Cecily
I had always heard that when you achieve happiness, it is a fleeting thing, because the pursuit was what mattered and not always the goal. I don't believe it, especially now. Striving towards happiness is the course of life, but reaching what you want doesn't lessen the joy, particularly in this case. I am happy; Yusuf loves me and I love him.
I settled Yusuf in at his hotel and left him—reluctantly—to return to the dormitory to get some sleep. I was sure I'd have difficulty, but I dropped off very quickly—perhaps it was the sweet comfort of knowing that matters between my beloved and I were now . . . at least out in the open now.
In the morning, I dressed with care, and took a taxi to the hotel, arriving in time to join him at breakfast in his room. At first I was hesitant stepping in, but when Yusuf smiled and warmly kissed me, all was indeed well. We chatted over toast and eggs and jam, awkwardly at first, but matters became easier as we ate.
"So what now?" I asked, feeling my stomach do twists. This is not a good sensation when it is full of toast, but I have always tried to face facts and look to the future.
Yusuf looked surprised. "Now? I suppose I will have to speak to your father, and listen to all the reasons why I will not do as a suitor, and then I will promise to raise our children as Christians and he will grumble a little, and ask me if I truly love you and I will tell him yes, and that will be that."
I laughed. "Yusuf!"
He managed to look both worried and slightly smug. "Tell me where I was wrong."
"Assumptions, for one. How do you know I will even marry you?" I couldn't help but tease. "All of this is so sudden!"
Yusuf tipped his head and looked at me. "Yes, because five years of courtship are not enough, I see." He took my hand and kissed it; the touch of his warm lips on my knuckles made me a little weak, I confess. "Ceci, I love you, and now I know you love me as well. There is no 'if' in this matter, only a 'when' my gazelle, and I will be content to wait however long or short you deem it."
I blushed, but his words were sweet and to my heart, true. We had been courting all this time, albeit in a backward fashion, and there were no others I wanted. In my heart it had always beenYusuf, even if I was reluctantly shy to admit that to him.
"My father," I said, "Has known you and your family for a long time, and I don't think this will be a surprise to him, although he may not approve at first. However—that doesn't matter to me."
Yusuf looked at me in surprise, and I know I swallowed hard, but it was true, and I held his gaze. "I am a grown woman, dear—young, I suppose, but I do make my own money, and live my own life."
"True," he nodded, and I was pleased to see respect in his gaze, "but I would prefer your family's approval if possible. I know I myself will get a mild lecture about not making my intentions known before this."
That made me grin; Yusuf's mother would definitely give him a dressing down, but I suspected that she would be pleased too—she and I had always gotten along well. A thought rose in my mind; something that I was loathe to ask, but necessary, if only for the sake of my heart. "Yusuf . . . I must know—there is no-one else in your heart, is there?" I blurted. "No other . . . love?"
He gave me such a dry look; an exasperated and amused look that I felt both reassured and sheepish at the same time. "Cec-i-ly Esiankiki Barango there is you and only you."
I blushed, I know I did since I felt it over my face. "I . . . I needed to ask," I murmured. "You travel so much, and to so many wonderful places . . ."
"And have so many adventures," Yusuf snorted, looking down at his cast. "I work as a chemist—I'm in the background, Cecily, and even that is sometimes a little too much for my tastes. Let the world come to me from now on; I have had my fill of the adventurous life . . . that is . . ." he paused and looked at me intently, " . . . if the home I have is with you, Ceci."
"So that is . . ." I stammered, and he took my two hands, nodding.
"A proposal, as awkward and silly as the rest of this courtship, I'm afraid. I love you, and I want to marry you, very much. There are thousands of obstacles and issues now, but somehow I know in my heart that nothing, nothing is insurmountable because you love me too, my dove, and that is what will make this work," Yusuf finished softly. "Yes?"
Very carefully I laced my fingers with his. He has warm, wide hands, and strong fingers. "Yes," I told him, trying hard not to cry again. "Yes, Yusuf, I would like that very much."
Yusuf
And so I went to Paris to assist in an Extraction, and came away affianced. It's delightfully odd how the world works, and I suppose I owe Ariadne a great deal of credit for her matchmaking in this matter, unsolicited as it was.
I cannot be angry though—the outcome is too sweet, and I am still in a daze of delight in having achieved so wonderful a turn of events. Certainly it is worth a broken ankle, and much more besides, and I cannot wait to see Harsha's face when she learns the news.
The extraction went off very well; I was able to hide the pasiv under my wheelchair cushion and watch the target well after the job was done, noting that my latest batch of sedative had no hangover effect at all. When Cecily came to collect me afterwards, we celebrated the occasion by having dinner at Le Mansouria—no champagne this time, since I was still on pain medication, and Cecily would not drink it alone.
Afterwards we went back to the hotel and talked long into the night of little things and large, with kissing and cuddling a part of that as well. There was a ticklish moment when we were entwined, and I know my body wanted much more than my presence of mind wanted to give, certainly.
"Yusuf—" And Cecily's tone; the way she said my name made it easy to remember that there were proprieties and discussions yet to have, not that they would be easy.
"Cecily," I replied quietly, wondering if my confession would draw pity from her. "I must tell you something-"
"—I'm . . . a virgin," Cecily broke into my words, and for a moment there was a complete and heavy pause between us, because I wasn't sure if she was completing my statement, or if she was making her own. A tricky situation.
"Yes . . . ." I offered, hoping that would clear matters a bit. I suppose for any other man, confessing such a thing would be seen as a failing; a lack of masculinity. Here I was, just over thirty, and not only unwed but inexperienced in the physical ways of love—very little could be more pathetic, in the eyes of others.
But this was Cecily, and my heart lightened when she smiled at me.
"I'm not frightened," she went on, "because I know you will be gentle with me."
"And you . . ." I took a breath, "-with me. It's only fair."
Did I ever mention how sweet Cecily's laugh is? How gentle and intimate it is when her beautiful mouth is against my own? It was easy then, to see beyond the lust of the moment and into a future together.
Odd, I know, to be inexperienced at my age, but not as uncommon as all that. Western society makes much of the issue, but for those of the third world, the cultural norms are different, and both Cecily and I are children of our traditions—a fact that will please our parents, I am sure.
The next two days were among the loveliest in my life. Cecily and I spent them together doing the grand and mundane things dictated by the schedule. She took me to the doctor, to lunch with Ariadne and Arthur, to the warehouse and back again. I in turn, took her to Van Cleef & Arpels, where I politely but firmly insisted she make a choice of ring there. Her protests did not sway me, and finally Cecily chose the smallest diamond solitaire offered, chiding me about the expense.
I had a quiet word later with the jeweler about upgrading the stone before we were to come back and pick it up, of course, because Cecily deserves more than she chooses.
This engagement does give me impetus to reconsider my connection to Dreaming altogether, too, for once we are married, the whole idea of being involved in illegal activities becomes less appealing, even for the money offered. Understand me—I am not passing judgment on the process or the players; I am merely aware that with new obligations in my life, it may be time to withdraw from the more active side of Dream chemistry.
I will NOT make my bride to be a widow, nor my future children orphans if possible.
Cecily
When you are in love, there are no obstacles, only inconveniences. Yusuf and I took them on together, one by one. First, my father, whom we called shortly after Yusuf bought me the ring.
He was a bit gruff over the line at first, but I know it was simply because I had caught him by surprise. Or not; Father seemed pleased at the news when I told him of the engagement, and demanded to speak to Yusuf. Nervously I handed the phone over, and could only hear my beloved's side of the conversation, which consisted of 'yes sirs' and many other reassurances.
Yusuf was slightly damp with nervous sweat when he finally handed the phone back to me twenty minutes later, but Father was much mellower than he had been at the start of the conversation. He gave me his blessing and urged us to come back to Mombasa very soon.
"I feel as if I've had my head in a lion's mouth," Yusuf told me wryly. "And now I need to shower."
"Well it is done," I told him softly. "And now we must tell your parents—this may be harder; I know how issues of color can be tricky."
He smiled at me, and reached over to rub my nose. "Nonsense—we're both brown."
"That, I know," I shrugged, "But the shades . . ."
" . . . mean nothing to me," Yusuf pulled me into his arms. "I find it reprehensible that prejudice ranges from the broad shades right down to the subtle nuances, particularly among those of us of color. I am light, you are dark—so what? I love the you of you Ceci, and whatever my parents think, the choice is MINE."
I ask you, how could I not love a man like that?
We flew home together at the end of the week, leaving Paris behind. I wore my ring; rather self-consciously of course, but with pride, even though the stone seemed somewhat larger than I remembered. Yusuf evaded my questions on the matter in such a way that I suspected he had upgraded it.
Home was home: hot, dusty, noisy in a way different from Paris, and full of the scents and tastes so dear to me now. Pharmakos pretended not to be happy to see us, but allowed me to pet her ears even as she settled into Yusuf's lap, purring like a motor. Abram reported on all matters, including the Dreamers in the basement, and left the pharmacy, accepting my beloved's envelope full of fifty shilling notes with a tired smile.
Customers came in, glad to find Yusuf back, and I slipped away to let my own patients know that I was home again. Maybe even a few might notice the stone on my hand, although I would not deliberately flaunt it.
Within a week, his parents, my father, and both our extended families were celebrating the engagement, and Harsha was so smug she was in danger of exploding. Much as I love my friend and future sister-in-law, even I couldn't take much more of her grinning.
"I *knew* it! You two were made for each other!" she kept telling me. "So when is the baby due?"
"Harsha!" Such a thing to ask! I know a lot of marriages start under that situation, and without the biases of other cultures, but I rolled my eyes at my best friend's conjecture. "Time enough for that later."
"Not with mama breathing down your neck," came her prediction. "You know how she is; family isn't family until there's a baby."
Epilog
Ariadne
I got the Email late, after dinner and . . . other things. Arthur was asleep—finally-and I had a chance to putter around and catch up on a few things I'd let pile up.
It's amazing what can happen when you least expect it, you know? But in the past year, so much has changed. Dom's come to visit Paris a few times, Eames has an apprentice studying forgery, and Arthur and I . . . well, let's just say we've realized a few very nice things about our mutual attraction.
Anyway, I opened up the Email from Yusuf, grinning because they're always charming letters. They take turns writing me, Cecily and Yusuf, and I always love their notes and pictures—makes me feel a connection to a normal life. I still have shots of their wedding in my files.
The wedding! Man, it was a heck of a party last year. All of us were invited, so Eames, Arthur and I went to Mombasa together. Dom couldn't go, but he sent a top-of-the-line rice cooker, if I remember correctly.
Anyway, the ceremony was on the beach, and the reception lasted from early afternoon until about breakfast into the next day. I'd never been to a Hindu-Christian ceremony before, but nobody there even blinked an eye. Yusuf looked incredibly handsome in a pale green satin kurta, and Cecily was in a white sari with gold sandals.
They had Cecily's father do the ceremony, with readings in Hindu in between, and I remember how he also knotted part of Yusuf's kurta to her veil after the ring ceremony.
It was funny to see how big Yusuf's family is, and how yes, there really were so many sisters, all of them looking pretty pleased to see their brother married off. At the reception I had a chance to meet them, including the apparent matchmaking one, Harsha, who kept bragging that she'd brought them together. Arthur and I stayed until around ten that night, after the dancing started; we left Eames behind to dazzle the Mehra sisters with his disco moves, and get some rest.
Memories—it was shortly after the wedding that Arthur and I started seeing each other in a different light.
I opened the Email, and there was a photo attachment, so I clicked it, and a gray, slightly fuzzy image came up. For a minute I couldn't figure out what I was looking at, and then as the shape took form, I blinked.
Under the sonogram was Yusuf's note: Thank you. If you hadn't called Cecily that night in Paris, this might never have come about, dear Ariadne. Eighteen weeks and counting!
So I'm smiling, and I think that Baby Barango-Mehra is going to be utterly gorgeous, and -
Probably isn't going to be an only child.
end
