by Jane Igharo
“I know. But by some miracle, I’m here with you and her.” I smile. “I love you.”
He watches me blankly. It’s the first time I’ve said it. Maybe he thinks he’s misheard me.
“I love you, Rafael. So much.”
Now, his lips turn up in a huge smile. “And I love you, Azere. Very, very much.” His adoring gaze drops to our sleeping daughter. “She needs a name. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, so we can pick one.”
“How long was I out?”
“A few hours. She was born at four fifteen a.m. You became unconscious immediately after. It’s a little past ten now. And she still doesn’t have a name.”
“Then give her one. You’re her father, Rafael. Give her a first name. Every other name will follow.” He deserves this honor. “What do you want to call her?”
He takes our daughter’s tiny hand, and it coils into a fist around his finger. “Hope,” he says, gently stroking her knuckles. “I want to call her Hope.”
I smile and nod in full agreement. “I love it. Hope Castellano.” Because of her, the branches on my family tree will extend far beyond the borders of my village. “It’s perfect.” We watch our child. Minutes pass before I look at Rafael. “I heard you went to my mom’s like a hundred times.”
“You heard wrong. It was about fifty times—tops.” We laugh. “I thought I could convince her to get over her anger. It didn’t go well.”
“But you kept going back.”
“Yeah. Well, that wasn’t the only reason I went there.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to ask for your hand in marriage.”
“Oh.” Didn’t see that coming. I draw the blanket over Hope’s neck, keeping her small body snug. “You know,” I say after a few seconds, “you don’t need my mom’s approval or permission. If you want to marry me”—I meet his stare—“ask me.”
As he opens his mouth, perhaps to ask a question that will change my life, the door creaks open. My mother’s face appears.
“Rafael, what is she doing here?”
“We had a baby. I thought it was appropriate to inform our families.”
“Azere.” She comes into the room, moving toward me cautiously as if treading on thin ice. I suppose she is.
“Mom, why are you here? I don’t want you here.”
“Azere.” The stern disapproval in Rafael’s voice restrains me from lashing out further. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he says.
“No, Rafael. Stay.”
His feet, which were already moving, still. He retakes his place. At my side.
“This is the family you almost cost me, Mom.”
“Azere, I thought I knew what was best for you.”
“You can’t know what’s best for me when you don’t even know me. You know the daughter who obeys your every command, who bites her tongue, and bends to fit your will. You don’t know the daughter who’s in front of you.”
Maybe it’s time you show this part of yourself to your mother. Maybe it’s time she sees the daughter who has been hiding from her. Rafael’s words come to mind.
“The daughter in front of you loved that Antonio Banderas poster you tore from her bedroom wall. She hated almost every guy you set her up with. She fell in love with a man you don’t approve of, and she doesn’t care because she’s done living her life for anyone but herself.
“The daughter in front of you is proudly Nigerian and proudly Canadian. She isn’t choosing one over the other. She’s both. And it’s okay.”
My mother cocks her head. Confusion makes her brows bend and her eyes dart across my face. She looks at me as if searching for recognition, for the daughter who didn’t speak up, who was so easy to tame. She won’t find her here. That girl is long gone. And my mother nods as if she sees that and accepts it.
“Azere, everything I did—making you keep that promise, setting you up with those men, asking you to end your relationship with Rafael—I did because I was scared.” Tears shine in her eyes. “We came to this country and everything is so different. There are so many people, so many cultures. I didn’t want you to get lost in it all. I didn’t want you to forget where you come from.”
“And I never will.” My village, the people, the traditions, the ancestral stories my father told are woven into every part of me, as deeply rooted as bone marrow. “Mommy, I still remember home. I can never forget because it’s who I am, and no matter where I go and who I love, I will always, always know who I am. That will never change.”
It’s silent for a while. Rafael and I watch our slumbering child, and my mother dries her teary eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Azere, Rafael. I am so, so sorry—for everything.” Her remorseful eyes wander around the room. “I am so ashamed of myself.”
“Mom.” I wait for her to look at me. “I forgive you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I forgive you.”
“We both do,” Rafael adds.
“Thank you.” She smiles at him and then turns to me. “Azere, these past few months, I have acted stubborn. Remember your father always called me stubborn?”
“Yeah.” I giggle at the memory. He also called her a troublemaker because she had her ways.
“The truth is, I missed you. So much. I worried about you and my grandchild. I prayed for you both all the time because I love you, Azere. Even when I am too stubborn and proud to say it, know that I love you. You and Efe are my whole world. Don’t ever doubt that.”
My mother has never been this candid about her emotions. Growing up, she expressed her love with the things she did—how she took care of Efe and me, especially after our father passed. Love was in her actions. But these past months, her actions and even her words were spiteful, and I believed she didn’t love me. But I was wrong, and it’s such a relief to know this.
“I love you too, Mommy.”
“Azere, I just want you to be happy.”
“And I am happy. More than I can express.” I take Rafael’s hand and place it over my beating heart. “And it’s because of him. He’s my everything. He’s my lifeline.” The single string that pulled me out of oblivion and back to life. “Mom, I want to spend the rest of my life with him.” I should turn to Rafael and see his reaction to this news. Instead, I watch my mother. She’s nodding and smiling and crying all at the same time. “If you can’t accept that, if you can’t accept my choice, then you can’t be in my life. You can’t be in my daughter’s life.”
“Okay.” The tears stop falling, but the smile remains. “Okay, Azere. I accept your choice. As long as you’re happy, I accept.”
“Good. Now, do you want to hold Hope?” I ask. “Do you want to hold your granddaughter?”
“Yes. Please.” She leans into me and scoops Hope out of my arms and into hers. “She’s beautiful.” She rocks her gently. “When is she going to wake up? I want to see her beautiful eyes.”
“They are beautiful,” Rafael says. “Big and brown. Like her mother’s.”
“Really?” I ask, ecstatic.
“Yeah. Really. Just like yours.”
The room fills up soon. Jacob, Efe, and my uncle enter with balloons and stuffed animals. Christina twirls in after, declaring herself godmother before I can do the honors. When Rafael’s family arrives, everyone takes turns holding the baby. I watch them laugh and bond with one another. Selena and Efe are flipping through a celebrity magazine and critiquing every Hollywood starlet who pops up on the page. Jacob and Max are talking sports. I can tell by the imaginary basketball they’re dunking. Rafael’s parents and my mom and uncle are discussing the joys and aches of parenthood. Christina is taking selfies with the baby, probably flooding her social media with pictures of my kid. And Rafael. Well, he’s smiling—really smiling. I’ve never seen him so happy. His blue eyes, once hollow, seem occupied now; emotions pour into them like the sand that fills a
n hourglass. Joy, serenity, love, and hope fill the void that once existed in him. For the first time since I’ve known him, I see a man who is whole.
In this moment, I reflect on how far my life has come—how it twisted and turned, diverting from my original plan yet bringing me to a place I was always meant to be, to a man I was always meant to love.
How did I get so lucky? Fate.
That’s the answer that comes to mind, and I’m right—partially.
Fate had a hand in this love story, but so did Rafael and so did I.
I believe in destiny, but I strongly believe destiny isn’t all-powerful; it gives a portion of its influence to us. We have the choice to accept or reject its plans.
For so long, the ability to choose, to voice my opinion, was taken from me. In weakness and then in strength, I retrieved it. Now, I remember months ago when Christina said, Let go of the life you’ve planned and accept the life that’s waiting for you.
That’s exactly what I did. I let go. And this—Rafael, our daughter—was the life waiting for me. It was predetermined— intricately designed by forces unseen and unfathomable.
I simply sealed this fate by making a choice.
* * *
* * *
I WAKE UP AND THE ROOM IS EMPTY. I’M ALONE UNTIL THE door breaks open. The face that appears makes my heart flutter. “There you are,” I say, beaming at Rafael. “Where’s Hope?”
“The nursery.”
“And everyone else?”
“I asked them to go home. They’ll be back later.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m proud of you.”
“For what?” I ask.
“Standing up to your mom. You did good, cariño.” My reward, a kiss on the lips—brief but appreciated. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Well, only like ten times today.” I watch him bashfully through flapping lashes. “I could use an eleventh.”
“I love you, Azere. I love you so much.” He pecks my lips.
“You’re my heart.” Another peck.
“You’re the light of my world.” Another peck.
“Everything else is a shadow where you are.”
Another peck, and my lips quickly hook his. I kiss him fiercely as if I can taste those sweet words on his velvety lips.
“Marry me,” he says, breaking away. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a little black box. “Azere Izoduwa, the mother of my child, I am absolutely, irrevocably in love with you.” He opens the box and presents a champagne-colored princess-cut ring.
My trembling hands come over my mouth, and he starts reciting words I’ve heard before. My mind instantly makes the connection. He’s quoting lines from romantic movies we watched.
“‘You make me want to be a better man.’” As Good as It Gets.
“‘When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’” When Harry Met Sally.
“‘Love is too weak a word for what I feel—I luuurve you, you know, I loave you, I luff you.’” Annie Hall.
I laugh at that one, and he does too, but he doesn’t stop.
“‘You’re a beautiful woman. You deserve a beautiful life.’” Water for Elephants.
“‘I have never needed anyone in my life the way that I need you.’” The Wedding Party.
“‘I’ve come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is and always will be yours.’” Sense and Sensibility.
“‘You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.’” Pride and Prejudice.
“Azere, I want to devote my life to you. It would be my greatest honor.” Those are his words—simple and sincere. “Marry me.”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
Before the ring comes to my finger, his lips come to mine. With us having restrictions—the hospital room, my body that’s still recovering from labor—the kiss ends with both of us half-satisfied. He slips the ring on my finger, and I raise my hand and admire the delicate undertones of pink and copper that complement my brown skin.
“I’m guessing you didn’t pick this up at the hospital gift shop.”
He laughs. “I’ve had it for a while. Do you like it?”
“I love it. It’s perfect.” And it really is. It’s stunning and big enough to make a statement without being obnoxious. “So? What now?”
“You become my wife, and I become your husband.”
“And . . .”
“I buy us a house with a huge yard where Hope can eventually run around.”
My eyes urge him to continue.
“And maybe down the line, when we’re comfortable with the idea, we can have another baby.”
I nod in agreement. “Definitely.”
“And a vacation house in Muskoka.”
Confused, I frown.
“Christina suggested it.” Of course. My brilliant best friend. “And a chicken coop. With four chickens.”
I mentioned this to him a while back.
“Gatsby and Daisy and Shrek and Fiona.”
I bob my head in full support.
“Am I missing anything?”
“Nope. Now, there’s only one thing left for us to do.”
“And what’s that?” he asks.
“Live happily ever after, of course.”
epilogue
“Story, story . . . ,” I chant.
“Story,” my five-year-old daughter responds.
“Once upon a time . . .”
“Time, time.”
“There was a beautiful village girl called Osasu. Unfortunately, Osasu didn’t have a voice.”
“She couldn’t speak?” Hope says, twirling the tight curls that fall over her shoulder.
“Nope. Not a word. When Osasu was born, a wicked witch knew she would have the prettiest voice in the village. So, the witch put a spell on her.”
Already, Hope is intrigued. She looks up at me, dark eyes eager to acquire information.
She has her father’s features—the slopes that shape his face, the gentle fullness of his flushed lips. But she has my eyes and my spirit—the same spirit that seeks romance and a happily ever after in every story. Tonight, like most nights, I’m telling her one of the many stories my father used to tell me. There were stars in the sky whenever he told these stories and insects buzzing around a lit kerosene lantern. Usually, his orotund voice would break through the stillness of night, and my sister and I—seated on the ground—would look up at him in awe as he skillfully combined action, drama, a struggle between good and evil, and of course, romance.
When I tell these stories to my daughter, it’s in her princess-themed bedroom—pink curtains concealing the view of the moon and the stars, a nightlight illuminating the space, her body tucked under a blanket, me sitting on the edge of the twin bed, and Milo curled at her feet. The setting is different, but the sentiment of the storyteller and the listener remain the same.
“Then what happened, Mommy? What happened when the prince kissed Osasu?”
“Well, while they were sharing a kiss, Osasu felt something move in her throat.”
“What was it?”
“Her voice, coming back. True love’s kiss broke the witch’s spell.”
Hope claps, thrilled by the triumph prompted by love.
“Osasu started talking and singing for the first time in her whole life, and her voice was absolutely beautiful.”
“Did the prince ask Osasu to marry him?” She always likes to skip to the good stuff.
“Yes, he asked. But she said no.”
My daughter’s mouth falls wide open. “She said no?”
“Yes. Osasu had just gotten her voice and she wanted to use it. She wanted to
travel the world, learn different languages, become a famous singer, and do other incredible things.”
This wasn’t part of the original story. I made some reasonable, timely adjustments.
“And after making all her dreams come true, Osasu said yes to the prince.”
“Then they got married?”
“Yes, honey. Then they got married.”
“And they lived happily ever after.” Rafael steps into the room at the last minute and wraps up the story.
“Daddy!” Hope stretches out her arms, reaching out to her father.
“Hey, baby.” He leans down, lifting her off the bed and into his arms.
“Mommy told me the best story.”
“She always does.” He looks at me and a beautiful smile, one I am never weary of seeing, spreads across his face. “I suspect she might be the best storyteller in the world.”
“I think so too. I wanna hear another one. Mommy, tell another. Please.”
“Not tonight, Hope,” Rafael says, tucking her under the covers. “It’s bedtime now.” He kisses her forehead. “Good night.”
“Wait.” She holds my hand. “Am I still going to the aquarium with Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow?”
She’s referring to my mother and my uncle. They’re married now, so calling him grandpa is only appropriate. “Yes,” I say. “They’ll pick you up after breakfast.”
“Yay! Good night, Daddy. Good night, Mommy.” She leans forward and presses her lips to my round stomach. “Good night, baby brother.” She’s quite certain about the gender even though it hasn’t been revealed to us.
“Good night, baby,” I say. “Good night, Milo.”
Rafael and I walk to the door, his arm around my waist and my head resting on his shoulder. We’re about to exit the room, but Hope calls for me.
“Are you and Daddy living happily ever after?”
I look at my husband, and he looks at me.
After four years of marriage, after building a life together that far surpasses anything I could have ever envisioned, after every minor and major argument that led to reconciliation and us falling deeper in love with each other, the answer is clear.
