“John, this is my friend Hanan,” Reema said, laughing, smoothing over the situation. He shook my hand, and I noticed the golden hairs on the back of his hand, in little, square patches on his long fingers, right above the knuckles. “Hi, Hanan,” he said, hitting the “H” just right. “You claim to have had a previous appointment with the queen here?”

“Yes, and I’ve been waiting for ten minutes, since 1:30 P.M., for an audience.” He looked surprised, then laughed delightedly.

When I told John I was pregnant, four years later, he was standing in his kitchen, slicing onions to be thrown into the steaming wok on the stove. Lined up on the counter beside him were the next victims waiting to fall under his knife: a bag of string beans, a tomato, and three carrots. Chunks of chicken were already browning in the wok, simmering in a sea of ginger and fragrant oil.

He heard me come out of the bathroom and asked over his shoulder if I could start the rice. “The brown rice—there’s a new bag—in the cabinet under the microwave.”

“John, I need to talk to you.”

“Just a sec, love—let me finish this onion.” His hand continued chopping at its same steady pace, not increasing despite the urgency I felt inside of me.

I tapped him on the shoulder. “John, we’re going to have a baby.”

He turned quickly, spinning like a top, the knife at his side pointed at me. Peering down at me with those intense eyes, he commanded, “Say that again.”

“I’m pregnant,” I said impatiently. “I just took a test, and it turned blue. I’ll have to go to the doctor, of course, but I’m pretty sure …”

Tossing his knife into the sink, he carefully rinsed and dried his hands before placing them on my cheeks. “Are you okay with this?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“This is really good news.” He kissed me tenderly.

“Good,” I said, patting his chest. I went to the cabinet and pulled out a bag of brown rice. “Now we need to plan a wedding.”

I went home from work at 3:30, the time that the other assistant manager, Beth, came to fill in. That was another advantage to my job: even though I started my day at 7:30 A.M., an hour earlier than most people, I got home earlier than most of them, too. There was nothing more relaxing than getting home the same time as most school kids, slipping back into my pajamas, boiling a pot of herbal tea, and curling up in a chair with a book or magazine to wait for John.