by Dina Silver
When I first began online dating, Monica said I was trying to prove to myself that I was still desirable to men after Todd’s rejection. That when he left, he took a piece of me with him. But what if that piece has always been missing? And what if that piece is sitting next to me on my nightstand? Is there something that happened in my parents’ marriage that parallels what’s happening in my own? Did it happen in Beirut, of all places?
That night, I make a promise to myself: it’s time to let go of the anger. I take my hand off Mom’s journal and reach under my bed for the pink spiral-bound notebook Monica gave me. I grab a pen and write five things I’m grateful for.
1) My boys
2) My mom
3) My health
4) Our home
5) My willingness to forgive
The next morning, I get a text from Todd saying that he’s going to come pick up his things from the garage over the weekend, and that his latest girlfriend is pregnant.
I take the pink spiral notebook and toss it in the trash.
Chapter Fourteen
CATHERINE
Beirut, 1971
On a warm and sunny day in late March, there was a knock on my door. I braced myself with one hand on the table as I wobbled onto my feet, very pregnant by then. Little Miss Reema was standing barefoot with her purse in one hand and dragging her favorite penguin in the other. “Hi, sweetie. Am I late to get you this morning?”
She nodded.
“OK, well, come on in, then. We mustn’t keep our guests waiting.” I looked up to see the door to her apartment ajar, but Brigitte was not in eyeshot. “I’ll leave the door open in case your mom is looking for you.”
For two months, I’d been watching Reema three mornings a week so Brigitte could work part-time for the local butcher, who lived in the building next door. I used to watch her from the balcony, trying to bribe Reema each morning to come to work with her, and Reema would plug her nose and scream because she couldn’t stand the smell of raw meat.
“I’d be happy to watch her for you,” I’d offered one morning once I caught up with them in the stairwell.
Brigitte had laughed. “You will end up wishing you weren’t pregnant with your own after a day with this one!”
“Don’t be silly.” I’d smiled at the little girl, almost three years old by then. “I think it’d be wonderful practice for me.”
Brigitte rolled her eyes.
“What?” I’d placed my hands on my hips. “I’m quite the resourceful woman, as you know.”
Brigitte had become a trusted and valued friend in a very short time. I’d used some connections I had with a friend from Greenwich who had an old colleague on the board of the university to get her husband some additional work. Sammy had a company that did construction, and the university board had granted him a huge project in one of the student housing wings. It meant a great deal of extra money for their family, and I was thrilled to be able to help. Another time when Brigitte’s mother was very ill, I had Mother’s doctor research and recommend the best person in Beirut for her to see after many failed attempts at the local clinics. Once she had been properly diagnosed, Gabriel was able to work with the physicians to get her a break on the necessary prescriptions. “It’s what we do,” I’d told her when she’d thanked me. “If you’re like family to my husband, you’re like family to me.”
“Reema is a handful,” she’d said.
I’d waved her off. “You think all your girls are handfuls, but they clearly only misbehave when they are with you.” I’d looked down on Reema. “Isn’t that right?”
She’d nodded.
I’d knelt to her level. “Would you like to spend some time with me?” I’d asked, grinning.
She’d nodded again.
“It’s settled, then. You know how bored I’ve been sitting around here waiting for this baby to come.”
“What about your volunteer work at AUB? Sammy said you were helping grade exams or something like this.”
“There’s a young professor from my hometown in Connecticut. His name is Randall Cunningham; our parents are acquainted. He teaches a course on investigative journalism. He allows me to read papers from time to time, and I help with some of his scheduling. It’s mostly a way for me to access the amenities on campus. My father set it up for me.” I’d paused. “But looking after her won’t intrude on any of that. I make my own schedule, and Randall is just happy to have the extra help.”
I didn’t make any money working for Randall. I was simply happy to have the diversion. Besides, my husband made a good living, and my father would mail me cards every month with a short note and little spare cash inside. So I was never in need of a job.
Brigitte had shrugged. “You are my own personal angel.” She’d waved her index finger at me. “And that baby of yours is truly blessed.”
I’d smiled. “And what would I do without you?”
“You would manage just fine.”
But that wasn’t true. The first few months had taken a toll on my relationship with Gabriel, and when I assumed I had no one to confide in, Brigitte turned up. One evening after a particularly loud argument between us over my long-distance phone bill, Brigitte called me the next morning.
“Hello?” I answered.
“I’m making some white coffee. Would you like to come over and join me for some?” White coffee was invented in Beirut and consists of boiled rosewater or flower water sweetened with sugar. She insisted I drink it during my pregnancy and warned me off caffeine, many years before doctors began cautioning their own patients. I eventually fell in love with the warm, fragrant concoction.
“Thank you, but I’m going to go to the market soon.”
“Please, I insist.”
That day she confessed to overhearing several other arguments between Gabriel and me. “You are too feisty,” she claimed. “And you are loud, too.”
I laughed. “Too feisty and too loud? And you’re just noticing that about me? I thought that was my charm, no?”
“You needn’t argue back so much,” she said, her brow furrowed.
“I’m not very good at keeping silent when I don’t agree with him.”
She sipped her drink. “Lebanese men expect a certain amount of respect.”
“So do American women.”
She blinked.
“I’m sorry that you heard us. That’s embarrassing and not how I was brought up. My mother would die to know the neighbors could hear me fighting with my husband.” And that was the truth. I knew my parents had their fair share of arguments, but never in front of my sisters and me, and certainly never in front of anyone else. This was largely due to my mother refusing to take the bait. Even when my father would angrily snap at her for saying something naive, or chastise her for her frivolous spending, if there was company present, Mother would smile and flutter her lashes as if she hadn’t a clue as to what he was referring. But I know she must’ve been dying inside. I know I would have been.
The funny, and often frustrating, thing about my relationship with Gabriel was that our arguments were like foreplay and often concluded with lovemaking. Sometimes it was the only way to hold his attention.
I rubbed my forehead. “I’ll make sure that we’re much more discreet next time.”
Brigitte smiled and placed her hands in her lap. “Why must there be a next time?” She was older than I was, maybe by fifteen years, and our relationship vacillated between friend and mentor. I was grateful to have her as both. “You are young and beautiful and newly married . . . and pregnant . . . and I know about American women and women’s liberation that is going on over there, but I only want good things and peace for you and Gabriel. And the baby.” She reached across the table and rested her hand on mine. “Beirut is a wonderful place. I have lived here all my life, and I’m used to the customs. But you will learn that women do not have many rights here, and foreign women even less. There are many important things you should know about how it will affect your child.”
I drew a breath. “Like what?”
“For example, I have four daughters and no sons, as you know. Because of that, if something were to happen to Sammy, his wealth would go to his brothers—everything—not to my girls and me. We would have to rely on Sammy’s brothers—one who is single and a drunk, and one who is married and lives in Greece—to care for us. We’d have no claim to anything, including this home, which my husband has worked for his whole life to provide for us.”
That night I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake listening to the gentle ticktock of Gabriel’s wristwatch on his nightstand. What if I had a baby girl inside of me? I couldn’t imagine something happening to Gabriel and being at the mercy of his brother, whom I’ve never even met. My father would never allow that to happen, but what if his hands were tied? And how long could I rely on my family for everything? I’d nearly pushed my mother to the brink of a nervous breakdown as it was.
Unable to drift off, I went and sat on the balcony. The truth was that I’d lived in Beirut for three months, but I’d never committed to actually living there. My perception of life in Beirut was temporary, noncommittal. I always assumed I’d be back home one day in the States with a house in Greenwich down the road from my parents, and Gabriel would be with me. But he’d actually never promised me that. Brigitte’s words shook me to my core.
The next morning, I began to watch Reema three days a week and host tea parties for her stuffed animals. Penguins, mostly. She even gave me one of them for my baby.
“I’ll make sure the baby gets this penguin when he or she is born.”
Reema smiled proudly.
We’d walk to the beach and build sand castles, and I’d treat her to whatever she wanted from the patisserie on the way back home. I refused to accept any compensation from Brigitte other than rosewater and homemade falafel in return for my work. And from that day on, any money that my father sent me went into a secret envelope in the back of my lingerie drawer. Gabriel didn’t blink an eye when I told him my dad had decided not to send me monthly allowances anymore. All he did was restrict the number of phone calls to the States if he was going to be paying for them.
Chapter Fifteen
CATHERINE
Beirut, 1971
“Push again!” the head nurse, Robin, bellowed. My hands were gripping the edges of a pillow placed atop my chest. “You’re doing great, Catherine,” she assured me through the moans and groans and wails that were flying out of my throat. My birthing team at the American University of Beirut Medical Center was all Americans. My mother had handpicked the doctor, and he had a staff of residents and medical students whom I will never forget as long as I live. I was alone and in labor for twelve hours before my daughter decided to grace us with her presence. One of the residents was by my side at all times, chatting with me and encouraging me and feeding me ice cubes. They even made certain my makeup bag was within reach.
With their help, I gave birth that day, April 6, 1971, to a baby girl, ten days before she was due. She had dark hair like her father, but I instantly recognized my own face in hers. I was beaming with joy when Gabriel was brought in from the waiting room. He had yellow tulips in his hand and a cluster of cigars sticking out of his shirt pocket. Seeing the elation on his face made everything perfect.
He placed the flowers on a table and then kissed my forehead and lips over and over until I began to laugh. “May I?” He reached for the precious bundle in my arms.
“I’d like to name her Ann Marie, for my mother,” I said.
“Of course,” he agreed, his eyes fixed on hers. “Beautiful sweet girl. My tiny Ann Marie. I love you so much.” Gabriel gently placed his lips on the baby’s cheeks and held them there with his eyes closed.
The staff left us alone with our daughter. Gabriel could not contain his grin. “Everyone at the building is going crazy waiting for news. Brigitte was ready to tackle me if I did not call her as soon as I heard.”
My eyes were heavy, and my heart was light. Beirut was the last place I ever had imagined giving birth, and yet I was pleased to be there in that moment. “I can’t imagine ever being this happy again in all my life.”
Gabriel leaned over, Ann Marie still cradled in his arms, and kissed me. It took all the energy I had left to lift my head and kiss him back, and then I was officially drained.
Nurse Robin knocked as she entered. “How is Mom doing?”
“She is spectacular,” Gabriel answered for me. “My golden-haired queen.”
Robin looked at me. “Congratulations to you both.”
“Thank you,” he said to her without lifting his eyes from mine. “What can we get you?” he asked me.
“Maybe just some water.”
He looked at Robin, and she poured me a cup from a pitcher across the room. Then she took Ann Marie from him. “I will take her to get some shots, have a bath, and feed her a bottle. Don’t worry about a thing.” She arranged the swaddling blanket around Ann Marie’s chest. “Get some rest, and I’ll bring the baby back in the morning when you’re ready for her.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I need to call my parents,” I told Gabriel when she’d left. “I asked the hospital. It will go on our bill, but I promise to be quick. I can’t wait until we get home.”
“Of course,” he said.
I couldn’t help but smirk. “I should have a baby for you every day with how accommodating you’re being.”
Gabriel stretched the phone cord to the bed, and I dialed my home number. It was 10:00 p.m. in Beirut, so 6:00 a.m. in Greenwich. The call was sure to awaken everyone but Jessie.
“Hello, Clarke residence,” she answered hurriedly on the second ring.
“It’s me,” I said.
“You OK, CC?”
“Just very tired.”
“I bet you are. Walking up all those steps you tell me about is not good for my baby.”
“It’s not the steps, Jessie.”
“What is it, then? Don’t tell me you’re still looking after that little girl. I told your mom to tell you that was too much for you. Did she tell you that was too much for you? And why are you calling so early? You want to give us all a good scare? Your mom nearly ran downstairs without her face paint on.”
I missed Jessie and Mother both so much. “I’m tired because I had my own little girl tonight.”
She let out a boisterous squeal, and I could picture her expression. She would adore Ann Marie as much as anyone. I swallowed a lump in my throat when I realized I had no idea when Jessie and my family would meet my daughter.
Two days later, we left the hospital, and Walid dropped us off in front of the building on Sunday afternoon. The sun had just begun to set. Reema and her sisters shouted and waved from their balcony as soon as they saw us. Minutes later, Brigitte burst through the front entrance, weeping as if the building was on fire.
“We do love our little girls around here!” she yelled. She squeezed my face with her hands and kissed my cheeks as soon as she reached me. “Let me see her.”
Gabriel reached inside the car for the basket Ann Marie had been transported in. She was swaddled and quiet, with her eyes open. Brigitte immediately lifted her out and held her. “This is a beautiful baby, and I know a thing or two about babies.”
I tilted my head and gazed at my daughter. “Thank you, Brigitte.”
Gabriel handed Walid a cigar, and they began to converse.
“We will head upstairs,” I said. “Can you bring my bag in?”
He nodded and blew me a kiss.
“Thank you, Walid, for the ride.”
“My pleasure, Miss. And my wife would like to bring by a gift this week, if that is all OK with you.”
“Of course, but that is not necessary—”
“She will be glad to receive it,” Brigitte said to him. We walked ahead. “Don’t tell me people don’t bring baby gifts in America. Let the man and his wife do a nice thing.” She rolled her eyes at me.
“Don’t give me that look. I�
�m a mother now, so you’d better stop treating me like one of your children.”
She laughed and began to speak in Arabic to my daughter.
The next day I greeted more people than I knew lived in the building. Gabriel and I would have enough food to feed us through three more pregnancies. I had to beg Brigitte to take some for her family, and Reema and her sisters would sneak over for cookies every day after school. Mother called me every other night that week and allowed me to talk with Jessie as long as I needed, on her dime. She was beside herself that I’d named my daughter after her, although I had to find out through Jessie how much it really meant to her. “She called everyone in the club directory and told them about the baby,” Jessie had whispered to me one time when she’d answered the phone before getting Mom on the line. “And she’s ordered no less than ten embroidered items from the shop in town with the baby’s name on it.”
It was an emotional time for me those first few weeks. The previous summer, I’d been a young, single college graduate, smoking weed and partying with Laura and my sisters, talking about starting a career . . . but making the newest disco our top priority. Then, in the blink of an eye, I was in love and married to a man I’d known for only a short time, living in a foreign country with a newborn in my arms, and trying to function on a schedule that had me waking up every couple of hours throughout the night. Humility came at me like a flash flood. I struggled to keep my nose above water by putting someone else’s needs before my own. I’d barely been married long enough to make Gabriel a priority, let alone carry the burden of someone’s entire existence on my shoulders. In the middle of the night, I’d sit with Ann Marie in my arms as she’d drain her tiny bottle of formula and stare up into my eyes. Her trust in me was overwhelming. I’d sit there night after night, making promises to my little girl, wishing I could remember my own mother cradling and caring for me the same way.
