Perfect Match
Page 14
“That’s complete B.S.”
Bonnie knocked on the door and then poked her head inside before Hannah could reply. “Your mother’s on the phone,” Bonnie said, ignoring Hannah’s exaggerated gestures behind Amal’s back to be quiet. “She wants to know if Amal is allergic to anything.”
Hannah glared at her, knowing her friend was setting her up because she knew about her father’s request.
Bonnie just smiled. “What should I tell her?”
Hannah bared her teeth and then changed her expression when Amal turned to her.
“What is she talking about?” he asked.
“The dinner at her parents’ house this Friday,” Bonnie said casually. “They’re expecting to meet you.”
He spun to her. “Expecting me?”
“Yes.”
He turned to Hannah again. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I was waiting for the right moment.”
He looked at Bonnie. “Tell her mother that I’m not allergic to anything and I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
“Okay,” Bonnie said and then left.
“You don’t know what you’re walking into,” Hannah said. “My mother can be difficult, you’ve met my sister and my father is—”
“Family is family. I don’t care. Were you going to tell me?”
“You have a lot already going on in your life. Trust me, you don’t need this.”
“I’ll tell you what I need. I need to know that I can depend on you. That I can trust you. I knew I could before and I need to know that I can now.”
Hannah sat on her desk and sighed, feeling as if she were under an anvil tied to a slowly unraveling rope. He didn’t understand, but maybe meeting her family would help him to know what she couldn’t tell him. At that moment, she looked over and saw him with his son, and for one brief second she’d wished he was theirs. That they were a family and that he’d want to marry her and would love her as he had Jade. She didn’t want him to learn the truth—that a man who didn’t want to marry had stolen the heart of a woman who did.
She took his hand, although inside she was trembling. “I’m sorry. I won’t bail on you again.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes,” she said.
He bent down and kissed her and then cupped her face. “I missed you.”
His tenderness made her love him more, and she hated herself for it. She bit her lip and lowered her gaze so he wouldn’t see her tears.
“What’s wrong?”
Hannah blinked back her tears. “I’m sorry I let you down. I just—”
“It’s okay.” Amal lifted her chin and grinned, reminding her of the first day she’d seen him. “You can make it up to me.”
“How?”
“I’m interviewing nannies today.”
“Okay.”
“And I want you to help me.”
“What time are they coming?”
“Starting at six.”
“I’ll be there.” She sighed and then decided to take the plunge. “Can I hold him?”
“Sure.”
Hannah bent over to take J.R. out of the carrier, which Amal had placed on a table in her office. She made a face and he smiled. “He’s amazingly good-natured.”
“Yes, he doesn’t cry much.”
Hannah tickled the baby’s stomach. “So you don’t have your daddy’s nasty temper. You lucky boy.” She looked up at Amal and smiled. “And now we need to find you the right nanny.”
* * *
At first Hannah thought selecting a nanny would be an easy prospect until she looked at the line of women waiting in the hallway and shook her head—they were all younger than thirty, and very attractive of all shades. Hannah turned to Amal and said, “What agency did you go to get these women? The Ford Modeling Agency?”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you seen these women?”
He looked out in the hall and beamed. “This is amazing.”
“Where are they from?”
“Hector made the call.”
“They all look like models.”
He straightened his shirt. “I know.”
“If you want to change your image, you cannot choose a woman who looks like that.” She gestured to a woman in a low-cut blouse and tight miniskirt.
“Why not? There’s no reason for you to be jealous.”
“This is not about me being jealous,” Hannah said in a tight voice, making a note to talk to Hector when she got a chance. “This goes back to your image. Everyone will assume you’ve hired her for more than one thing. And second, I don’t think any of these women came here for the baby.”
“So we’re not going to interview any of them?” Amal said, disappointed.
“No.”
“Not even one or two just for the fun of it?”
“No.”
He put his hands together and made a pitiful face. “Please.”
Hannah reluctantly smiled and relented. “All right. No more than four.”
The first one was a definite “no.” She barely glanced at Hannah and took no interest in J.R. She just stared at Amal as though mesmerized. The second prospect was just as mesmerized but a bit more cunning. She made J.R. smile and shook Hannah’s hand, but her grip was too strong and her smile forced. The third was very young and anxious to please. The last was the hardest one for Hannah. The woman was gorgeous, intelligent and funny, and to Hannah’s surprise she liked her. She knew Amal liked her, too. Her name was Camille Jackson, and she wasn’t too flashy and would be good for his image. She had a confidence and a sense of responsibility, as though she was someone they could trust.
“You could do so many things,” Hannah said. “Why be a nanny?”
“Because I enjoy it. I have great references.”
“Yes, I see that. We’ll get back to you.”
Camille left.
“She was the best, don’t you think?” Amal said.
“Yes,” Hannah admitted with some hesitation.
Amal turned to his mother, who’d sat in the corner of the room the entire time with her arms folded. “Mom, what do you think?”
“I still don’t see why you need a nanny when you have me.”
“Because I can’t take him every time you want to visit your friend or get your hair done.”
“I don’t do it all the time,” she mumbled.
“It’s just for a while.”
“I think you should hire Camille,” Hannah said.
Amal turned to her, hopeful. “Really?”
“Yes, she’s perfect for you.”
“You mean us.”
“Right. You and J.R.,” she corrected.
“No,” he said, frowning. “I mean you and me. I want you to feel good about this, too. I won’t hire her if you’re not comfortable.”
“I’m fine. She’s great.”
“I’ll call her right away and also talk to the agency head.” He left the room.
“Have you lost your mind?” Doreen asked. “Do you really want a woman like that around Amal?”
“I really liked her.”
“Don’t sabotage this. I know what you’re doing.” Doreen crossed the room and stood in front of her. “I know my son. He may get his head turned, but you’re the one for him. The right one. I knew it the first moment I met you, and you’re the right one for J.R., too. I have never seen Amal so settled since he met you. You bring a sense of stability into our lives. But I know we’re good for you, too. You’ve got a good thing here. Don’t throw it away.”
Amal approached them. “She says she can start tomorrow. Now let me take you two beautiful ladies out for dinner.”
They enjoyed
a simple dinner at a local diner that had enough space for a high chair for J.R. Doreen delighted in the unfamiliar atmosphere and the sight of fried clams, French fries and soda. Doreen shared stories about her younger days and the trouble she used to get into, with Amal sharing some of his own. They laughed and teased, enjoying each other’s company.
* * *
“Stay the night,” Amal said after they returned home and put J.R. to bed.
Hannah tugged on his shirt with a coy grin. “I can’t be your sex toy anymore, Daddy.”
Amal wrapped his arms around her waist and then let one hand slide down her backside. “Daddies can still have fun.”
She moved his wandering hand back to her waist. “Not when he has to wake up in the middle of the night.”
Amal pressed her close to him, his tone deepening. “He sleeps through sometimes. Come on.”
Amal convinced her to stay in more ways than one. The baby woke up at three, and they both got up to help him go back to sleep.
“I’m so glad you stayed,” he said when they returned to his bedroom.
Hannah slipped into bed. “Me, too.”
“I lied.”
“About what?”
“This. It hasn’t been easy. I once wore two different shoes to work, I forgot to shave and I nearly boiled his formula and had him spit up on my shirt and didn’t know it until someone pointed it out.”
Hannah laughed. “Welcome to parenthood.”
“But I love him.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t think it would happen so fast, and for a second I wondered if my father ever thought about me that way.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“I’m not. But that’s okay because I’m not going to be like him. No matter what, I’ll stick around.”
* * *
Amal lay in bed with Hannah by his side, feeling as if he could fly. His life was coming together at last. He had someone to look after J.R., his mother was happy and Hannah was back by his side. Now he just had to meet her parents.
Chapter 15
“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Amal said when Mr. Olaniyi answered the door.
“You don’t even have the decency to bow to your elders?” Abigail sneered behind her father.
Hannah hit her. “He’s American. He doesn’t know those customs.”
“You could have taught him.”
Amal looked at Hannah, unsure. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” her father said, shaking his hand. “Please come in.”
When the two men turned, Hannah pinched her sister hard.
“Ow!” Abigail cried, making a face.
“That was a warning,” Hannah said. “Try to be nice, or I’ll leave a mark next time.”
They settled at the table and her mother came out with some of the food. “You’re looking lovely, Mrs. Olaniyi,” Amal said.
Hannah inwardly cringed. Her mother was wearing a simple “market woman” outfit. Its colorful design could easily be mistaken for something grander by someone not familiar with their custom of dress. But in truth her outfit was as insulting as a woman wearing a sweat suit to a fancy dinner.
Mrs. Olaniyi just shot him a look before returning to the kitchen.
Hannah leaned over and whispered to Amal, “Remember to touch with your right hand.”
He nodded, but twice he nearly forgot when he reached for a shared dish, and Hannah had to kick him to remember. In their culture, the left hand was reserved for personal hygiene. The conversation was stilted. Although Amal tried to charm her mother, she answered with short responses. Abigail took delight in the tension. Fortunately, Hannah’s father picked up most of the slack and helped to keep the conversation flowing. Soon he and Amal were talking about soccer games, economics and world events as if they were old friends.
“At least Dad likes him,” Abigail said in the kitchen after they’d cleared the plates and left Amal and their father talking in the living room.
“He’s still no Jacob,” her mother inserted.
“No.”
“And these black Americans don’t marry their women. They give them children mostly and sometimes will live off them, but they don’t marry them.”
“Black Americans do marry.”
“Not many,” she scoffed.
“Amal doesn’t need to live off of any woman,” Hannah said. “He’s established.”
“And what are his thoughts on marriage?” her mother asked.
“He’d rather tie himself to a tugboat and be dragged across the Atlantic before he ties himself to any woman,” Abigail said.
Her mother’s eyes widened. “He said that?”
“No,” Hannah said.
“Yes, he did,” Abigail said. “He said it in an article. That was a direct quote.”
“I’m sure it was a long time ago.”
“Not that long,” Abigail countered.
“And you want to be with a man like that?” her mother asked, stunned.
Hannah shook her head. “We’re not even close to even beginning to talk about marriage.”
“And you likely won’t,” she said with certainty. “Just you wait and see. A year will pass and he’ll ask you to move in, and that will be the extent of his commitment to you.”
Hannah knew she couldn’t reply, because her mother was right. Amal wasn’t the marrying kind.
* * *
In the living room Amal sat with Mr. Olaniyi, feeling a little more at home. He’d never had an older man as a mentor and hoped he could soon count him as one. Her father had wisdom, and Amal appreciated that, in spite of his disability, he had a nice outlook on life. Amal had so many questions he wanted to share with another man. Like the times when he watched Hannah with his son and mother and saw her competence and wondered if he fit in. Women always seemed to automatically be seen as the nurturers and caretakers. Most of his life he was surrounded by women. Could he be just as important?
“So, you have a son,” Mr. Olaniyi said.
“Yes, right now he’s with his nanny.” Amal cleared his throat and tried to make his voice light, as if his next statement didn’t matter. “Sometimes when I see him with Hannah, she’s so capable and strong. I don’t think Hannah needs me.”
Mr. Olaniyi nodded soberly, taking Amal’s statement with the weight it deserved, sensing his fear. “I know how you feel. After my accident I felt so useless to my wife and daughters. I couldn’t be the husband and father I wanted to be. But after I got over pitying myself, I realized that that fact didn’t mean I wasn’t a husband and a father. What I could do may have changed, but not my role. So I’ve done my best to continue to nurture and maintain those relationships.
“It’s not easy, but important. I learned to listen to their needs—it’s amazing how tranquil some women are. They just want you to listen. Not go out and fix their problems for them, just to listen and know they’ve been heard. That’s it. It’s a secret I pass on to you. Sometimes you’ll just be a shoulder to cry on, and that will be enough.” He showed him a picture of Hannah in fourth grade playing a game of tennis.
“You know, she gave me a note one day that I’ll never forget. It wasn’t sentimental or flowery—just a few simple words. ‘Thanks for being there.’ Not thanks for giving me the best advice, thanks for being rich or strong, just thanks for being present in her life. Through the good grades and the bad, the brilliant sport games and the failures, being that steady person she could depend on is all that mattered. It’s easier to run away. That’s why a lot of men do it.”
At the end of the evening Mrs. Olaniyi gave them a plate of food wrapped in aluminum foil to take with them. Hannah grabbed Amal’s arm and led him to the car, relieved the night was over.
“Your mother
doesn’t like me,” Amal said.
Hannah squeezed his arm in reassurance. “She’ll get used to you.”
“Your sister doesn’t like me, either.”
Hannah laughed and then kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t like anyone, including me.”
* * *
As Hannah hurried to her apartment, the summer heat threatened to melt her into the sidewalk. She thought about the dinner she and Amal had with her parents over two months ago. Amal was still trying to think of ways to persuade her mother to like him, but Hannah knew there was only one way he could—although she’d never mention it to him. She remembered how she tried to sidestep the issue a few days ago.
“So what did she like about Jacob?” Amal had asked as they pushed J.R. through the park. She’d gotten used to the leisurely weekend strolls with just the three of them. Camille, their nanny, had offered to come, but Amal always gave her the time off. Hannah felt almost like a family when they stopped to look at the geese and point out different sights to J.R. But their conversations always veered toward her mother.
She playfully swatted him on the butt. “I told you to stop worrying.”
“How can I? It’s a problem.”
“I’m still with you, aren’t I? Not all women are subject to falling for your many charms.” She stopped and bent down to smile at J.R. “Isn’t it a great day?”
“He can hardly talk yet. Why do you keep asking him questions?”
“Because he understands me.” She tickled J.R.’s stomach, making him giggle. “Your daddy doesn’t know how smart you are. Do you know how much I love you?” She extended her arms out to the side and J.R. imitated her. It had become a game between them. “I love you more than this much,” she said and then hugged him, and he giggled even more. She looked up at Amal in triumph. “See? He understands.”
Amal shook his head. “He’s just mimicking you.”
Hannah looked at J.R. “Your daddy has a lot to learn.”
Amal took her hand and lifted her to her feet. “That’s why I have you to teach me,” he said and then pressed his lips on hers. She never knew a man could taste better each time.