Amal Unbound(4)

“Amal, I can stay with her now,” Parvin told me. “Will you go take care of Safa and Rabia?”

“But I want to help.”

“Taking care of your little sisters is helping. It gives your mother one less thing to worry about.”

I wanted to stay, but she was right. And it was too hard seeing my mother like this.

I stepped into our living room. Rabia and Safa stood stock-still in their cotton frocks next to the faded sofa.

“Is Amma okay?” Rabia asked. Her lower lip quivered. Safa bit her nails and said nothing. Rabia was four years old and Safa was three, but with their matching black curls and dimples, people often mistook them for twins.

“Of course she’s fine.” I pushed down my own fear and ran a hand through Rabia’s springy hair. “The baby is coming. Aren’t you excited to meet your new brother or sister?”

They glanced at each other and then nodded at me.

“Let’s go in your bedroom and dress up your dolls while we wait. We can show them to the baby soon.”

Both girls followed me into their bedroom next to the kitchen. Their window overlooked our courtyard, the concrete floor painted peach, where our mother cooked meals when the weather allowed. Safa and Rabia pulled out their dolls and the collection of clothes my mother sewed for them. Soon they were chatting and giggling and getting their dolls ready for a tea party.

I tried to focus on their play and push out the image of my mother’s closed eyes and pained face. I knew people kept saying they hoped the baby was a boy, but right now I didn’t care. I only wanted my mother to be okay.

The door creaked. Omar stood by the edge of the bedroom, his hand resting on the knob.

“How’s she doing?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I was only in there with her for a few minutes. But it was scary—she looked so weak.”

“Raheela Bibi and my mother know what they’re doing,” Omar tried to reassure me. “And you are right here if they need you.”

“The book!” I turned to him. “I left it by the stream. We ran so fast, I forgot all about it.”

“Don’t worry about the book.”

“It looked expensive.”

“I’ll get it. It’s not going anywhere.”

“What if something happens to her?” My voice cracked.

“We don’t know anything yet,” he said. “But don’t worry; I’ll be here if you need me.”

I appreciated his words because he did not promise me all would be well. He did not know.

Neither did I.





Chapter 5





My father paced the length of the living room in his leather sandals while my sister and I sat at the table by the sofa, trying to do our homework. His forehead was slick with sweat; his dark glasses framed his worried expression.

We had a bigger house than many, but right now it felt like it was shrinking in on me. Seema and I kept stealing glances at our parents’ closed room while our little sisters played in their bedroom.

The sun had nearly set when my parents’ bedroom door finally opened.

The midwife stepped outside and smiled.

My jaw unclenched. My mother was okay. She had to be if Raheela Bibi was smiling.

“Congratulations,” she said. “You are a father five times over now.”

“How is Mehnaz?” he asked.

“Tired. But she’ll be fine. Go on in and see for yourself.”

My father walked into the bedroom. Seema and I followed.

The lamp on the nightstand lent a soft glow to the darkened room. The little one, smaller than I expected, lay curled in a blue blanket in my mother’s arms.

“What is it?” my father asked. “A boy or a . . .”

“A girl,” Raheela Bibi said.

“A girl?”

“Yes.” She looked at him. “A perfect, healthy baby girl.”

“Can I hold her?” I scooped the blanketed baby out of my mother’s arms. I traced a finger against her soft nose, her cheeks, and her curved chin, with a dimple like Safa’s. Raheela Bibi was right; she was perfect.

My breath caught when she gripped my finger with her fist. She was so tiny, but her grip on me so tight, as though she knew I would always protect her. Any disappointment I might have felt at not having a baby brother dissipated like powder in a running stream.

“What should we name her?” I asked. “I have a notebook with the ones I like. Shifa is pretty, but I also like Maha. Maaria. Lubna.”

That’s when I realized the room was unusually quiet.

I looked at my mother. She was crying. I was so eager to see the baby, I hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down her face. Until now.

My father stood by the door. His eyes were red.

“I’m sorry,” my mother whispered.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. “God does what he wants.”

Of course I had known they wanted a son. I heard the conversations of our neighbors and the whispers in our own house. But staring at my parents’ expressions right now, I saw they didn’t look disappointed; they looked crushed.

I hadn’t been present when my other sisters had been born. Is this how they’d reacted then?

Was it the same when I was born, or was it okay since I was the first?