Nobody reviews the crap I write, but anyway, here's chapter 2 for you, my invisible readers. Reviews still highly appreciated.
"Christian, no! What if it's a boy? Yeah, wouldn't probably bother you, bringing your son to bed in a room with pink walls and full of Barbie dolls but… no, Christian. That's not gonna happen."
With a pout Christian puts the third some-shade-of-pink-rosé wallpaper roll back onto the pile before telling me that in this case we'll have to leave the walls blank and bland until we know for sure who's going to sleep in our baby room soon.
"Why, Christian, blue and pink aren't the only colours in the world, ya know?" I object while walking in the direction of some more neutral coloured wallpaper rolls. "What about this one?" I ask, holding up a light yellow one with tiny white lilies on it.
"Oh what, because lilies aren't gay now, are they?"
"Not as pink butterflies, no."
Though I have to admit, after a second thought…
"There's no point, Sy" Christian sighs after putting my choice aside. "We need an interior designer or at least someone who can tell us which colour isn't going to turn our kid into a serial killer after all."
I hope for the sake of our kid that he isn't serious about that.
"Rubbish, Christian. They'll just squeeze all our money out of us and in the end they'll tell us we should take the pink butterflies after all. And our kid ends up in some… state school. That's what you want, Christian?"
"No, for heaven's sake no, Sy! I've already checked up Eton… we'll just have to stop buying any food, clothes or paying the rent till junior's 18th birthday…"
Eton…? Now I know for sure Christian's got insane.
The next moment he grabs my hand and drags me away with him, suddenly talking about high chairs and prams, and I can't help but be extremely happy about his energy and dedication to our child. After everything he told me yesterday I really was worried, not even his 'I'm fine, babe!' later in the evening managed to convince me completely.
Only now, his face as happy as can be while searching his way through all the prams this baby store full of pregnant women and over-excited sales assistants has to offer… only now I see the real Christian again. The one who would tear down the world for his little god-daughter, who gets all jazzed up when Kamil talks to him in his baby-Urdu-English, and who most certainly is going to be the best dad the world has ever seen for our little one.
"Hey Sy, wouldn't that be cool if they'll let us adopt twins?" Christian calls out to me and I now see him looking at some bigger prams with awe.
"You've lost the plot, Christian…"
He really is better if he thinks we could cope with two kids the same time now.
"Come on now, love. Let's choose a pram, we haven't got all day. We didn't even look for a baby bed, and don't you forget our lunch meeting…"
"Like I will… yes, darling, 'course not."
My gaze makes him getting off his high horse and apologizing with a little peck on my cheek. "You know how much I love Zainab." – "Mhm... about zero per cent?" – "Actually a bit more than that… after all, she gave birth to the most stunning man in the world." – "Yeah? Didn't know you were lusting after Tambo." – "Prick! You're the most stunning man any mom could ever produce."
All right… we have to stop now. Just a tad more cheesy talk and we'll end up in one of the women's changing rooms, and not for trying on some maternity blouses.
While we make our way into the furniture department, I start to think about my husband still hating my mother; the only topic for getting my head straight again after his groping attack in broad daylight.
It's a constant up and down with these two. I had so much hope when the both of us were invited to Tambo's mehndi, but of course, things were getting worse after that. Mom and dad falling out, Yusuf poisoning mom's mind, all of them against our plan to adopt and marry.
That indeed was the biggest hurdle for mom and her favourite reason to get nasty with Christian again. No matter that it broke my heart to have to choose sides, again. I'll never forget her disappointed look when I told her that me spending the night on her sofa did not mean me leaving Christian.
She came 'round, eventually. She even started to talk to him when seeing the both of us in the street, instead of just acting like he's invisible.
Still, he wasn't allowed to attend any family gatherings, and when I decided to celebrate my first Christmas ever with him instead of just watching him having a feast, she went back to ignore mode. It didn't help that I explained to her that I in no way intend to turn my back on my faith by eating Christmas pudding and pulling crackers.
Then, of course, the fire happened, Yusuf perished and we all moved closer together, trying to cope with half the family being in hospital. There was no time for anyone being cross at Christian, and we all, not only me, were more than grateful for him being there for the family that always treated him like dirt.
But this peaceful mood lasted only until me and Christian started planning our wedding (after everyone was sorted out and recovered) and I decided that I want my mother to be there when I get married to the love of my life.
As expected, she was more than happy to tell me to stuff this idea right away. Nothing helped, no pleading, no threatening, no stupid Christian cornering her and telling her that she'll lose her first born son if she continues to make his life miserably.
In the end it was neither me nor Christian who convinced her. She just noticed that Tam and Afia were attending and that even dad managed to overcome his homophobia, at least for one day to watch his son getting married.
In the middle of the preparations she then suddenly turned up at our doorstep, announcing that she won't let me marry without her making sure that me and Christian don't mess everything up.
"You'll need a female hand, you two!"
I managed to keep Christian from telling mom that he has more female hands to himself than her whole book club, and in the end she cried her eyes out at our wedding, although Christian said probably more because all her preparations paid off in the end rather than because of me and him finally being husband and husband.
Since then she's more civilized around Christian again, and when we told her we've been approved she immediately invited us to meet her, because she needs to make sure we're prepared for that little one.
Christian has his doubts about her intentions since she never actually told us she's happy about us adopting but I know mom. Actions always speak louder than words with her, especially when it comes to accepting the life choices I make.
So after we finished our baby shopping trip (in the end our order consists of an old-fashioned baby bed, a pram Christian insisted on buying although it's wide enough for triplets, a changing table, a high chair, baby towels, baby bedding, and a million other baby odds and ends), we arrive at mom's.
"So, did you choose a name already? You know, I already have so many ideas… what about Anisa or Hayaam for a girl or Niaz or Aadil for a boy… oh, papou, I always loved Aadil…"
"Mom, mom… this is not going to be your baby, is it?"
"Yes, of course, papou, I just thought…"
"Zainab, we'll let you know when we've decided on names, all right?"
Christian's well-meant comment cuts through the air of mom's kitchen where we just have taken a seat at the kitchen table, waiting for her to join us for lunch. By the stunned look on her face, she's about to throw all good intentions she had with my husband over board but then her features soften.
"Of course, of course" she says in a surprisingly calm tone in Christian's direction (but without looking at him from her place at the counter, that would be too much to ask), "I'm just giving you a few suggestions. Don't think Syed knows too much about Muslim names, and you'll surely want to have one with a nice meaning."
Finally done slicing chapattis into bite-size pieces, mom now takes a seat at the other side of the table, urging us to tuck in before the paneer gets cold. It smells delicious, just like it always had at home, and I hungry start to fill my plate when my gaze falls on Christian.
He looks at mom with an unreadable expression on his face, the next moment his eyes meet mine and I know something's not right here, not right at all.
"You want to give the baby a Muslim name, Sy?"
"I… what…"
A few moments I'm confused about this question. I'm Muslim, have been my whole life and will always be. So my kid having a Muslim name would only be natural. Only it's not going to be my kid. It's Christian's and mine, and he possibly wouldn't like to call his daughter Faiza or his son Umar…
"Of course he will, Christian! Why wouldn't…"Mom stops herself while Christian continues to stare at me, telling me with his eyes that we have a problem here… and it's bigger than choosing names…
"You… you are giving this baby a proper Muslim name, aren't you, Syed?" mom asks me now, in her best you-better-are-going-to-voice, what makes Christian turn his head to her again.
"We'll have a chat about that, Zainab… later, yeah?" he says, the last part in my direction and I see his hand on the table twitching towards mine but the last moment he changes the direction, takes the spoon up and starts tucking in while avoiding to look at me or mom. Unaware of there being any deeper problem, mom slowly nods and starts eating, too, while I lost my appetite. I'm too much in fear how Christian's chat with me later will change everything we worked so hard for…
Next chapter: decisions, decisions…
