“Easy, Jack. Remember what we said about being gentle with mommy.”
“Yeah,” he says, running his sticky finger against my dress. “She’s got a baby in there.”
“That’s right,” Zaid says, making his way over to me with the spoon. He holds it to my mouth, giving me a taste, then plants his lips on mine.
“Delicious, babe!”
“Anything for my hard-working woman.” He kisses me again and heads back over to the stove. Jack leads me to the table. He made a hand turkey in Kindergarten today. I’m relieved to see something so child-like. Last week, he sang an entire song to me in French. I’d heard NYC schools were advanced, but sometimes I think it’s downright ridiculous.
“Howismommy feeling?” Zaid asks.
“A little tired, but we nailed the pitch meeting with the Grow-a-Unicorn folks today.”
“Like I ever had a doubt.” Zaid heads over and slides a bowl of steaming pasta with homemade meatballs in front of me. My mouth waters at the garlicky aroma.
When I got pregnant again, I insisted on working as long as possible. Zaid decided to go at it part time on the days Jack has school. I had no idea he’d be such an amazing stay-at-home dad. The house is clean, dinner is ready, and Jack is (usually) in bed on time.
Zaid moves behind me, places his gigantic hands on my shoulders, and gives them a rub. I always pictured moving to New York and being like Carrie Bradshaw or Hannah Horvath, independent and loving it. How could I have expected that the love of my life was waiting here for me, along with my dream career and a family of my own?
I place my hand over Zaid’s and take a moment to breathe, grateful beyond words. “You okay?” Zaid asks, brushing my hair off of my neck and planting a warm kiss that sends chills down my spine.
I look up at my husband, his green eyes sparkling. A spot of marinara stained across the front of his apron. A smile beams across my face.
“Honey,” I say, fighting the urge to cry. “I’ve never been better.”