Page 127 of To Tango, with Desire

“Now. But what happens later? When you too old? And he’s too old?”

“I’m focusing on my career right now, Mom. Babies—no offense—” I held up my hand to Sahar. “Are not something I want weighing me down right now.”

“Your husband’s a billionaire!” Mom screeched.

“Jesus, Mom! Calm down.” Sahar patted Emmy’s back.

“You worry about work, stupid girl, and you married a bill-ion-aire! You don’t need to work.”

“I had my goals before I met Zane and I’m not going to give them up like some post-war 1950s American housewife. Honestly, Mom, women fought for liberation for the very reason to be able to choose whether they procreate.”

“Your breasts too heavy to burn bras. You need the support.”

I looked at my sister and we both burst out laughing. “You’re being ridiculous, Mom.”

“And you too stubborn. I should have known when I birthed you, this is the way.”

“TMI, Mom. Didn’t want to know that.”

“Fine. You don’t listen. You’ll see. You have a very handsome, kind, wealthy husband. But you won’t stay young and beautiful forever. Every man wants to see his own children. It’s natural. Biological. What is a marriage with no children? It’s empty. A man, a husband will respect a woman ten times more when she brings him children.”

I felt the stinging slap of her comment deep in my heart.

“You can have respect without it.”

She clucked her tongue again. “No. It’s different. This is the way.”

I pressed my hands to my temples, but the blinding white pain shot through me. My face was hot, my stomach unsettled. Standing, I stumbled to the sink, losing my breakfast while my mom and sister watched. The sensation of warm coffee and oats coming back up made my stomach heave. With trembling fingers, I washed away the evidence, rinsing my mouth. But nothing seemed to get rid of the smell.

This wasn’t the way. At least not for me. The more I argued with my mother about it, the more I felt determined to stick to my beliefs.

Mom was old school, which was fine for her. She loved her children and grandchildren and lived her life to tend to them. She’d had no other option other than marrying and having children.

But I didn’t have that same yearning. I was afraid I never would.

“Amira! What’s happening?”

I sat down at the table, regretting the fact that Mom had seen me throw up. I’d be hearing about this for weeks to come.

“I’m fine. Must have been something I ate.”

Mom’s face filled the screen, her eyes piercing. “You’re pale.”

“I just threw up, Mom.”

“You should see a doctor.”

“I’m okay.”

“Amira—”

“I’ll see a doctor! In fact I’ll call one now. I’ll talk to you later.”

I hung up, not wanting to prolong the interrogation. There was no way I could tell my Mom that I was considering having an abortion. She’d be horrified. Furious.

I opened a new tab on my phone and began researching clinics. Then the room started spinning. Frustrated, I hurriedly made my way to the lounge, seeking darkness.

It would be a late start this morning, but given the long hours I’d been putting in, that would be okay.