ACACIA

“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked staring at the white envelope on the dining table, puzzled that she hadn’t done so ever since she called him that morning.

She rinsed one more dish and stacked it gently in the trolley before turning her head to answer him.

“I was waiting for you,”

They both smiled at each other overlooking the white lie. The first time they received a white envelope, she had walked straight to his office waving the letter frantically in the air screaming about the results. The bank was locked down and it took the entire afternoon to convince the security detail that she meant no harm. They let him keep his job because of the good news. Then it didn’t happen as they had hoped. Her belly stopped growing and the bleeding went on for days.

“It’s normal,” her mother said casually, “I also lost your brother the first time because my body was too small for him to fit,” she let her tell the story of her fourteen year old self through the life of a thirty eight year old woman.

She couldn’t sleep the second and the third time it happened. She made a schedule for her meals, boiled the water she drank, limited her hours behind the desk, went to the clinic every week and measured her belly every day. She was on the phone talking to her friends who had been through that journey, a note book on her lap to pen down the tips and tricks they had mastered over the years for those like them. Still her belly would stop growing after a while and the bleeding sucked the life out of her.

He sat on the chair facing it, a slight chill of fear froze his neck but he shook it off. He needed to be the stronger one for her, no matter how painful he felt, he would never understand what she was going through.

“Should I open it then,” he reached out for the envelope. The address became clearer.

PATMOS MEDICAL CENTER

YOUR HEALTH PARTNER

SUSAN AND MECA MALABA

P.O.BOX 34487

GRANDE ESTATE

She remained silent, her eyes narrowed on the stubborn spot that she was scrubbing off the pan. She thought if she focused on the stain, she wouldn’t hear what he said. He knew her well, could read her body so he placed it back and walked towards the window. The evening breeze soaked up his long sigh and dried his mouth. He noticed the flower pot on the window sill. The soil had cracked open. Most of the honey colored petals had fallen off and the green stem was blotting with brown drying spots. He was surprised. He didn’t notice when they had forgotten about watering it every morning before they left the house. He reminisced how excited his sister’s husband was, a Japanese born man who always finished his sentences with a bow. For their wedding, he handed over the blossoming flower. He said it was a symbol of love and it would bring them good luck only if they nurtured it like their own baby.

Out of curiosity, they followed his instructions during their honeymoon, like they were taking care of their first child so that they did not only give it water and shelter, they showered it with their new love. For two months, they sent pictures to him every week, showing the petals sprouting majestically under the midday sun.

Then they took turns when they both went back to work. When he got a promotion and had to fly in and out, she flooded the pot before rushing out of the house. When she was in the hospital because she had bled again, he sat on the sofa without opening the windows. He couldn’t have remembered to water them. He took the blame without question. He picked up the jug with water on the table and poured it through the cracks. It was a little too late. The earthen smell choked the air and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the actual story of their lives. On another day, in a different circumstance, he would have thrown the pot away but a few leaves were still hanging strong and he felt the need to cling onto that.  

He returned to the dining table as she was drying her hands. They both sat down facing each other with the envelope in the middle of the table.

She had heard his question moments ago hoping he would do what he wanted without waiting for her approval. She shrugged her shoulders in uncertainty.

“What if it’s not what we are expecting?” she started.

“The symptoms, remember?”

She nodded although her doubts still haunted her. “It could have been anything that caused it you know, the food in one of the restaurants or too much work in the office,” she went on. “I just don’t know if I am ready to do this again,” she confessed, lowering her head. The excitement, the planning, the celebration that had brought the family together. All that was short lived when she had another miscarriage. Her in laws, her friends, even her clients booking appointments from one consultant to the next, the same answers reverberating in her ears, “All tests came back negative.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” the doctor would say. “You need to be patient. Don’t stress yourselves,”

“You can because I am here with you this time round,” he cupped her hands in his rubbing them softly. Within that hold, he still felt guilty for leaving for Austria to pursue his masters in the name of claiming a better life when the baby came. He had battled with the decision, did not want to be the villain in their story. He could barely breathe through all the clinical appointments, multiple tests, being the topic of discussion at family dinners and office parties. He saw how she handled herself so well, knowing when to smile, how to change the tone of her voice and make everyone feel comfortable around her. He thought maybe the doctor was actually talking to him when he said, Don’t stress yourselves.

He just needed to recollect himself. That did not happen. He felt lost among strangers in the foreign land. When he told people in conversation that he had a family, they wanted to see pictures of his wife and children.

“Married ten years now,” his audience would be in awe.

“No kids yet,” then he would quickly add, “we are…not in a hurry,”

“Oh,” the surprised look on their faces said it all.

He saw how some faces frowned in disappointment, other raising their eyebrows in fascination and the images that he had left back home came rushing back in his mind. In the end, as he held his degree in his hand, he only saw it as a piece of paper that had wasted his time. He stayed on for another year, partied and danced with women in the open hoping that someone would snap a picture, send it back home and tell her of his reckless life. Then she would give in, fall off the wagon, get tired of him, stop calling…something.

She didn’t.

She was a faithful woman; he was her priority. He got tired of waiting and finally came back to be by her side, to try again with unwavering confidence and determined trust. He needed to save her from the pain and shame he had caused.  

She sighed and took the letter from him. She tore it delicately, pulled out the neatly folded paper and held his hand as though she needed his strength to unfold it. He disguised his apprehension in his tight grip.

Her eyes dropped to bottom of the letter to the writing in bold, her head remained bent over for another breath taking moment. He couldn’t wait, “well, what does it say?”

She lifted up her head slowly and smiled,

“It says we are not pregnant,”   

Their hands were still interlaced pondering over the results they were too familiar with.

“Its fine my dear,” he pushed his chair to her side and caressed her back, “we shall try again,”

She nodded and avoided his eyes. This time, she did not shed a tear. She had dried up her eyes when she decided to cut off her womb before he came back. She had lost herself in the accusing finger of her own relatives, the pictures she had seen of his lavish life in Austria, the tired look on her friends faces when she visited them devastated and desperate for their help. She was exhausted.

After a long silence, he announced, “I am going back to Austria for my PHD next year,”

She would let him know about it but not there and then. Maybe when he too could not wait any longer. 

With a shallow nod, she agreed, “I think that is a good idea,”