by Holly Rayner
I laugh. “She just likes me because I order twice as much food as you, which isn’t hard to do, by the way.”
“Hey! Last time I got two of my sandwiches, not just one.”
“Is this baby going to come out only wanting cucumbers and American cheese?” I tease. “Because I’ll die!”
“No,” Teresa says dreamily. “She’ll be an adventurous eater, up for anything.”
“He’ll like Machboos ala Dajaj and good ol’ American cheese both,” I say.
“Do you think it’s a girl, or a boy?”
“I’ll be happy either way. Do you want to find out? We could, you know, at the next appointment.”
She sighs happily. Her head’s back down on my chest, and I feel her wrap her arms around my torso. “I want to be surprised,” she says. “What about you?”
“I want what you want,” I say.
She’s so quiet, then, for such a long stretch of time that I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. In my mind, I’m imagining what the birth might be like. What will it feel like, to hold our baby in my arms?
Her voice pulls me from my dreamy state. “I do want you to meet them—my parents. I’m sorry that it’s taken so long. Everything just seems to be happening so fast.”
“I think it would be…a good idea.” Teresa must hear the hesitation in my voice, but she ignores it.
“Good. We can go to dinner at their house tomorrow night. You guys can get to know each other, and we’ll share the big news.”
“Perfect.” I try to sound confident, but inside, some of the peaceful feeling I’ve been bathing in is now evaporating.
What will they think, when I show up with their daughter, and we announce that a baby is on the way? I know how important honesty is to Teresa, and I know that it doesn’t feel good to hide things. I know. I’m hiding this whole thing from my parents, too.
My stomach flip-flops as I think about what’s ahead of us.
I sit up a little.
“Are you all right?” Teresa asks.
“I’m fine. It’s just…it might be time to get going. What do you think?”
That night, back at the cabin, I’m unable to sleep. I lie on my back on the small couch, staring up at the border of books that separates the living room from Teresa’s bedroom. Slivers of light are filtering between the books, which tells me that Teresa’s reading.
My mind is racing, thinking about how her parents might react. Will they kick me out of their house? Cry? Insult me? Try to protect their daughter? Give me a cold shoulder, while being polite on the surface?
The night grows later, and I toss and turn long after Teresa’s light goes out.
The next day, I’m a nervous wreck until five o’clock, when we leave for her parents’ house.
“What has gotten into you?” Teresa asks, as I drop my car keys for the second time on our way out to the driveway. “I’ve never seen you so fidgety!”
I stoop to pick up the keys, and then toss them back and forth in my hands as we keep walking. “Should we stop and get something to bring with us? Wine? Flowers?”
“My mom said not to bring a thing,” Teresa says. “She loves cooking Sunday dinner, and she prides herself in being a good hostess. Believe me, we don’t need to bring wine or flowers.”
I open up Teresa’s door and then slam it shut after she gets in.
The drive is a quiet one. I only realize that I’m chewing on my lip when Teresa reaches across the console and brushes her hand across my lower lip. “Hey,” she says. “They’re going to love you. Everything's going to be fine.”
I stop chewing on my lip, and start drumming nervously against the steering wheel instead.
She laughs.
Soon we’re walking up the steps to her parents’ house, and I feel horribly empty-handed. I feel like I should be carrying a gift of some kind. That’s what we would have done in Dalai.
I’m about to back down the driveway and make a run to Dawson’s for flowers, when Teresa reaches for my hand. As if sensing that I was about to turn and run, she practically pulls me to the front door with her.
When the door opens I see a tall man with a big, bushy mustache and beard. He’s standing next to a woman with Teresa’s slight build, and the same pale blond hair. They invite us in, and before I know it we’re inside and the door’s closing behind us.
The house smells good, like warm spices and fragrant meat. Teresa and I follow her folks into the kitchen area. I have my hand on the small of Teresa’s back, and she’s holding onto it, as if she doesn’t want me to bolt out the back door.
“Mom, Dad, this is Jabir,” Teresa says, once we’re all standing in the kitchen.
Her dad is reaching into the fridge, and he pulls out two beers. He hands me one.
“Jabir!” he says kindly. “Frank. It’s good to meet you. A real honor. I work at the transmission factory, and what you did for us, back before the holidays, whew…” he shakes his head. “It was a real lifesaver. Oh! Here, let me open that for you. Look at me! Hand a man a beer, and forget to open it!”
The beer’s sliding out of my hands as he takes it back. There’s a crack and a fizz as he pops the top off.
Teresa’s mother takes the opportunity to speak. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I don’t know why it’s taken this long!” She shoots a look at Teresa.
“Well…” Teresa says, slowly. I can tell she’s about to dive into the news.
She’s not going to put this off, is she? Her father puts the open beer back in my hands, and I take a hasty sip.
“There’s a reason for that,” Teresa says. “Jabir and I have some news, and I wasn’t exactly sure how to tell you guys. Do you think… Dad, could you have a seat? Mom?”
She waits until her parents are seated at the kitchen table. I edge slightly behind Teresa, letting her take the lead. I don’t think I’ve ever been quite this nervous.
“Mom, Dad… I’m pregnant.”
A beat of silence hangs heavy in the room. And then, as if she was candy springing out of bursting piñata, Teresa’s mother flies out of her seat. She rushes to Teresa and smothers her in a powerful hug. “Oh honey! I knew it! I just knew it! Mothers know these things, you know.”
Teresa’s dad stands up. He smiles, and extends his hand. I reach forward, and shake his hand. Her mother’s celebratory spirit is infectious, and I guess I’m feeling it too, because I feel myself beaming.
“Congratulations, Jabir!” Frank says, pumping my hand up and down. “That’s fantastic news. Just fantastic! Carol here’s been driving me crazy with her suspicions, but we knew that you two would tell us when you were ready.”
“Wait… You knew?” Teresa asks, worming her way out of her mother’s grasp. “You couldn’t have!”
Carol laughs and claps her hands. “Oh, goodness! A grandchild. I’m going to be a grandmother! Frank, you’re going to be a grandfather!”
“Let’s have a toast,” Frank says.
“Hang on, let me get sparkling water for Teresa. Jabir, honey, are you all set with your beer?”
I raise my bottle up, to show that I am.
Carol rushes to the kitchen and pours a glass of sparkling water into a wine glass. She returns to our cluster with her own glass in one hand and Teresa’s in the other.
Soon, the four of us are raising glasses into the air. “To the miraculous blessing of a new life begun.” Teresa’s father says.
Her mother gives a little whoop of joy, and Teresa laughs.
It feels indescribably good to clink my amber bottle against the other glasses in the middle of our little circle.
As I sip my drink, I look around at the faces that surround me. I see now where Teresa gets her excitement and sense of adventure. This couple has raised her to celebrate the good things in life, not dwell on the bad.
I wrap my arm around Teresa, and she leans her head against my arm. I’m so grateful, in that moment, for both Teresa and her parents. Our child will be lucky to have such war
m and loving grandparents.
By the time the night is ending, I find that I don’t want to leave. How is it possible that only hours before I was dreading the meeting? The only thing that makes leaving the warm, happy house better is knowing that I am about to go home with Teresa. I find that meeting her parents has made me appreciate her even more.
Besides, out of respect, I couldn't kiss her in front of them—not like I wanted to, anyways. But when we get back into the car, I’m finally able to express my feelings. As I kiss her deeply, I don’t want the kiss to ever end.
Chapter 16
Jabir
Something’s changed between Teresa and I.
I can feel it, in every look that she gives me as we drive in near-silence back to the cottage after dinner with her parents. It’s as though she’s seeing me in a new light.
I place the leftovers that her mother has sent us home with into the refrigerator. I hear water running in the bathroom, and then the sound of movement in the bedroom. I look down the back hallway, and see light in Teresa’s bedroom.
Why didn’t she say goodnight?
Maybe we haven’t become closer tonight, as I thought.
I sigh and walk towards the little couch. One by one, I pull the brown tweed cushions off of the back of the couch. I’m reaching for my stack of neatly folded sheets when I hear a noise behind me.
I turn.
Teresa’s standing there, at the threshold to the back hallway. She’s wearing a faded pink and grey nightgown, with spaghetti straps. It stops just above her knees. She looks at the ground, and bends one bare foot up, rubs it against the other calf, like she does when she’s nervous.
I’m frozen with the sheets in my hand, waiting for her to speak. Deep down, I know what she’s about to ask me.
It’s been in her eyes, since we left her parents’ house.
“Jabir,” she says quietly. “Would you… do you want to—” Her voice stops abruptly, and finally she finds my eyes with her own.
“Yes?” I prompt her.
“Do you want to sleep in the bedroom with me?”
I lower the sheets until they’re on the couch, and then I turn to her. “I’d like that very much,” I say.
I have to move slowly with her. This much is clear.
Teresa can be so bold, so courageous. I’ve seen her make her way alone in a foreign city, cross a roaring river, and speak truth even when it’s hard to do.
But sometimes, she reminds me of the white-tailed deer that graze on the palace grounds. With any sudden movement or loud noises, the deer will scatter.
I see that she’s frightened now, and if I move too quickly, she’ll be scared off. But she has no reason to worry. I was gentle before, and I’ll be gentle again.
Several hours later, Teresa falls asleep in my arms. I’m reminded of the night I spent with her, months ago, when I first visited the cottage. She feels so precious and fragile, lying in my arms after we’ve made love, and I can’t fall asleep. I just want to hold her, listening to her breathe, for as long as I can.
At some point during the night, sleep overcomes me. When I wake up, it’s bright in the bedroom, I can hear the clinking of glasses in the kitchen, and I smell coffee. She’s already up.
My body feels so relaxed. I stretch, and appreciate the warmth of the bed and the memories of the night before.
Then, I sit up. I’m searching for my clothes, which are scattered on the floor around the bed, when a drawing on Teresa’s nightstand catches my eye. It’s of me, unmistakably. She’s done a magnificent job; the charcoal sketch is so realistic that it almost looks like a black and white photograph.
I lift it up in my hands to examine Teresa’s work when I hear her enter the bedroom. I’m only in my briefs, because I got distracted by the picture before I could finish dressing. Not that it matters now.
She walks up to me, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand.
“You found my sketch,” she says. She laughs a little. “That’s how I kept from feeling sad, after you left.”
“Did it work?” I ask.
“Sometimes.”
“It’s a beautiful drawing.” I set it back on her nightstand, and then accept the cup that she’s holding out to me.
I can’t take my eyes off of the picture. That’s me, looking out and laughing with someone. But who? Who would I look at, with so much emotion behind my eyes like that? There’s only one answer, of course.
She’s captured me perfectly, but it’s only one half of the story. Without the other half, the story is incomplete.
“I love it,” I say. “But…I can’t help but notice that something’s missing. I think this drawing is incomplete.”
“Really?” she asks, stepping forward and gazing down at her work. “I worked on it for days on end. After a while, I couldn’t think of any new detail to add. What do you think is missing?”
I’d rather show her than tell her, so I stay quiet.
“Well,” she says, after I don’t offer up an answer, “if you think of it, let me know. I’d love to add it in. Maybe this afternoon, when I get home from Melrose. Janine and I are driving down, with her boys. She needs to get bulk groceries and I’m going to go to the art supply store.”
She walks to the bedroom doorway and places her hand on the frame. She looks over her shoulder at me. “I’ll bring the sheets in the living room to the laundromat and give them a wash on my way home. I don’t think you’ll be needing them on the couch anymore. Do you?”
I can’t help but grin. I find my white T-shirt crumpled on the floor and pull it over my head and shoulders. I see her watching me carefully as I stretch it down over my abdomen. “No,” I say. “I think not.”
I walk up to her and place a kiss on her neck, then her cheek, and then finally, her lips. She’s backed against the door frame now, and her hands are on my stomach, and then my chest.
“What time do you think you’ll be back?” I ask. Tonight can’t come fast enough.
“Three or four,” she says breathlessly.
“I’m going to miss you, Sunshine,” I say.
“I’ll miss you too, Mr. Moon.” Her eyes are deep pools that I could look into all day. “But I’m supposed to meet Janine at the park and ride at nine.”
“I suppose that means I have to let you go?” I have her trapped, my arms pinning her to the wall.
She nods.
“Okay.” I reluctantly remove my arms, and she escapes, giggling, through the doorway.
Once Teresa leaves for the day, I eat some breakfast and take a nice hot shower. Then, I start the work that I’ve had in mind since examining her sketch of me.
I find a blank sheet of paper and a plastic bag of charcoal. Teresa has several easels in one corner of the cottage, and I pull one out and set it in the middle of the living room. Carefully, line by line, I begin to draw Teresa from memory.
The more I think of her, the more I can imagine that she’s in the room, standing right in front of me. I can see the way she’d look at me, a hint of mischief and adventure sparkling in her eyes. I can see the curl of her pretty lips when she smiles, and the way her wide-set eyes crinkle at the edges when she’s truly happy. I sketch in her neck, her shoulders, and the curves of her body.
Everything’s rough at first, but as the hours pass by I smooth and polish each contour on the page. Lastly, I add in her baby bump—the one that’s slowly emerged over the past few weeks—and spend a full half hour making sure it looks perfect.
I carry a second easel out to the living room, and place it besides the one I’ve been working with. Then I retrieve the sketch that she’s done of me, and set it up on the easel.
There.
The story is complete.
Neither sketch looks right on its own. Who is she looking at, with that playful grin? Who is she daring on? Who is she shining for? And my likeness now has a partner to laugh with. He’s no longer alone, laughing like a mad man. His energy is focused and directed; he’s the perfect bala
nced reflection of the woman at his side. He’s reflecting her bright light. Mr. Moon and Sunshine.
I want her to see how perfectly we complete each other’s stories.
I want her to feel this same sense of wholeness that I now feel.
It’s two now, and I know that she’ll be home soon. I turn the easels so that they are facing the door. Then, I venture outside and start collecting wildflowers. A sense of celebration fills me up—for who we are, for what we’ve become, together.
I pick flowers until I can’t hold any more in my hands. Then, I bring them inside and go out to harvest more. I do this three times, and soon, the inside of the cabin is alive with color. I arrange the flowers in vases, jars, cups… anything that I can find. I place them all around the room.
And before I know it, the door’s opening.
Teresa steps in, a paper shopping bag and her purse on one arm, a laundry basket in the other hand, balanced on her hip. She slides through the door sideways, trying to fit despite her luggage.
I go to her and take the laundry basket away. Her hair’s falling over her eyes and the shopping bag is sliding down her shoulder.
“Thanks” she says, straightening the bag and sweeping her hair out of her face.
That’s when she sees what I’ve done. She’s frozen, looking at our portraits, side by side.
I watch as tears well up in her eyes. Her hand flies up to her mouth. I see it happening before me—all of the pieces clicking for her as they have for me: we are better together than apart.
“I figured out what was missing,” I say.
“Oh, Jabir!” Her hand is trembling slightly. She walks up to the easels slowly. I slide in behind her, wrapping my arms around her.
“We belong together, Teresa. Without you, I’m incomplete. I want to stay in New Hampstead, with you and the baby.”
I feel her nodding. A tear splashes down her cheek, right onto my arm. I lean in and kiss her salty cheek. I feel her soft hair against my skin, and inhale the smell of her.
This is where I belong.
“There’s one thing that I have to take care of first. Is that okay?” My voice is deep and soft.