by Holly Rayner
As Mia showered, she tried not to think too much about why she felt fluttery all over that Rami was coming round. “It’s just a comfort to have him here, that’s all,” she told herself as she rinsed conditioner out of her hair. She had started taking prenatal vitamins on Dr. Farber’s recommendation during the first IVF cycle, and her hair had never been thicker, her skin more radiant. She stood under the showerhead for a long moment, letting the hot water sluice down her body. Mia had told her mother on more than one occasion that she and Rami were keeping things strictly professional between them, but after six months of seeing each other—even if mostly in the context of medical appointments—she had to admit to herself that her initial negative impressions of Rami’s boastfulness, his ostentatious displays of wealth, had all but vanished.
He’s really, weirdly, one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met. Mia turned off the water in her shower and reached for a towel, wrapping it around her body in well-practiced movements. She had always found the rich guys at her school irritating—sometimes extremely so. Though they had all been so attractive she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to date them, it had left a bitter taste in her mouth when one member of the school’s most exclusive fraternity had managed to get a drunk driving charge overturned with nothing more than a phone call; a feeling she had thought she would forever associate with the extremely wealthy. She had found out later that the same frat brother had later nearly killed a family of four when he’d gotten into a car accident while once again driving under the influence. He had been charged, and convicted of the offence—and yet, he’d gotten little more than house arrest and court-mandated attendance at Alcoholics Anonymous.
Mia dressed quickly, shaking her head at the fact that she was pulling on a pair of designer jeans over a pair of underwear that had come from Target. When Rami had taken her shopping for the trip to New York City, she had drawn the line at him buying any kind of lingerie for her; that had seemed entirely too intimate a purchase for someone she was only—at best—friends with. Rami had been appalled at the fact that she was going to wear cheap underwear underneath expensive clothes, and had tried to insist that he could just give her his card and leave her to consult with his personal shopper on her own, but he had finally relented when Mia threatened to return everything if he kept it up.
By the time Mia heard Rami’s knock at her door, she had pulled her thick, dark hair into a bun, and even managed to straighten her slightly messy living room. She knew Rami didn’t judge her for the tiny rental home she lived in, or even for her shabby, secondhand furniture, but somehow she felt as if he should. She hurried to the door and let him in, smiling as much as she could manage after the bad news of only thirty minutes before. “I told you that you’d be able to wear those clothes for years,” Rami said, nodding at her outfit. Mia blushed; she wouldn’t admit it to him, but she had worn the outfit just because it was him coming over. Had it been her mother, she almost certainly would have stuck with pajamas, or her comfortable old jeans.
Rami came into the living room weighted down with a box full of diner-bought breakfast delicacies—nothing fancy, no four-star restaurant fare—and Mia felt such a strong wave of relief at the realization that she nearly began crying again.
“You’re so kind,” she told him as he set the box down on her coffee table. She could smell eggs, hash browns, something fruity—and she could swear there were pancakes in one of the Styrofoam containers, too.
“I wanted to bring you coffee, but I then I realized that’s probably a terrible idea, so I got hot chocolate instead,” Rami said, pulling a big Starbucks cup out of the box. “You like the Salted Caramel, right?”
“You’re going to make me cry!” Mia took the big, thick paper cup from him and plucked the stopper out, sniffing at the heady aroma.
“Nope, no crying,” Rami said, wagging a finger at her. “We’re going to watch stupid movies and you’re going to eat as much breakfast as you can possibly stand, and then if you want to go for a walk or go someplace else, we’ll do that.”
“Okay, you’re telling me I can’t cry and then you say all these nice things that are guaranteed to make me cry,” Mia said warmly. “That’s not even a little bit fair and you know it.”
Rami chuckled. “I didn’t say I was a fair client.” Mia laughed.
“That’s more like it. Now sit down and I’ll get plates, forks and knives from the kitchen.”
“Do you even know where to find plates, forks and knives in a kitchen? Have you ever been in a kitchen?”
“I’ll have you know that I’ve served myself plenty of meals in my life,” Rami said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I even know how to wash dishes.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it!” Mia say down on the couch and draped an afghan around her waist, tucking it under her feet to keep them warm. True to his word, Rami returned a moment later with plates and cutlery, just as Mia took her first sip of the rich, satisfying hot chocolate. Looking up, she feigned shock, acting as though she might drop her cup at the surprise of seeing the wealthy man with plates and flatware, waiting on her.
“Ha-ha,” Rami said sarcastically, settling himself a few feet away from her on the couch. “I told you I could find my way around a kitchen.”
“I stand corrected,” Mia said primly. Rami served her a full plate of her favorite comfort foods, then turned on the TV, pulling up Netflix and selecting the TV series Firefly. In no time at all, or so it seemed to Mia, her grief at having once more failed to conceive began to evaporate, as she took bite after bite of the greasy, satisfying breakfast and let herself be drawn into the drama and action of the series.
Once or twice, as one episode rolled into the next, Mia found herself looking at Rami. She had never been unaware of the fact that he was objectively attractive, with his almond-shaped, heavy-lidded eyes, full lips, and sharp jawline. His thick, black hair was always immaculately cut and styled, and Mia thought that even without his tailor-made clothes, Rami would have looked breathtaking. But even if he was the best looking man she had met in years, that fact had at first been irrelevant to Mia—he had screamed and ranted at her right after the accident which was his fault, and at their first “date”, had come across as an annoying braggart. And yet, while neither of them had ever said anything about having feelings towards one other, Rami had, over time, become a friend, and Mia’s sense of how attractive he was had increased as she lost the impression of him being nothing more than a spoiled, extravagant, trust fund kid.
Mia knew that any thinking about how attractive, or how kind, or how funny Rami was, was stepping into dangerous territory. She knew that, at the end of the day, there was nothing more between them than a contract. Rami was generous and kind enough to make sure she was as happy and healthy as possible throughout the process, and he was, she was now convinced, a genuinely good person. But he had let slip to her on more than one occasion that before he had decided that what he really wanted was to have a child, he had gone out clubbing at least three or four times a week, staying out until the early hours of the morning and sometimes going home with a woman he’d met only hours before. Rami was wealthy enough that he had only to crook his little finger and women of all kinds would throw themselves at him. He was so far out of Mia’s league that she would never have imagined him becoming a friend until it happened; she certainly couldn’t realistically imagine him being anything more.
“What do you want to do now?” Rami turned to her after they’d watched three episodes of the series—each an hour long.
“Are you seriously planning on spending the whole day with me?”
“Why not? I didn’t have anything planned.”
Mia frowned. “You didn’t?”
Rami shrugged. “If we were pregnant, then of course we were going to celebrate the hell out of that. If we weren’t, I thought we might both need cheering up. So I just didn’t plan anything for today.” Mia stared at Rami in astonishment.
“You really
surprise the hell out of me sometimes.”
“Still? I’d think a smart girl like you would have me figured out by now,” Rami told her, giving Mia a teasing grin.
“Maybe I’m not as smart as you thought,” Mia replied, sarcastically.
“Or maybe I’m more mysterious than I thought,” Rami countered, and Mia laughed.
“So what do you think? We could watch a few more episodes, or go to the park…or shopping?”
“Oh my God, no—you are not taking me shopping. I refuse. I will not get out of the car if you try to take me to the mall again.”
Rami laughed. “Fine. I still say you would feel better with a new pair of shoes—it always works for my mom. But whatever you want to do.”
Mia considered it for a moment. “There’s a Monet exhibit at the city art museum,” she said hesitantly.
“Then let’s go see it,” Rami replied. Mia smiled, sighing happily. Even if nothing ever did come out of her relationship with Rami, other than business and, hopefully, a baby, she would be grateful for the rest of her life for how he treated her with such kindness and generosity. It was more than just the money he spent on her; it was the fact that he had made the effort to remember her favorite non-coffee drink at Starbucks, or that he was willing to spend all day making every effort to cheer her up when in all fairness he should be even more bitter and depressed than she was.
“Let me put on my shoes,” Mia said. She had originally planned to take her mother to see the exhibit, but even though Amie Campbell was now getting better care, it remained impossible to predict if she would be well enough to face an outing on any given day. Mia was glad that Rami was willing to go with her, so she wouldn’t have to go on her own, or miss it entirely. She had no idea if Rami was actually interested in art, but neither did she want to ask. If she found out that he hated museums, or Monet, she would feel even more indebted to him for doing something with her just to keep her mind off of her growing sense of failure.
EIGHT
Mia fidgeted as she sat in the waiting room of Dr. Farber’s office. For the third time since they had decided to pursue IVF, she had two weeks previously gone to the office, taken off her clothes, and undergone the minor surgery of having fertilized eggs inserted in her uterus. She and Rami had agreed that after the way she had fallen to pieces after the previous negative result, they would ask the doctor give her a more sensitive test in the office, where they would be able to discuss the next steps, no matter what the result.
Mia wouldn’t admit it to Rami, but she was beginning to think that the hormones she was taking to manipulate her menstrual cycle were making her lose her mind. She couldn’t stand the guilt as month after month passed without yielding a single positive result. While she was overjoyed that neither she nor her mother was in debt anymore, Mia couldn’t help but think that she was wasting Rami’s time and money; that he would be better off finding someone who would be able to become pregnant in a matter of weeks.
“Why haven’t you just tried to find a wife? Isn’t it possible for you to have like, an arranged marriage or something?” Mia had asked during one of their lunches a few weeks prior.
“That is so incredibly offensive,” Rami had replied, his voice a deadpan. They both laughed. “I mean, yeah—arranged marriages are a thing, especially for members of the monarchy…”
“Wait—wait—what?”
Rami shrugged off the disclosure of being a member of a royal family. “I am so far away from the crown it’s not even worth mentioning,” he had told her. “But it is part of the reason my family’s so rich.”
“So are you like, a Shah or something?”
“I am a prince, thank you very much. Prince Rami al-Hassan: rich and utterly useless member of the royal family of the Principality of Al-Andalus.”
“You do realize that if you’d just told me I was having a royal baby, you could totally have cut my payments down to like, half of what you’re giving me,” Mia had joked. Rami rolled his eyes.
“Seriously? You seem way too sensible to go for the whole starry-eyed ‘Oh my God he’s royalty’ thing.”
“Oh I totally am,” Mia had agreed. “But it would make a hell of a story later on. I could tell everyone I had a royal baby and not tell them which royal family it was for.”
“And they would never believe you!”
“They wouldn’t have to, it would be true,” Mia shrugged. “Besides, if I’m walking around with a million bucks from it, how can they deny it? Where else would I have gotten a million bucks?”
“The lottery?”
“Stop poking holes in my story!” Mia had thrown a rosemary napkin ring at Rami, laughing as it landed right in the open neck of his button-down shirt.
Mia started as she heard the clinking, tinkling noise of the door opening. Looking up, she saw Rami come into the waiting room of Dr. Farber’s office. He spotted her and sat down right next to her without even sparing a glance for anyone else. “Do you only ever wear your nice clothes when you know you’re going to see me?” Rami asked. Mia blushed.
“Well you bought them for me,” she said. “I figured you’d enjoy seeing me in them.”
“You don’t wear them otherwise?”
“They’re expensive,” she pointed out, shrugging. “If I wore them all the time, I’d wear them out.” Rami laughed.
“You could always buy yourself some more, you know,” he said. “You told me you’re up to date on all the bills for you and your mom; I can’t imagine what you’re doing with the rest of your money.”
“Well I’m putting some of it into savings,” Mia said. “I buy food, for me and Mom. And I bought a new couch the other day!”
“How exciting, a new couch,” Rami chuckled.
“It is exciting,” Mia told him, pouting slightly. “It’s the first brand-new piece of furniture I’ve ever bought. And I picked it out myself, without having to pick from whatever the secondhand store happened to have in.”
“Okay, okay,” Rami said, holding up his hands in an admission of defeat. “In that case, I am very proud of you for doing what most women in their right mind would have done within three months of making a hundred thousand dollars a month.”
Mia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m never telling you anything again,” she said, pretending to be much more offended than she actually was. “Belittling my accomplishments. As soon as they get the baby out of me and you give me my delivery bonus, I am never speaking to you again, Rami al-Hassan.”
“Ms. Campbell?” came a voice from the doorway. Mia jumped and glanced at Rami; it was the moment of truth. She steadied herself and stood, reaching out and taking the hand that Rami automatically offered her. They walked through the door into the office proper in silence, and Mia could feel her heart pounding in her chest as every step brought them closer to the exam room and Dr. Farber’s office.
Mia could feel her hands and feet tingling, her arms and legs flashing hot and cold as the blood rushed through her body. Rami gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze as they approached the dark, hardwood door of Dr. Farber’s office. “It’s going to be okay, Mia,” he murmured as they came to a stop and the medical assistant knocked on the door.
“Come on in,” Dr. Farber called, her voice muffled by the door. The MA opened the door and Rami gestured for Mia to enter first. Mia took a deep breath and walked to the chairs on the other side of the doctor’s desk and sat down, feeling as if her knees might give out if she had to walk any further. Rami sat down in the other chair and the assistant closed the door behind them quietly.
“I have been holding it for twenty minutes,” Mia said, squeezing her thighs together. “Is there anything we need to talk about before we get this show on the road?” Dr. Farber laughed.
“Just that if the test shows you aren’t pregnant, that is not the end of the world,” she said. The older woman extended a parcel towards Mia. “It’s basically like the regular old home pregnancy test. Pee in the cup, dip the app
licator, put the cap back on, and wait.” Mia nodded and snatched up the packet, standing quickly. She turned and walked out of the room without looking back, hoping to make it to the bathroom before her knees gave out underneath her. After three failed attempts at artificial insemination, and two failed cycles of in-vitro fertilization, Mia was beginning to feel truly desperate—and truly guilty. Rami’s comments about how little she spent the money he paid her had touched close to the bone.
