Barakah

- Waiting & Wanting

6/01/2024

..................

She had woken up at the tip of dawn hankering to test for a pregnancy with a twist in her gut and her heart on her sleeves. It had been preceded by days of restlessness after realizing she was awfully late despite being tender at the parts of her body where it counted and feeling tired just by lifting an arm. The final push was when she was suddenly overcome by a powerful surge of nausea that had mercifully kept itself at bay.

When she picked up the test, a breath held back in her lungs as she interpreted the lines ran true. She had made a sound. One that had familiarized her  with her lack of company as she looked over the bathroom space. Alone at an hour after fajr, sunrise had began to glimpse, reflecting its shine against the vanity sink. She was certain she was actually pregnant. But still, nothing stopped her from dipping a new test into her bowl of morning pee to another positive. Clearer than the day outside.

She did not waste time hiding the tests before sitting on the closed toilet seat. Jalal was on a work trip and she wouldn't tell him over the phone. Also, she needed to come to terms. She was happy but also. . . . . . Also. . . . . Discomposed.

It wasn't everyday you learn you're going to grow a human inside you.

She didn't come to terms that day or even the day after. In fact, she had went along her day as she always did with Farouk behind her every step, a shadow she could never shake off. Sometimes, in wonderment, she'd look at the boy and think how much resemblance he would share with the one inside her.

The eyes or the smile?

Or nothing at all?

It wouldn't stray past those things. She hadn't birthed him. Even if she wished she had.

"He truly believes you're his mother." Jalal informed with a seriousness and then proceeded to say with a thoughtfulness, "I had picked him up from Jameela's parents and her mother had pulled me aside, telling me that Farouk had told her the person in a picture frame—the one we all tell him is his mother—isn't. That his mammy is at his home."

Barakah Amal had paused her typing, they were in his study that day. Both working, "I assume she wasn't too happy?"

She made a move to grab his cup of coffee, the smell of the roast promising her warmth and contentment. He was quick to swat her hand away before making a grab for her hand again, holding and squeezing it before letting go.

"I'm not concerned about her. I'm concerned about Farouk." He laughed bitterly, "I'll have to tell him one day that you aren't."

Barakah Amal rose from her chair, moving across the table, wrapping her arms around his shoulders with her senses over his scent to tell him by the ear, "It wouldn't matter to Farouk. It won't even harm him. It's the truth. Just as much as it will be more than true by then, that I am his mother too."

She thinks about her half-brothers and their birth mother. About her own mother and her half-brothers. And how deep love can course in ones heart to mingle with the blood.

"You can't ascertain based on your own life. Your brothers, you have no clue what they might miss." Her hands spread over his chest.

"I can't." She smiles near his face, "And it would be natural to miss her, his mother. To wonder and to think about her. I don't see myself as her replacement. Not anymore. Farouk is my blessing. It's not everyday God decides to give you someone to love and be loved by."