BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

‘Oh yeah!’ Luke exclaimed. Then, to me, ‘We do, right?’

‘You’re having a little girl.’

There and then, Luke cried. ‘Allergies,’ he said, wiping the tears away.

Once we got outside, I asked, ‘You’re not disappointed it’s not a boy?’

‘No way! Anyway, the next one will be a boy. Meanwhile we need to start thinking about names.’

*

‘Yara.’ All business, Luke strode into our bedroom.

‘What?’

‘Yara. Her name! I was over with Ebrahim and Saira.’ The Iraqi couple who ran the corner ‘convenient’ store. ‘I told them about the fluttering feeling. “Yara” is Arabic for “Little Butterfly”. It’s perfect, right?’

‘It is.’ My eyes were shining. We had our name.

At seven months, Anna threw me a baby shower at the Williamsburg House. Turnout was exceptionally high—people I hadn’t seen in years—because everyone hoped Anna would throw in free skincare for the guests.

Thankfully she did, especially as the baby gifts were embarrassingly lavish. There were mountains of toys and clothes, as well as vouchers for Baby Yoga and certificates of trees planted in Yara’s name (done by some of the crunchier Brooklynites). Several of my glossy Manhattan friends had clubbed together to buy a Baby Jogger City Mini stroller—they insisted that no new mom would be caught dead with yesterday’s news, a MacLaren Globetrotter.

‘Erm, thank you,’ I said, ‘I had no idea.’

‘You should never have left the city, Boo.’

As we headed into the ninth month, I put on my Central Casting Pregnant Woman overalls, tied my hair up in a red bandana, then Luke and I painted Yara’s room a pale yellow.

‘You’ve never been so beautiful,’ Luke said. ‘You’re a goddess.’

‘Ah, stop!’ Then, ‘Say it again!’

Yara would sleep in a Moses basket in our room for the first couple of months but we wanted to create a beautiful nursery for her.

We hung curtains patterned with giraffes and monkeys, we assembled a chest of drawers and filled the drawers with teeny-tiny clothes and diapers, then sheepishly Luke produced a white muslin princess canopy which he suspended from the ceiling above her crib.

‘I know it’s girly,’ he said. ‘We might be kicked out of Brooklyn for gender stereotyping, but look at it! I can’t not.’ He was so agonized that I laughed and kissed him.

By the time we’d finished, the nursery was absolutely beautiful.

‘I think she’ll approve,’ Luke said.

‘I’m so excited about meeting her,’ I said. Then, seized by fear, ‘What if I fail her?’

‘You won’t fail her, you big eejit! C’mon, let’s see if she’s in the mood for dancing.’

We’d discovered that if we put on music, particularly Luke’s beloved Led Zeppelin, she got really lively.

Our latest thing was to watch my stomach. ‘Was that an…elbow?’

‘Or maybe a knee?’

‘We could sell tickets to this.’

48