Chapter 20 #3
‘I don’t know if she realized who we were,’ Mum confesses. ‘She saw someone who needed help and helped them.’
It’s exactly what she did for me during Dad’s memorial and the night of the pre-season party.
Her help may not have come in the form of patching up a split knee, but she saved me from myself, helped keep my demons at bay.
She even showed me a glimmer of clear skies and what life could look like if I clawed the clouds away.
‘That’s just what she does,’ I say, looking back over to where Ava’s being mobbed, laughing her way through it. ‘Who she is.’
Mum is quiet, watching me watch Ava. ‘Is it serious between you two?’ she finally asks.
‘We’re not together,’ I answer automatically. Even though the words don’t quite feel like the truth, they hurt anyway.
She tuts, and the sound alone tells me plenty, but her words drive it home. ‘Then don’t look at the woman like your whole world starts and ends with her.’ Mum turns away from me, heading back to the stove. ‘Go wash up and get Ava to the table. I need to feed that skinny girl.’
——
Dinner is a shockingly pleasant affair.
Ava fits in wherever she goes, and this is no different. Sure, there are a few touchy moments with edgelord cousins and uncles with old grievances, but it’s nothing that can’t be reasoned through or outright dismissed. Or, in the case of one of my cousins, Mum simply told him to shut up.
I’m not surprised by how easily Mum has taken to Ava, but it’s been incredible to watch the women sit with their heads bowed together, talking quietly as if they’d met before.
I was so worried our differences would be an issue that I didn’t think to focus on the similarities, and watching these two get on is proof that there are plenty.
It’s a weight off my shoulders, a burden I thought I was bearing well enough, but the removal of it is dramatic.
Ava and our child are part of this family, accepted with what seems like no questions asked.
From the small smile on Ava’s lips, it’s obvious she’s relieved too, if still a little nervous, but by the time dinner’s done and she’s politely declined dessert for the third time before letting Mum place a heaped serving of knafeh on her plate, the nerves are gone.
It’s late when we finally make it to the door, my hand at the small of Ava’s back. She doesn’t shy away from my touch, even in the presence of my mother, and I don’t miss the way Mum’s eyes flick down before lifting back to our faces.
‘Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Yousef,’ Ava says, stepping forward after a beat of hesitation when Mum spreads her arms for a hug.
‘You’ll call me Mum from now on.’ She doesn’t give Ava a chance to reply, just kisses her cheeks and then shoos us off. ‘Take her home, Zaid. She needs to get off her feet. And don’t forget to make her a cup of mint tea before bed.’
Not one to disobey my mother, I gently guide Ava outside into the cool summer night, then settle her into the car. There’s a sheen in her eyes when I look up from buckling her seat belt, making sure it’s settled safely under her bump, and my heart twists that something’s upset her.
‘You all right?’ I ask, brushing my fingers across her cheek to see if any tears have fallen in the darkness.
‘Yeah,’ she whispers, managing a smile. ‘Just a little overwhelmed. Hormones, you know? But I had a really nice night.’
I nod, lingering until she promises me that she’s okay, then hustle around to the driver’s seat.
Stealing glances as I pull away from the curb, I can’t help but reassure her over what I think is the issue.
‘My mother adores you,’ I say. ‘But if you’re not comfortable calling her Mum, you don’t have to. ’
Ava lets out a small laugh. ‘How did you know that’s what I was thinking about?’
Because I know you. ‘Just had a feeling.’
She’s quiet for a moment, considering her words. ‘I—’ She pauses and swallows hard. ‘I don’t mind. It took me by surprise, that’s all.’
It must be strange for her, not only to be thrust into another family so suddenly, but to have someone stepping up to be a mother to her after twenty years of being without one.
‘She’s so excited about the baby,’ Ava goes on, a happy note back in her voice. ‘I’m glad our daughter is going to have a grandmother who loves her.’
I reach over and place a hand on her belly, delighting in the swell of it under my palm. Ava makes a soft contented sound as I rub slowly back and forth. And then her hand is over mine, moving together until she stills my motions so she can thread our fingers together.
She doesn’t say a word and neither do I. The moment speaks for itself in the darkness. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.
This should be enough for me – this ease, this camaraderie, this bond over caring for our daughter – but it no longer satisfies the hunger behind my ribs.
I want more from her, want to give her more.
I’d hand her my heart on a platter if she asked, let her do with it whatever she pleased.
It’s already hers anyway. I can’t take it back. I don’t want it back.
I just want hers in return.