Fated Lovers

by Holly Rayner

  “He’s getting so big already,” Amal commented as Mia settled the baby on a soft mat to change his diaper. It was hard to believe that a month had passed since she had given birth. Mia smiled down at Aziz, and he gazed back. His eyes were shifting from the dark, almost black, blue, slowly becoming brown.

  “The pediatrician was really pleased with how he’s thriving. Ninety-fifth percentile for weight!” Mia’s smile broadened with more than a little pride. It was worth the deep ache in her breasts, the soreness in her nipples, to see him plump, happy and smiling.

  “Karima keeps saying she needs to find a husband, so she can have babies of her own,” Amal told her with a little grin.

  Mia secured Aziz’s linen diaper with safety pins and picked him up, murmuring in his ear. She was still surprised that Rami’s siblings seemed more than willing to assist with the baby laundry, along with the many other tasks that came along with caring for the infant.

  Mia smiled at the older woman, though in the back of her mind she thought it ironic that Amal would joke about Karima wanting to find a husband, since she had originally come out against Rami finding love and becoming engaged to a “commoner.” It didn’t seem to Mia as if a wedding was any closer to happening now that the baby had arrived, but she had to admit that her relationship with the man she loved was better than ever.

  Rami had committed fully to his vow to be an involved, caring and affectionate father. Whenever Aziz woke in the night, Rami woke up with Mia. He would always ask if he could get her something to eat or drink, offering to go into the kitchen to get her whatever she liked. He wrapped blankets around her shoulders and legs so that she wouldn’t catch cold as she nursed the infant, and had taken the search for a good nipple cream more seriously than even Mia had. “I want to try and make up for all of the support I didn’t give you when you were pregnant,” he’d told her one evening when she had laughingly asked him why he was hovering. “I never want you to have to doubt me again, Mia. I never want our son to doubt me at all.”

  The words had warmed Mia’s heart, and there had been entire days when she had wondered to herself whether a person could be too happy. Rami’s family had all pitched in to buy things for the baby: a breast pump so that she could express milk for someone else to feed Aziz, a bassinet, more clothes than the tiny baby would ever possibly be able to use before he grew out of them, a sling in which she could carry him—all the things that seemed to only cost a little when bought individually but which added up.

  Mia had insisted on using the money that Rami had given her to buy some items, but she knew that the ability to take care of her was becoming a point of pride for her lover’s family. They may have fallen into bad times, but they still had the wherewithal and the desire to treat her like one of their own, and to shower their newborn relative with all the affection, love, and necessities he could possibly need.

  Mia took part in family activities as much as taking care of Aziz would allow; she helped Karima in the kitchen, pitched in to do laundry with Amal, and swept the floors if she had the time and energy to do so. It was strange to see the big, grand house stripped of its domestic staff, but everyone in the family seemed to want to make the best out of their situation, rather than complaining or becoming lazy as she’d worried they might.

  With his diaper changed and his belly full, Aziz began to drop off to sleep. Mia sighed contentedly, putting him down in the travel crib one of Rami’s brothers had bought for her. She used it all time around the house because it was so light and easy to carry around with her. “Do you want me to help you with the laundry today, Amal?” Mia glanced at the older woman, who hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

  They walked through the expansive house together, Mia carrying Aziz’s crib. “You don’t have to help me with every chore, you know,” Amal commented, though she said it with a smile.

  “I like to help, though,” Mia told her. “And besides, I’m used to doing chores around the house. Before Rami I’d never lived with any kind of housekeeper who could do chores for me.”

  “I just want to make sure that you’re not tiring yourself out too much,” Amal told her. “I know you take care of things at your mother’s house too.”

  Mia shrugged, blushing slightly. “Well, she has neighbors who can help her with the yard, but even though she’s getting better treatment now, her health is still not where it needs to be.”

  Mia followed Amal into the laundry room; it was a surprisingly grand space given its function—but then, it was part of a grand house. Mia was coming to understand that Rami’s parents hadn’t skimped on anything, not even decoration and design for their domestic staff areas. The washer and dryer were almost new, in perfect condition and huge. Folding tables hugged one wall, and the back part of the room was taken up by a huge drying rack. Attached to the laundry room was a small porch used to house line-dried items and tucked away where no one wandering around the grounds would see. It seemed incredibly opulent to Mia, but she didn’t question the logic of keeping all of the items and luxuries in their correct place.

  “Do you think she’d like to stay closer to you? You know we have rooms here.” Amal said.

  Mia smiled wanly; even though the family house was huge—and back when she had been desperate and considering leaving Rami, before Aziz’s birth, she had thought staying in her parents’ home would be a great idea—the idea of her mother and all of Rami’s family living under the same roof felt stifling. There would almost certainly be arguments and upsets.

  “That’s really kind of you, but I think she likes living in the house she bought with dad,” Mia explained. “They worked so hard to pay off the mortgage, you know? I think she’ll only ever vacate it if she’s on her deathbed.” Mia glanced at Aziz, saying a silent prayer in her mind that no one in the family would be in that situation anytime soon. She set the carrier crib down on one of the folding tables, where Aziz would be close at hand but away from the heat, perfumes and flying clothes of the main laundry area.

  Amal opened the dryer and Mia unloaded the laundry—mostly sheets and towels, with a few other linens thrown in. “If you don’t mind me asking, when did you and Rami’s father buy this house?”

  “About fifteen years ago,” Amal replied, snagging the first of the sheets from the top of the pile. Mia watched, as she began folding a towel herself, surprised that Amal could know anything about folding laundry. Amal shook the cloth out smooth and began folding it in quick, decisive gestures. “Rami was very young, and I had recently had Karima.” Amal paused, considering. “The business came here first, and the family after.” Mia put the folded towel aside and grabbed a pillowcase.

  “Rami must have been very young when you adopted him,” Mia said tentatively, shaking the pillowcase to get the few wrinkles out.

  “Yes he was,” Amal agreed, with a little smile. “He was three years old when we took him from the orphanage. His mother had died giving birth to him, and his father was nowhere to be found.” Amal put the folded sheet onto the table and picked up another. “He never really had a family before us.” Amal hesitated, looking down at the ground. “And then once he did…” she sighed and took a breath.

  “Why did you adopt, if you don’t mind me asking? You had all of Rami’s brothers and sisters after him…”

  “At the time,” Amal explained, her movements beginning to speed up, “the doctors were saying that I couldn’t have children. It was only later that we found out they were wrong. That was a shock, let me tell you.”

  Mia nodded. “It was similar with my parents, except my mother never conceived after they adopted me.”

  Amal smiled again, her dark eyes a little sad. “Well, after we adopted Rami, I stopped taking fertility treatments. We focused on loving our son and just tried to forget that I would never be able to conceive…” She shrugged. “And then, within a few short years I found out I was pregnant with Karima. The doctors didn’t know what to make of it.”

  “It’s funny,” Mia sa
id, glancing over at Aziz and smiling. “Before I got pregnant, Rami and I had been trying for months. Not—not as lovers.” Mia blushed. “We got to know each other because he hired me to be his surrogate. We tried everything: artificial insemination, fertility treatments, and IVF, but none of it was successful. He wanted a child of his own so badly, and I was consumed with guilt thinking that I wouldn’t be able to give him one.”

  Amal’s expression was a mixture of near-disbelief and amusement. “That’s strange; Rami never said anything to me about wanting a child. His father didn’t think he would ever settle down.”

  Mia shrugged, feeling slightly guilty for betraying what Rami might have preferred to keep to himself. “He…” She took a breath, setting the folded pillowcase down and picking up a sheet. “He said that he wanted to have a child so he would be able to raise it differently.” Mia blushed a deeper red. “I know—I know you must have cared about Rami very much—but I think he often felt…”

  “Like we bought him things instead of giving him emotional nourishment?” Amal finished for her. “Yes,” she sighed, her face looking troubled. “I’m afraid that as much as I wanted a child, I found myself sort of…I guess you could say trapped, by expectations. It was expected that my son would be raised by nannies, and sent away to private school.” Amal looked at Aziz and smiled warmly at the sleeping infant. “I let myself get caught up in raising my children the so-called ‘right’ way.” Amal met Mia’s gaze, and Mia saw that the older woman had tears in her eyes. “I’m so pleased that you and Aziz are living with us. It’s given me a chance to try again, to experience all of the nurturing impulses I had to put aside as a wealthy mother.”

  “Oh Amal,” Mia said, letting the sheet in her hands fall to the folding table as she saw the other woman begin to cry in earnest. Acting on impulse, Mia closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Amal’s shoulders. “It’s okay—it really is, I know that Rami is so grateful for all the opportunities you’ve given him…”

  Amal shuddered and sobbed, and Mia felt guilty for raising a topic of conversation that could make Rami’s mother so upset. As she was attempting to soothe the older woman, telling her that it was all right, that she knew that Amal loved Rami, Mia heard the door to the laundry room open.

  She turned her head to see Rami standing in the doorway, his face bewildered. “What’s wrong, Ma?” He came into the room, quickly coming to Mia’s side. Amal pulled back from Mia’s shoulder, wiping at her face even as the tears continued to flow.

  “I’m so sorry for the w-way I treated you both,” she said, her breath catching as she spoke. “I’m s-sorry that I never gave you the affection you needed, Rami. And I’m sorry I spoke out against your engagement.”

  Rami looked at Mia for just an instant, shock and confusion in his eyes, before turning his attention back onto Amal. “It’s okay, Ma. I understand,” Rami said, patting his mother on the shoulder. He glanced at Mia again, and she shook her head as unobtrusively as possible to indicate that she wasn’t sure what to do, either.

  “It’s not okay,” Amal said, her voice firmer than it had been a moment before. “I tried to get in the way of your happiness after never giving you the love you craved. I don’t know how you will ever be able to forgive me.”

  “Ma,” Rami said, leaning in close to and kissing her lightly on the forehead. “You’ve welcomed us into your home. You didn’t have to do that. Giving us this opportunity, letting us get our family on its feet—that’s more than enough. Right, Mia?”

  Mia nodded. “It really is,” she agreed. “Neither of us can thank you enough for helping us give our baby a comfortable home.” She hugged Amal, and Rami wrapped his arms around both of them. Mia couldn’t quite get over the sense of shock she felt at Amal’s outburst, but even thought it had been painful, she was glad they’d had the conversation.

  FOURTEEN

  Mia relaxed against the back of the driver’s seat in her old, beat-up car as she drove away from the family’s sprawling home, towards the much more modest home where her mother waited for her arrival. She had left Aziz in the capable hands of Amal and Karima, where she knew he would be given as much affection as he could possibly stand. I wonder if they’ll manage to actually put him down once while I’m gone, she thought with amusement.

  The first time she’d left Aziz at home to go visit her mother, Mia had been almost unable to suppress the feeling of guilt that rose up in her; shouldn’t she want to spend every waking moment with her baby? The guilt had subsided somewhat over time. She still brought Aziz with her to visit with Amie once or twice a week, but other days—when Mia and her mother would be going to doctors’ offices and running errands around town—it made more sense to leave the infant at home. At a little over a month old, he was doing well, and was very healthy, but Mia didn’t want to expose him to any sicknesses until he’d gotten a chance to receive his vaccinations. With Rami’s family so willing to care for the baby boy while Mia was away, it was difficult thinking of reasons to refuse their kindness.

  “You’re more at ease when you help her, you know,” Amal had pointed out when Mia had commented that she felt like she was being torn in two different directions. “And when you’re more at ease, you take care of Aziz better; he’s not stressed if you aren’t.” Mia had had to admit that the older woman had a point.

  Mia frowned to herself as she pulled onto the highway. Her mother’s health had shown improvement at first, but despite receiving the best treatment available, she seemed to be getting worse again. It was frustrating to see all the progress her mother had made starting to come undone; watching the doctors scratch their heads over which new treatment to try. Since the beginning of her illness, Mia had sat with her mother in one office after another, listening to the options being presented. The rheumatologist had said, in a recent appointment, “I’m afraid the biggest issue we’re facing is that your immune system seems to get ahead of us too quickly, Amie. You keep developing tolerances, which means that the effects of the drugs are diminished.”

  Mia knew that there were only so many medications that existed for treating her mother’s disease. She knew too that the doctors were beginning to become concerned about the impact on Amie Campbell’s kidneys—both from the disease and, ironically, from the medications used to treat it. “If we can’t find a more long-term solution for you soon,” her mother’s primary care physician had said regretfully, “you’re going to need a transplant.”

  The idea of her mother going through dialysis and waiting for months to find an eligible donor, when weeks previously the cost of the treatment would have been insignificant to the family, made Mia feel like finding Rami’s father’s grave and screaming and stamping her feet—like that would do any good. It wasn’t his fault and she knew it, but she couldn’t help feeling that if he hadn’t taken such risks on his businesses – if he’d asked for help instead of taking out so many loans to prop up his failing empire – then she and Rami would still have the means to give her mother the very best care, without having to worry if they still had enough to take care of themselves and their baby.

  He did those things to avoid losing face. He thought that he had time to turn things around. Mia reasoned. She knew Rami was struggling to come to terms with the legacy of debt and mismanagement his father had left behind; managing the estate took up as much time for him as a regular job. There were properties to be sold, businesses to liquidate, corporate accounts to close and debt collectors to negotiate with. All in all, Mia did not envy the life he had taken on as the eldest son in the family. She could only hope that there would eventually come a day when all of Rami’s father’s affairs would be dealt with; when they would be able to focus completely on their own family.

  Mia turned onto the street she had grown up on, and forced her lips into a smile. She knew she should be happy that she was going to be visiting with her mother; she knew she needed to focus on the fact that she was incredibly fortunate to have such supportive in-laws—a
lthough technically they weren’t her in-laws, since she and Rami were not yet married—to help her take care of her baby and thus give her the opportunity to take care of her mother. There were parents out there in much worse situations than hers. “I should be grateful for what I have,” Mia told herself as her parents’ home came into view, giving her a burst of happiness. “I should be grateful rather than whining about what I