Another Shot at Forever, page 9
Ara didn’t have any friends that were close enough for their opinions to matter to him, at least he didn’t any longer. He sympathized with her because he imagined it was how he’d feel with Anisa and Zaynab meeting—an event that had yet to happen. And when that happened, he knew he’d be sweating bullets worrying about whether his sister and wife would get along. Put like that then, it was fair that Zaynab was anxious about him meeting her friend.
Ignoring the doorbell chiming a second time, Ara reached for her arm and stopped Zaynab on her way to the door.
“Everything will be all right.” He moved from gripping her arm to taking her hand and giving her a squeeze he hoped communicated comfort.
Smiling and appearing more relaxed, she squeezed his hand back.
Then she slipped free of him and went to answer the door at the chirp of the third and final doorbell.
“About time, babes,” he heard Salma drawl before she stepped in and pulled Zaynab down to hug her. He couldn’t get much of an impression of her until Zaynab ushered Salma in from the cold and closed the front door.
Side by side, the two women couldn’t be more different.
Though Zaynab had been in the kitchen with him for a long while now, she had just pulled off her apron and set it aside. Now he could fully appreciate her lush curves in a café au lait–colored tunic and trouser set, her feet shod in fuzzy black slippers, her hair free of her hijab and drawn up into a high sleek ponytail, and her makeup enhancing the naturally alluring glow of her rich brown skin. Salma was shorter by half a foot, though she wore knee-high boots with the tallest heels he’d ever seen. She was also slender and her big dark curly hair puffed around a small heart-shaped face. Shrugging out of her coat and letting Zaynab take it and walk away to hang it up, her friend stood in a long sweater dress and a fuzzy faux fur vest, looking approachable enough outwardly until she turned up her nose and pinned him with a frosty look.
Waiting in awkward silence for Zaynab to return, Ara witnessed Salma blink and resume a neutral expression. As though she hadn’t just been glaring daggers at him.
“Have you two met yet?” Zaynab asked sweetly and looked between them.
Ara reminded himself that this meant a lot to her, and that it didn’t matter how many dark looks Salma slung his way, they were both there because they cared for Zaynab. If he had to be the bigger person, then he would take that high road proudly and quietly.
* * *
It wasn’t that Zaynab had believed dinner with Salma would be quiet, uneventful—peaceful even. She’d just prayed that it would be. But from the minute her friend walked in and met Ara, any semblance of hope escaped Zaynab.
Salma had sharpened her long nail extensions to do battle and defend her, whether Zaynab wanted it or not. And her choice of weapon? Silent treatment. She ignored Ara, first giving him the cold shoulder while he and Zaynab gave her a tour of their home and then again when they were seated in the living room to wait out the final few minutes until their first day of fasting ended. Not knowing if Ara had sensed Salma’s passive-aggressive attitude toward him, and whether that was why he deferred to her to do the talking, Zaynab sat between them and carried the conversation as cheerfully as she could given their awkward situation.
She was glad then when the call to Maghreb prayer sounded from her phone. She had set the reminder so that they wouldn’t miss breaking their fast, but first she passed dates around for them to eat and poured them glasses of water.
After Ara led her and Salma in prayer, they gathered for iftar in the dining room.
Although Zaynab was famished, with the stifling atmosphere hanging over them, she found it difficult to enjoy the delicious dinner that Ara had worked hard to make them.
Salma continued to ignore him for the most part, except when she was forced to interact with him. Once because he was closest to the small bowl of basbaas, a green hot sauce, a staple in Somali cuisine, and another time when she complimented Zaynab on the shami kebab after doling out seconds onto her dinner plate.
“I would love to take the praise, but I’m not the chef,” Zaynab said to her with a smile and nod at Ara.
“I see,” was all she said to that, her lips thinned in displeasure for a long time after. Zaynab even noticed Salma didn’t go back for thirds either.
Once they were finished with their dinner, and looking far more exhausted than he should have, Ara offered to clear the table and fetch their dessert. That left Zaynab to usher Salma back toward the sitting room. Once she was certain that Ara couldn’t hear them, she rounded on her friend with a glare.
“You promised you’d be nice,” she reminded her. Worried that Salma might act like this, Zaynab had called and warned her earlier to bring an open mind with her to their intimate dinner party.
Salma huffed, “But I am being nice...”
Not believing that for a second, Zaynab arched a brow, and Salma groaned and flopped back onto the sofa cushions, arms crossed in petulant rebellion.
“Okay! Fine, I’m not being nice at all.” Salma scowled. “Why should I be though? He’s the reason I didn’t even get to take time off work and celebrate your nikah in Berbera.”
Zaynab smiled as Salma pouted childishly. “You know that I agreed to the fast deadline for our marriage.” When Ara had proposed, she hadn’t seen a reason for them to be engaged for long. She was so sure she loved him—so very certain in her choice to be his bride that she hadn’t ever thought their marriage would be at risk of falling apart...
And it was hard not to be reminded of it when Salma argued, “All right, but when you first came back a year ago, you were so unhappy. I hated that he made you sad. Give me one good reason why I should play nice after that.”
“Because Ara spent all day slaving away in the kitchen, making our dinner. I told him about our iftar tradition, and I think he wanted to make this first day memorable for us both. Also, he’s been looking forward to meeting you.” Zaynab rattled off the long list of good deeds, surprised at how quickly heated she’d become on Ara’s behalf.
She told herself that it was because he didn’t deserve Salma’s poor treatment when he’d been nothing but polite in return.
And maybe I want Salma to see this version of him that I’m seeing... This sweet, thoughtful, and highly attentive version of Ara who Zaynab could see herself living with, not just for the remaining five months of their six-month agreement, but maybe, possibly maybe forever.
She startled at that thought.
Was that what she wanted now instead of the divorce? To live with Ara permanently, raise their baby in this home they were building together, and even try at saving their marriage?
Zaynab shook her head, bewildered at where her thinking had gone.
And she wasn’t alone in the confusion.
Eyes as wide as saucers, Salma unfolded her arms and sat up ramrod straight.
“Zaynab, you... You really sound like you care about him.”
It was Zaynab’s turn to frown. Still confused, she shrugged her shoulders and pressed both her hands over the fluttering in her lower belly. “Well, I have to, don’t I? He’s the father of my child.”
“No, not like that,” Salma interjected, leaning in and studying her with narrowed eyes. “I mean, you care for him.”
“I said I did.”
“You like him!” goaded Salma.
Blushing to the tips of her ears, Zaynab snapped her head to the entrance of the sitting room in case Salma’s voice had carried.
“Yes, I like him, but not in the way you’re thinking. Now, hush, I hear him coming back.”
But not letting it go completely, Salma winked at her, mimed zipping her lips and grinned impishly. “Uh-huh. Okay. Whatever you say. My lips are sealed.”
“Oh, just be nice, all right?” Salma could wind her up all she wanted, but Zaynab was drawing the line with her attitude when it came to Ara.
And Salma seemed to take her warning to heart. Seemingly oblivious to being the subject of their conversation, Ara carried in a tray of frozen chocolate dessert he’d baked himself and cups of tea, and Salma accepted her slice of cake and tea from him with a smile and a friendly enough “Ta!”
He looked visibly taken aback for a moment before his usual brooding mask fell into place.
Zaynab ducked her head to hide her smile, relieved when the conversation flowed more naturally after that. It wasn’t perfect by any standard, but at least Salma was attempting to be polite this time. She asked Ara about his business and culinary skills and how he liked his stay in London, and though her questions and his answers weren’t indicative of them ever becoming friends, the evening ended on a far more hopeful note than it had begun.
All except for a small speed bump that happened when Salma was heading out.
Zaynab walked her to the front door, with Ara trailing behind them closely.
Salma confirmed her rideshare was there and, insisting that they didn’t walk her outside, she crushed Zaynab in a hug. When she let her go, Salma narrowed her eyes sharply and suddenly to where Ara stood and pointed a finger at him.
“You make sure you don’t do anything to hurt her or the baby, otherwise you’ll have me to answer to, mister.”
“I would hurt myself first rather than hurt her.”
Zaynab’s heart thudded at the darkly stern conviction in his words.
Apparently having seen something in his expression that made her believe his words, Salma bobbed her head firmly and then, blowing an air kiss at Zaynab, she opened the door and left.
Zaynab stood frozen in shock, surprised at what had transpired around her, and she didn’t move until Ara passed her to lock the front door and secure the house alarm.
“Why do I get the sense you two are conspiring against me?”
He smiled. “I don’t think conspiring is the right word. We both merely share a vested interest in your and Button’s safety.”
She followed him to the kitchen and jumped in when he started loading the dishwasher. After they’d done that, he turned to wash the remaining overflow of dishes in the double sink.
“I’m sorry if Salma came off as, well, forceful.” Zaynab peeked over at him but found his facial expression offered her no hint of what he was thinking. “Dinner wasn’t so bad though... Right?”
“No, it wasn’t awful,” he said with a shrug.
“Wait. What was that?”
Ara flicked her a quick glance. “What was what?”
“That little shrug.” She mimicked it for him, her heart thumping as she wondered, “Did you not like Salma?”
He set down the sudsy plate he’d been cleaning, washed his hands and twisted the tap closed before he looked at her.
“I know why it matters to you that I like her, but at the end of the day she’s your friend. My liking her or not shouldn’t change your opinion of her.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Sighing, Ara rubbed a hand over his beard.
“It’s okay. I won’t get upset, promise. I just want to know what you think of her.”
“Very well. She’s rude,” he said, surprising her with his abruptness.
Even though that was a fair summarization of how Salma acted, Zaynab opened her mouth, ready to defend her friend.
But Ara continued, “I also now know that she cares deeply for your well-being, and it eases my mind to know that you have her by your side. Between Salma and your mother, you’ll have plenty of support for when the baby comes. At least after you tell your mother of the pregnancy. You might not even need me...”
He said the last part quietly, almost resignedly, before he lowered his hand from combing through his beard and turned back to wash the dishes.
Zaynab clamped her lips together, not knowing what to say after his statement.
All she knew was that the need to embrace Ara was so overwhelming, she wrapped her arms around her middle to avoid the instinct to hug and pour comfort into him.
Why would he think that she wouldn’t need him?
She remained puzzled as to where he’d gotten that idea until she wiped the last of the dishes he’d finished washing, then it struck her swiftly.
It’s my fault!
When she looked at it from his perspective, it was easy to understand where his sudden irrelevancy sprang from. First, she had initiated their talk of divorce. Though she didn’t regret asking to end their marriage, knowing that she needed a clean break at the time, Zaynab had never considered how Ara might have felt and always just assumed he couldn’t have cared if she left him because he hadn’t seemed to care when they were married.
And more recently she’d requested that her pregnancy and their moving in together be kept a secret from her mother.
If he had done that to her, she would’ve felt pretty irrelevant too.
She couldn’t do anything about the divorce, at least not when she wasn’t sure how she felt about their marriage anymore.
But her mother not knowing? That was something she could remedy right then.
* * *
They had no sooner finished cleaning up from their dinner when Zaynab picked up her phone.
Ara had no clue what she was up to until she pressed her mobile to her ear, smiled cheerfully and said, “Salaams, Mum!”
She had rung her mother. He was gleaning an idea of where she was going with this, but he didn’t expect her to turn on her phone’s speaker and set it down on the kitchen peninsula between them.
Her mother jumped into immediately wondering why Zaynab had called so late, the anxiety plain in her voice when she asked in Somali, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Mum, I’m all right. I’ve only rung to tell you something,” she answered, flashing him a quick smile that just as rapidly flipped over into a frown when he reached over and pressed the mute button on the call.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said firmly.
“Did you just mute me?” She waved him away and glared when he pulled the phone back as she reached out to unmute the call.
“Hello?” her mother called. “Zaynab, hooyo macaan, are you there?”
“Listen, if you’re doing this because you feel pressured to make this announcement, don’t.”
He didn’t want her making a hasty decision to fulfill some obligation to him. It’s my fault though. If Zaynab felt guilty, it was because he’d gone and opened his mouth and let slip a fear that he’d only begun feeling as of late. A fear that he wasn’t needed by her, and not certainly when she was surrounded by the love and support of her mother and friends who were like family to her.
But that was his problem, his concern, and Ara hadn’t wanted any of it touching Zaynab and their baby.
Of course he’d ended up slipping up and now she possibly felt responsible for his fears and doubts.
Zaynab appeared to understand what he was thinking though.
She wasn’t glaring at him anymore, her eyes far softer on him now. “As sweet as that is, I’ve already made up my mind. Now, my mobile, if you please.”
And before her mother hung up, Ara sighed, unmuted the call and handed Zaynab her phone.
“Still here, Mum,” she reassured her worried mother. “Like I said, I have something to tell you. Well, we have something to tell you. Ara is here with me.”
That was his cue to lean in and greet his mother-in-law. She sounded elated, her worry melting into loud, overenthusiastic effusions of maternal care. Ara blushed at all the lavish praise she showered on him.
“Mum, you’re giving Ara way more attention than you normally do me. Should I be jealous?” Zaynab teased.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was there with you?” her mother lightly scolded her. “I know you missed him, but I hope you didn’t ask him to come over just because of that. That poor boy, I can only imagine the amount of work his business requires of him—”
Visibly flustered, Zaynab groaned, “Mum, stop!” She avoided his eyes and switched her mother off speaker and pressed the phone back to her ear.
Ara stared at her in surprise. Zaynab had... She’d missed him. Why hadn’t she ever told him?
Because I never gave her the impression that I cared, and never gave her the attention she deserved.
He had trouble swallowing that truth down as he listened to Zaynab begging her mother to stop embarrassing her. Eventually she turned back to him and, still looking shyly at him, placed the phone down, the speaker back on.
“Okay, Mum, let’s try this again,” Zaynab said calmly. “The reason Ara is here and the reason we’re calling now is because we were waiting to tell you that... That I’m pregnant.”
He was wrong if he’d thought her mother had been gushingly loud earlier at discovering that he was with her daughter. The moment she’d learned she was a grandmother-to-be, Zaynab’s mother screeched her happiness and threatened to rupture their eardrums in the process. When her mother began ululating like she would at a wedding, Zaynab laughed out loud and wiped tears from the corners of her sparkling eyes, her radiant smile pulling at something deep in him when she looked at him like no one and nothing else existed outside of that special moment. Not the ecstatic shouts of her mother congratulating them, not the memory of Salma warning him before she left and not even the worry that he could cause Zaynab to hurt again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THOUGH A FULLY grown woman, Zaynab still loved waking up on Eid morning.
When she’d been young, it was the promise of getting money and gifts from the grown-ups in her life, but now, it was the nostalgia she lived for. Well, that and the promise of tearing into a fluffy yellow cambaabur. Served during Eid, the traditional Somali crepe-like pancake was the first thing Zaynab looked forward to on that special day. Her mother made the best cambaabur, though sadly she wouldn’t get to glut herself on any this Eid.
