and he hated that she was now frowning because of him.
He could lie to her. Pretend like he wasn’t reminded of what he’d lost. But while sitting with her and partaking in the Eid festivities, one look at her knitted brows and the concern shining out of her eyes and he knew that he’d be telling her the truth.
“I was just thinking of my parents and the last Eid we spent together, that’s all.”
Her hand settled over his atop the picnic table, communicating quiet sympathy. “Do you mind if I ask about them?”
Ara hesitated, but then he shook his head, realizing that he wasn’t as pained by the thought now that she proposed it.
“What were they like?”
Of all the questions, that one was the easiest for him to answer. Smiling, he said, “Thoughtful, generous, nurturing—though we didn’t see eye to eye all the time, I counted myself lucky to have them as my parents.”
“They started your family’s shipping business, right?”
He nodded. “From the ground up. They’d often tell me and Anisa that it was the second most precious thing in their lives, with us being their first.” He hung his head, smile vanishing as he swallowed thickly. This was the part he hated talking about, and though he’d never have considered saying anything, delving into the past had loosened his stiff tongue. “They’d always planned for me to take over once I came of age and they’d trained me on everything.”
“Why not Anisa?” Zaynab asked the question he’d often wondered himself.
“She’s nine years younger, and since I was the oldest and their only son, I became the natural choice of heir for them.” And Ara hadn’t minded at first, but then that was before he’d gone to board at his university and before he had started discovering his independence and his own dreams.
