“I’m a little queasy.” I swallowed against the sensation and tried not to breathe through my nose. The strong ocean smell of the crabs made my stomach feel worse.
Concern etched his face. “Maybe it was something you ate earlier today?”
I laughed. “It could be the boardwalk fries. Or the funnel cake. Or the custard ice cream.” I always indulged on vacation. Any thoughts of healthy eating stayed home.
“You have gone a little crazy with the treats.”
“But I couldn’t not eat them,” I protested. “They’re an essential part of the Ocean City experience.”
“If you’re sick, we should get out of here.”
I reluctantly agreed, and we left without getting our money’s worth, which I didn’t feel good about. But I couldn’t stay in that place a minute longer. Once I breathed some fresh air, my queasiness eased. We walked back to our hotel holding hands, still firmly in the honeymoon stage. We’d only been married four months. By the time we got back to the room, I felt much better. Ali and I kissed as he edged me toward the bed. But when his hand went to my breast, I flinched.
He froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, it’s just that my breasts feel so sore. Maybe I’m getting my period.” But then the signs—nausea, tender breasts—made sudden sense. “Oh my God. What if I’m pregnant?”
His eyes widened. “Do you think you are?”
“Well, we’re not always careful,” I reminded him.
“No.” He grinned. “We aren’t.”
Ali went out and came back with a pregnancy test. I stared at the stick, waiting to see if two lines showed up. And there it was, faint but proud. Undeniable. Two straight slivers of pink. A positive result.
I was pregnant.
We were giddy, surprised, and a little scared. I was going to be a young mother. It felt like a miracle, even though practically everyone we knew had kids.
“Are you OK with this?” he asked. “I know we talked about you working for at least a couple of years before trying to get pregnant.”
I couldn’t believe a child was growing inside of me. The initial shock gave way to elation. I burst into tears.
Alarm lit Ali’s face. “I hope those are happy tears?”
I flung myself into his arms. “Yes,” I sobbed. “I’m so happy.”
Late that night in bed, we couldn’t stop talking about the baby.
“What should we name it?” he asked. “I like Alia if it’s a girl.”
“And definitely Amir if it’s a boy,” I countered, suggesting the masculine form of my name to counter his feminized suggestion of his.
“As long as we keep it to allAnames,” he said.
He was half joking, but the longer I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. Both of our first names, and our last name, started withA. I liked the idea of all of us being connected in that way, a true family. A tight group.
Our bond solidified.
The way Ali made love to me that night—with exquisite tenderness and heightened emotional intensity—calmed something in me. Nothing in the past mattered anymore. A baby was coming. Ali and I were truly family.
Nothing, and no one, could come between us now.
Chapter Nineteen
Now
My father-in-law’s birthday dinner was the usual boisterous affair with effusive greetings and too many people crowded about the table, the expected compliments to the chef, but also admonishments that my mother-in-law had worked too hard. In return, she insisted that everyone eat more.
