popped them in the oven. Isra watched quietly as the bread baked, not knowing what to say or do. Fareeda was humming to herself, plucking the steaming loaves from the oven before they burned. Isra wished she could store her cheeriness in a bottle. The last time Fareeda had smiled widely enough for Isra to see her gold tooth had been when Adam had given her a bundle of bills, five thousand dollars. It was extra money the deli had made that month, and he had told Fareeda he wanted her to have it. Isra could still remember the bulge in Fareeda’s eyes at the sight of the money, the way she gripped it close to her chest before disappearing into her bedroom. But now Isra could see, from the approving glimmer in Fareeda’s eyes, that her pregnancy was far more important than money. She stared inside the oven, feeling her stomach rise and fall with the swelling and collapsing of every knot of pita. Was this happiness she felt? She thought it must be.
Adam came home early that day. From the kitchen Isra heard him take off his shoes and enter the sala, where Fareeda was watching her evening show. “Salaam, Mother,” he said. Isra listened as Fareeda kissed him on both cheeks and congratulated him.
Was he happy? Isra couldn’t tell. She had spent the afternoon worrying about how he would react to the news, wondering whether he wanted a child now, or if he would’ve preferred to wait a couple of years until they could better afford it. More than once, Fareeda had mentioned that Adam was helping them pay for Ali’s college tuition, so how would they have enough money to cover the expense of a newborn? When she’d asked, Fareeda had merely smiled and said, “Don’t worry about that. With food stamps and Medicaid, you can have as many children as you want.”
Adam hummed a melody from an Abdel Halim song as he walked to the kitchen, grinning when he met Isra’s eyes. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a father,” he said.
Isra exhaled in relief. “Mabrouk,” she whispered. “Congratulations.”
He pulled her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist and placing his hand on her belly. She tried to keep from flinching. She still wasn’t used to his touch. Sometimes she thought it was strange to be a girl like her, to go from a man never touching her to the full force of a husband inside her. It was a sudden transition, and she wondered when she would become accustomed to it, or if she would ever come to crave it like women were supposed to.
“You have to be careful now,” Adam said, stroking her flat stomach. “I don’t want anything to happen to our child.”
Isra studied him, shocked by the softness of his voice, the way the lines around his eyes multiplied when he smiled. Maybe he would spend more time with her now. Maybe all he needed was a child after all.
“Life will change now, you know,” Adam said, looking down on her. “Having children, a family . . .” He paused, tracing his finger against her belly as though he were writing across it. “It changes everything.”
Isra met his eyes. “How?”
“Well, for one thing, there will be more work for you to do. More washing and cooking, more running around. It’s tough really.” When Isra said nothing, staring at him with wide eyes, he added, “But children are the pleasure of life, of course. Just like the Qur’an says.”
“Of course,” Isra said, remembering that she hadn’t yet completed maghrib prayer. “But will you help me?”
“What?”
“Will you help me?” she said again, her voice slipping. “With our child?”
Adam stepped back slightly. “You know I have to work.”
“I just thought maybe you’d come home early some days,” Isra said in a whisper. “Maybe I’d see you more.”
He sighed. “You think I want to work day and night? Of course not. But I have no choice. My parents depend on me to support the family.” He stroked Isra’s face with the back of his hand. “You understand that, right?” She nodded.
“Good.” His eyes shifted to the stove, distracted by a cloud of steam. “Now what’s for dinner?”
“Spinach and meat pies,” said Isra, feeling slightly embarrassed. It was ludicrous of her to expect Adam to leave work to help her. Had any man she’d ever known helped his wife raise children? Motherhood was her responsibility, her duty.