by Nicola Marsh
When his father eyeballed him, Rory could hardly believe the depth of pain he glimpsed.
“So I stupidly treated you the same way I had her. I missed her so much, and you were a constant reminder of how I’d screwed up, so I withdrew from you too, and let you down in the same way I did your mother.”
Regret clogged Rory’s throat for all the wasted years. Why hadn’t his father opened up to him about all this in the past?
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
Not that he wanted to speak, because whenever he was overemotional, he stuttered, and this was one of those times.
“It’s a lot to take in, Son, but I want you to know I’m sorry for being a lousy dad. I hope you’ll do a better job than me.”
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, but for the first time in forever, Rory didn’t feel bitter or angry or resentful. His father may have screwed up in so many ways, but the past couldn’t be undone. The best he could hope for was a better relationship moving forward. And he had to admit, a huge part of him was relieved his father hadn’t looked down on him because of his stutter but had withdrawn from him out of love for his mother.
“I appreciate you telling me the truth,” Rory finally said to break the silence.
“Long overdue.” Garth cleared his throat again. “Anyway, let’s leave all this sentimentality alone and tell me about your new job. Landing a hosting role is a big step up for you. Uh . . . it would involve a lot of speaking?”
Pleased that his father had the insight to recognize what a big deal it was for him to speak in front of a camera, Rory nodded. “I’ve been receiving dialect coaching to land the role. It’s helped a lot. Most of it will be reading off a cue, with minimal ad-libbing, so I should be all right.”
Admiration glinted in his father’s eyes. “You’ve never let anything stop you. Now tell me about this Samira.”
Rory didn’t want to tell his father anything, because he was too used to him tearing down his dreams, so he settled for a pared-down version of his relationship.
“She’s Melbourne-born but lives in LA, has for the last decade. Runs a thriving physical therapy practice, is working here for six months in a state-of-the-art facility her cousin runs in South Wharf. Her mom’s Indian, her dad’s American, and she’s beautiful.”
Rory glimpsed respect in his father’s steady stare. “I hope I get to meet her sometime soon.”
Try never, but Rory kept that gem to himself. He didn’t want anything tainting his fledgling relationship with Samira, let alone a cynical father who didn’t have a paternal bone in his body. But his father’s revelations today had given him hope that maybe they stood a chance at some kind of father-son relationship after all.
“I have to go, Dad.” Rory stood and held out his hand. “I’m glad we had this chat, but I don’t think either of us expects a miracle to happen overnight. We’re not close, but who knows, with time and effort, things may change?”
His father rose and shook his hand. “I think we should make that effort, if not for our sakes, for the sake of my grandchild.”
A flicker of disappointment had him releasing his father’s hand quickly. Of course Garth Radcliffe would be interested in his grandchild; yet another pawn to mold and conform into his version of the ideal progeny. Rory would do anything to curtail his father’s influence in his child’s life, no matter how much Garth seemed to have opened up in the last ten minutes.
“I’ll be in touch, Dad.”
Rory had made it to the door when his father cleared his throat and said, “I truly am sorry for everything, Son.”
Emotion tightened Rory’s chest as he glanced over his shoulder and gave his father a terse nod. He would forgive him eventually, because hanging on to grudges wasn’t his style.
But for now, he had a job to focus on and a woman he would miss terribly while he did it.
Thirty-Eight
Mom, you are killing me with kindness,” Samira said, as she sat at her dining table at the end of another long day while Kushi served her a plate piled high with mutton biryani and a side serving of raita. “And I love you for it.”
“You are eating for two,” Kushi said, sitting next to her. “I must look after my girls.”
Samira smiled at her mom’s conviction she was having a girl. She’d performed some silly old wives’ trick involving a gold wedding ring on a chain held over her belly, and the direction it swayed convinced Kushi her baby was female. Samira would rather rely on science at her twenty-week scan.
It seemed a lifetime away, considering she hadn’t had her twelve- week scan yet, but with each passing day she felt more “pregnant.” The nausea persisted, and her ankles ached at the end of a workday. Her heart ached too, considering this was the end of Rory’s fifth week away and he’d just had his time extended in the outback for another three weeks.
She’d told herself it was for the best. Getting used to being apart, especially if she divided her time between LA and Melbourne. But considering she’d been spending almost every evening being fussed over by her mom, either in Dandenong at her childhood home or here in her Southbank apartment, Samira knew the chances of returning to LA to live were slim.
She enjoyed bonding with her mom, making up for the years of lost time. And by the smile perpetually on Kushi’s face, the feeling was mutual.
Her unmarried status was still a sticking point between them, but every time Kushi hinted at the proof children were happier with two parents under the same roof, Samira would change the subject: any baby talk was guaranteed to send Kushi into a grandmotherly swoon, and Samira played it up to her full advantage.
“Shall we watch a Bollywood movie after dinner?” Kushi poured water into a glass and placed it in front of Samira. “The latest Shah Rukh Khan blockbuster has just started streaming.”
“Sounds good, Mom . . .” Samira bit back a cry as a sharp pain jagged low in her belly.
She stilled, trying to clamp down on the irrational fear making her palms sweat. It could be nothing, a momentary cramping of her uterus, but she laid down her spoon just the same and eased her chair back from the table.
“I need the ladies, Mom. Back in a sec.”
How she managed to walk to the toilet at a sedate pace, she’d never know, because the moment she stood, another pain, harsher than the first, ripped through her and she bit back a cry.
Fear, strong and potent, gripped her as she closed the bathroom door and tugged her panties down to sit on the toilet.
The spots of blood on her underwear had terror coursing through her.
Tears filled her eyes, but she gritted her teeth. She shouldn’t jump to the worst conclusion, but it was pretty hard not to, considering her age.
She had to get to the hospital.
Now.
The last thing she wanted to do was send her mom into a panic—Kushi was an expert at immediately jumping to the worst conclusion. But as she changed her underwear and added a sanitary napkin, something she hadn’t needed in many months, she’d never been more grateful to have Kushi around.
When she opened the bedroom door, she found her mom on the other side, worry accentuating the lines creasing her face.
“What is wrong, betee?”
Samira managed a wan smile. “How do you do that?”
“You are my child.” Kushi laid a comforting hand on her cheek. “I know you better than I know myself.”
Samira burst into tears, and Kushi bundled her into her arms. If she could be half the mother Kushi was, she’d be doing okay.
If she had a baby to mother.
The thought instantly sobered her, and she eased away, dashing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Mom, I need to get to the hospital.”
The color drained from Kushi’s face, but to her credit, she didn’t fly into a pani
c as Samira had expected.
“Do you need an ambulance?”
Samira shook her head. “The cramping has stopped, but I’m spotting.”
“Let’s go.” Kushi slid an arm around her waist, and Samira had never been more grateful to lean against her mom even though she could walk perfectly well.
Growing up, her dad had often teased Kushi for traveling at a snail’s pace in the car. Back then her mom had rarely driven beyond Dandenong, mainly to the market and school. But she’d obviously honed her road skills, because she made it to the hospital in under fifteen minutes, running a yellow light or two.
Kushi pulled up outside the ER. “Will you be okay to go in on your own while I park?”
“Thanks, Mom, I’ll be fine.”
Though she knew the lack of pain after the first two episodes meant nothing; the spotting was a possible indicator to something not being quite right.
“I’ll be back soon,” Kushi said, reaching across the console to squeeze her hand. “Be strong, my girl.”
Emotion clogged Samira’s throat as she forced a half smile before getting out of the car and walking slowly into the ER.
The next two hours flew by in a blur of questions and tests while she waited for the resident ob-gyn to arrive to perform the ultrasound that would provide conclusive evidence of her baby’s condition.
Having her mom bedside, holding her hand, offering soft words of encouragement, should’ve provided comfort. It didn’t, because she couldn’t shake the numbness, a purely defensive mechanism, her body’s way of shutting down her emotions so she wouldn’t sob her heart out if the news wasn’t good.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a youngish woman entered the cubicle, wheeling an ultrasound machine beside her.
“Hi, Samira, I’m Dr. Englehart, and I’ll be performing your ultrasound today.”
The doc made it sound like a routine scan when they knew nothing could be further from the truth.
“Thanks,” Samira said, shooting a quick glance at her mom to find her staring at the doctor with wide, fearful eyes.
Samira believed in God, but she rarely attended church, yet in that moment, as the doctor lifted her robe, squeezed gel on her abdomen, and pressed the ultrasound head onto her, she sent yet another prayer heavenward, one of many in the last few hours.
“Your tests looked good, so let’s see what’s happening in here.”
The doctor moved the probe around, and Samira held her breath, her gaze riveted to the screen, searching for the small pulsing on the screen that would indicate her baby’s heartbeat.
She couldn’t see it, and her throat tightened with sorrow. Kushi clutched her hand so tight her grip bordered on painful, but it was nothing to the pain squeezing her heart at the thought of losing her baby.
“Ah . . . there we are.” The doctor pointed at the screen, and Samira exhaled in relief. “A strong heartbeat, exactly what we want to see.”
Samira’s gaze locked on her mom’s; tears leaked from their eyes simultaneously as the enormity of the ultrasound sunk in.
“Right, everything looks good here.” The doctor removed the ultrasound probe and handed her paper toweling to wipe the gel off her stomach. “But the spotting can be a concern, so please keep a close eye on it, and if you have any doubts, come back in straightaway.” She picked up Samira’s chart and flicked through it again. “After a scare like this, it’s pertinent to point out that because of your age there’s an increased risk for gestational diabetes and preeclampsia, so I’d like to keep a closer eye on your blood pressure, blood glucose levels, and urine for protein and sugar.”
Samira nodded, having already read up on “geriatric pregnancy” over the age of thirty-five. While the risk factors terrified her—stillbirth, chromosomal defects, low birth weight, prematurity, labor complications, as well as the diabetes and preeclampsia the doctor had mentioned—all she could feel right now was bone-deep relief that her precious baby was okay.
The doctor glanced at her watch. “I’d like to keep you in overnight, because as much as I don’t want to scare you, the risk of miscarrying after an incident like tonight’s is higher. So rest up, and I’ll check in with you in the morning.”
“Thanks,” Samira said, while Kushi added, “Thank you, Doctor.”
When Dr. Englehart left, Samira turned to her mother. “Mom, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been with me tonight, so I think now’s as good a time as any to tell you I’m moving back to Melbourne.”
A smile of pure joy spread across Kushi’s face. “That’s wonderful, betee. I’m so happy.”
“This little one needs his or her grandmother.” Samira placed a hand over her belly. “And I need my mom.”
This time, they shed tears of joy, and Samira knew she’d made the right decision, for all of them. Almost miscarrying clarified her plans like nothing else. She been terrified of losing this baby, and she couldn’t do this on her own.
Now, she had to break the news to Rory.
That was when it hit her. She hadn’t thought about him until now. For the last few hours, she’d been so focused on her baby, she hadn’t given a thought to the baby’s father and how he would feel if they lost their baby.
She had to call him. Tomorrow.
For now, she’d try to relax and get through the next twenty-four hours, focusing all her positive energy on ensuring this baby stayed put.
Thirty-Nine
You have to stop stalking me like this.”
The deep, familiar voice roused Samira from her doze, and she opened her eyes to find Manish grinning at her, looking dapper in his white coat and stethoscope draped around his neck.
“What are you doing here?”
She struggled into a sitting position and glanced around the room, looking for Kushi.
“I sent your mom to the cafeteria for something to eat. She looked pale and tired.”
“It’s been a long night.” She winced. “I had a miscarriage scare.”
His smile vanished as he nodded, grave. “I saw your notes. You came through the ER, and I always go through last night’s cases for handover.”
“Ah, right,” she said, feeling oddly comforted that she’d chosen the hospital where he worked to check in last night.
It hadn’t really registered at the time, but it had the best reputation in Melbourne, and it had seemed like the natural choice. In a way, she was glad he hadn’t been on duty in the ER last night, because that would’ve been too weird. Friendship and medical emergencies didn’t mix.
“You’re feeling okay?”
“Yeah, but only slightly less terrified than last night.”
He nodded. “We’re going to discharge you shortly, but come back if you’re worried at all.”
He laid a hand on her lower leg. “Or better yet, call me.”
She smiled her gratitude, and of course that was the moment her mom chose to enter the room. Her astute gaze zeroed in on Manish’s hand touching her, and she positively beamed.
Samira wriggled a little, and he removed his hand, but not before shooting her a cheeky wink that said he knew exactly what Kushi was thinking: she should book the reception venue immediately.
“Have you eaten, Auntie?”
Kushi visibly melted under the onslaught of Manish’s concern. “Yes, Manish, thank you.” She turned to Samira and sent her a pointed look. “He’s such a nice boy.”
Samira bit back a groan. Only her mother could turn a horrid hospital visit into a matchmaking opportunity.
“He is, Mom. Manny’s a good friend.”
Kushi’s scoffing pfft made Manish smile.
“He could be so much more if you had half a brain in your head,” Kushi said, waggling her ring finger, while Samira felt heat scorch her cheeks.
“Mom, he’s right there.”
&
nbsp; “I know, and that’s why I’m speaking my mind.” Kushi waved her hand between them. “Samira is moving back home to Melbourne. She’s having a baby. She needs a good man to be her husband, and I think that is you, Manish.”
Manny’s grin widened, and Samira shot him a death glare. “You are right, Auntie. I am a good man. But alas, I have offered to marry your daughter, and she has refused me. She is very stubborn.”
“Yes, she always has been.” Kushi’s loud, theatrical sigh made Samira want to giggle.
Manny had a killer sense of humor, and he was playing up to her mom at her expense. She’d make him pay for it another time.
“On that note, I have rounds to do.” Manish gave a mock bow. “Ladies, if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
He glanced at Samira, and this time, his gaze held concern rather than teasing. “Seriously, if you need anything, call me.”
“Thanks, Manny.” Samira waved while her mom rushed after him. She couldn’t hear what they said at the door, but she guessed it had something to do with inviting Manny to a family dinner for three, where Kushi would proceed to find something to do, leaving the two of them alone.
When the door closed, Samira held up her hand before Kushi could say a word. “He was joking when he asked me to marry him. He has a good sense of humor, and we’re friends, that’s it, as I’ve told you countless times before.”
“But, betee, he is so wonderful. What man would offer to raise another man’s child?”
“Exactly.” Samira snapped her fingers. “Don’t you think it’s strange we hardly know each other yet he’d offer to do that? He must have an ulterior motive.”
Kushi rolled her eyes, where the kohl had smudged from their shared tears of relief last night. “Why can’t you take him at face value?”
“Because I’m older and wiser, Mom, and not the naive, stars-in-her-eyes girl I was years ago.”
Kushi made a disapproving clucking noise in the back of her throat. “I think you are still being naive if you think it’s easy to raise a child on your own. This man is being noble and chivalrous. Why can’t you take a chance on him? Love may grow—”
