4.3 Oh, Baby

“Inhale. Exhale into a deep lunge. Lower your arms to Warrior Two. Feel the energy flowing out your finger tips, stretching to the horizon.”

Tracy tried to concentrate on the yoga instructor’s voice, on her breath, on the energy supposedly coursing through her body, but her thoughts kept drifting.

In the year and a half since she’d met Nigel they had never had a real fight. They rarely disagreed about anything, and when they did, Nigel tended to diffuse any tension or bad feelings with humor. Tracy had felt smug, convinced that she and Nigel really did have the perfect relationship. Until last night.

It had happened after supper, one of the few she and Nigel had shared over the past couple of months. Keeping track on her calendar, Tracy realized that Nigel really had been away more often than he had been at home. And he was leaving again in the wee hours of the morning, heading back to Sweden to prepare for the official launch of Interair in Stockholm.

Given that they had so little time together, Tracy had wanted to make the most of it, so she had continued to put off discussing serious issues with Nigel. But she had begun to keep a list on a yellow legal pad.

Stretching out on the beige Natuzzi sofa, the remote in his hand, Nigel noticed it and picked it up. “What’s this then?” he asked.  “I’ve seen this lying about the apartment. Are these notes for your novel? It must be going well. I always see you jotting things down.” He began to read out loud.

“Number one. New cars slash trade cars…hm.” He looked up at her. “Not novel notes, then?”

“No,” Tracy admitted, sheepishly. “I haven’t seen that much of you lately, and with the baby almost here, well, a lot of things have been coming to mind that I need to discuss with you. I’ve been writing them down so I don’t forget. You know, pregnancy brain and all.” She made a silly face at him.

She hadn’t exactly been on her “A” game lately: popping a cake in the oven and only remembering to take it out when the stench of burnt chocolate filled the apartment, locking her keys in the flat and having to get the maintenance men to take the door off the hinges, going to Tunney’s Supermarket for milk in her slippers.

“Wise move,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Between your hormone saturated brain and my work-obsessed one, we might forget to have the baby altogether!”

“Well.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly as he looked down at the pad. “No time like the present.”

He read the first item on the list again. “New car slash trade cars. Done. I’ll take the GTR and my lovely Jeep is all yours. Easy peasy. Moving swiftly on to number two. Nursery colon convert study slash move to villa question mark. Done.” He looked up at Tracy and smiled, folding his hands behind his head in a self-satisfied pose. “That’s right, love. Despite the mad scene at work, old Nigel hasn’t let the ball drop. I’ve got an estate agent hunting down villas as we speak. I rang her up yesterday and gave her your number. You’ll probably hear from her after the weekend.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, obviously pleased with himself.

Tracy knew she should be happy that he was so on top of things, but he had called an agent without mentioning anything to Tracy, and now he was leaving the job of picking out a place entirely to her. Didn’t couples normally do these things together?

“On to number three…”Nigel continued.

“Wait,” Tracy interjected, “You want me to chose our new home by myself?”

“Tracy, pet,” Nigel said, sincerely, “If you’re happy with it, I’ll be happy with it. I’m a bloke, remember? You birds are the fussy ones. I could happily live in an East End squat with a family of rats. Have done, in fact.”

“Okay…” Tracy was still uncertain.

“Now, number three. Nigel’s job dash downsize question mark.” He gave her an incredulous look and laughed. “Not bloody likely! Currently, the only way to go is up. Which is for the best, really, considering how expensive kids are these days. And junior is definitely going to need a brother or two to keep him company.”

“Uh, Nigel, but…” Tracy sputtered, her mind reeling at how Nigel had simply dismissed her concern out of hand. And more kids? They had never broached the subject, but she figured they would see how the first one went and take it from there.

“On to number four,” Nigel continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. Perhaps he hadn’t, he was so focused on getting through the list.

“Nanny?” He looked up at her blankly. “What is this? Nanny!” He spat out the word and tossed the legal pad onto the coffee table, running his hands through his hair.

“Tracy. Surely we’re not having a child to have him raised by some bloody illiterate Sri Lankan. Or did you have in mind a nice lady from the backwaters of Kerala?” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Actually,” Tracy ventured meekly, trying to lighten the mood, “The general consensus among the Boobs is that Filipinos are the best…”

“Abso-bloody-lutely out of the question!” Nigel snapped standing up so suddenly that Tracy flinched. He was pacing, now, a ball of furious energy.

“Nigel,” she began, calmly, “When I threw out that pack of birth control pills – at your request, if your remember – I didn’t think I’d be signing on as a single parent.”

“Oh for God’s sake –“

“Just let me finish, Nigel.” Tracy raised her voice. “The fact of the matter is, you are away more often than you’re here. I know that you are doing this, taking these promotions, working above and beyond the call of duty, for us. For our future. But Nigel, where do I fit into this picture? What about my future?” She pulled herself off the sofa and stood beside Nigel at the window. Their eyes met in their reflections.

Nigel’s voice was quieter when he spoke. “I thought that’s why you quit your job at the newspaper. To stay home and be a proper mum to our wee ones.”

“Yes, absolutely,” nodded Tracy. “But I didn’t realize that I’d be doing it 24/7 and pretty much solo.” As Nigel’s anger was dissipating, Tracy could feel her own rising.

Nigel snickered. “Come on darling. You’re exaggerating.”

“About which part? The 24/7 part or the solo part?” Tracy challenged.

Nigel looked abashed, as if he had suddenly realized how much he’d been away. “Look. I’ve read the books, love. Most babies are meant to sleep up to 16 hours a day.”

“Yes, sure. Most,” Tracy bluffed. She hadn’t cracked open a single parenting book. She’d started on What to Expect When You’re Expecting, but that was as far as she’d gotten. Like going into Babies Is Us, they terrified her. “That doesn’t mean ours will.”

“Tracy…” Nigel interrupted, but Tracy just continued. The levy had burst.

“Look Nigel,” she said, firmly, “the Boobs all have live-in nannies and they claim to be completely exhausted, nonetheless. And they aren’t trying to write a novel.”

Nigel just stared at her for a minute, his expression blank. When he spoke, his voice was low with controlled anger.

“Then you’ll just have to decide what is more important, raising your child or writing your novel, won’t you?” He turned away from her and started walking out of the room.

“Now wait a minute, Nigel,” Tracy said, following him. “Why is my job any less important than yours?”

Nigel spun on his heel to face her. “You quit your job, remember? And as for this novel, well I’ve seen hide nor hair of it, though God knows what you do while I’m away besides stuff yourself silly with cake,” he spat.

Tracy gasped, but Nigel wasn’t through.

“My job paid for this chesterfield, for your car, for your bloody prenatal appointments. My job puts a bloody roof over our heads and food in our bellies. That’s why it’s more important!”

As Nigel turned and strode angrily out of the room, Tracy suddenly felt exhausted and teary.

She slumped down on the sofa, tears running down her face as she listened to Nigel banging around in their bedroom. She knew she should go to him, but she just didn’t have the energy, even when she heard the wheels of his carry-on rolling down the hall and the gentle thud as he closed the door of their apartment behind him.

Fourteen hours and twenty-three minutes had passed and she had yet to hear from him. She had gone from despair to anger and back again multiple times and now she just wanted to hear his voice. But there was no way she was going to call him first.

“Tracy. Tracy!”

Tracy glanced up to see Julie, her prenatal yoga instructor standing next to her, a concerned expression on her face.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Ha ha. Yes, of course,” Tracy answered.

“Um. Well, we’re all resting in child’s pose now,” Julie said, kindly.

Tracy looked around her. All her classmates, in various stages of pregnancy, were resting on their knees, foreheads on the floor, curving over their bellies. Tracy was still in warrior pose.

“Ha ha. Right,” She collapsed down into child’s pose. Her legs were shaking with exertion. “Pregnancy brain,” she explained, her voice muffled.

The other moms-to-be laughed sympathetically.

“Feeeel the energy moving through your belly, wrapping your baby in a cuddly blanket of love,” Julie began, leading them through a guided relaxation. Tracy tried to visualize this, but an image of Maxine, eyebrows arched in disbelief popped into her head instead.

Tracy stifled a giggle and felt a sudden pang. She missed Max and Caroline. And Nigel. She really, really missed Nigel.

4.2 Closet Confidence

Max leaned back against the cool, smooth leather of the limo, idly watching the red-tiled roof of one London suburb or another slip into the distance. London. With its beautiful old architecture, free museums and shopping to die for, it was one of her favorite cities. Max had spent quite a few a long weekends here since moving to Dubai, sometimes for business but more often for pleasure. This trip, however, would be something altogether different.

Thurston had flown in a few days earlier, leaving all his projects in the hands of his competent second in command and his irritatingly beautiful personal assistant. Like Max, Thurston was something of a control freak, so she knew that it was serious, though Thurston had been his usual stoic self, joking that his mother probably needed someone to hold her hand while one of her Corgis had its appendix out.

He had called her up the night before last.

“Darling, I know this is terribly short notice,” he said, “but do you think you could manage to fly out to London this weekend? I’ve gone ahead and booked you a ticket on the 7am BA flight into Heathrow.”

“Has something happened that I should know about, Thurston?” Max asked.

Myriad possibilities ran through her mind, none of them good. He’d run into one of her recent exes, and her name had come up.  He’d decided to take over the family business and was relocating to England. His mother had…well, it was clear that she wasn’t thrilled with having Maxine make a place for herself on their family tree. Max’s instincts told her she had homed in on the correct fly in this particular ointment.

“Is it your mother?” she asked, filling her voice with concern.

“It’s absolutely nothing to fret about, dear,” Thurston soothed, deflecting the question. “At any rate, unless there’s been a rapid bit of climate change over the past week, Dubai is a humid hellhole. It would do you good to have a breath of fresh London air.”

Maxine had laughed. Cooler it might be, but fresh? They didn’t call it the Big Smoke for nothing. She hadn’t pressed him further, though, and had agreed to shift her obligations around to spend some time in England. She figured she’d stand a better chance of thwarting Lady Wintergreen’s offensive if she had her at close range. Besides, Dubai was a sweaty, sticky, 110 degree hellhole. Max swore that the population dropped by half over the summer, as anyone who could escaped to cooler climes.

Now, on her way to meet Thurston at Claridge’s for a romantic evening before joining his family at their place on Hampstead Heath, Maxine didn’t feel quite so confident.

Lady Wintergreen wouldn’t be easy to handle. It was obvious that Thurston and Minty treated her with kid gloves, more like an invalid child than the family matriarch. She couldn’t be alienated or humiliated, or Max would look like the big, bad interloper.

Max’s Blackberry pinged, signaling an incoming email. As she read Caroline’s funny, breezy message, she felt a slew of conflicting emotions. Caro sounded happy and in love. The last thing Max wanted to do was be the one to destroy that, particularly since her role in Caro’s impending unhappiness was such a personal one. But she had to be told that her perfect fairy tale prince had quite a few warts, probably of the genital variety.

Maxine thought back to the night of the engagement party at Caroline’s villa. While Caroline and Louay had gone upstairs to pack, Max had dragged Tracy into the tiny 4 foot by 4 foot storage closet under the stairs. She and Tracy stood less than a foot apart, surrounded by towers of cardboard boxes, sports equipment, discarded furniture and cleaning supplies.

“Max! What’s going on?” a bewildered Tracy had asked, flicking the fringe from a mop off her shoulder. “You really need to lay off the booze. It makes you act kind of crazy.”

“Ta-Ta, I haven’t had more than a sip of that cloyingly sweet concoction of Mimi’s. Since when did something with more liquid sugar than an IV drip get to be called a Martini? Really!”

“Then what is it?” Tracy implore., “Tell me so we can get out of here. It smells like rats.”

Maxine sniffed the pungent, close air. Tracy was right. She grabbed her confused friend’s hands and took a deep breath, uncertain of where to begin.

“Ta-Ta, we have to stop Caroline from marrying Louay,” she blurted.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Tracy snapped, pulling her hands out of Max’s grip and crossing her arms over her ample belly. “I thought you guys had made up. I do not want to get in the middle of this! Caroline’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions. I know this has all happened really fast, but…”

Max clapped a hand over Tracy’s mouth in frustration. Tracy’s eyes widened. “Would you just be quiet and listen for a minute?” Max hissed. Tracy nodded her head and Max removed her hand. “Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to man-handle you, but this is difficult enough for me as it is.”

Tracy just stared at her, brown eyes hard.

Max took a deep breath. “Okay, here it is. Louay is a player, and he is playing Caro, big time.”

Tracy opened her mouth to speak, but Max held up a hand to stop her.

“Wait. I have proof. I caught Queen Rania the Evil Receptionist having a very flirtatious conversation with him. Of course, it was in Arabic, so I don’t know exactly what they were saying, but it was full of habibi’s and saucy giggles. And I happened to get my hands on a note she took during that conversation. They made plans to meet at a bar.”

Tracy’s stony gaze hadn’t changed. “Are you finished?” she asked. Max nodded.

“Did you see how happy Caroline was out there?” Tracy pointed at the closet door, her voice low but full of emotion. “She is clearly smitten with the guy. And did you forget that she’s pregnant and has wanted to be a mother like, forever? She would not give up that baby, no matter what you told her. And I doubt she would give up Louay, either. The only thing she might give up would be you, Max. I hardly call a sort-of overheard conversation and some scribbles on a piece of paper proof of infidelity. For all we know, Rania was actually doing her job and setting up Louay with a client.” Max had never seen Tracy so angry. “What is this really about?”

Max lowered her eyes to the floor and fiddled with a piece of ribbon sticking out of one of the cardboard boxes. Still looking at the floor she quietly said, “I slept with Louay.”

Tracy took a step back, steadying herself against the sliver of wall that wasn’t hidden behind piles of junk. “You what?” she gasped.

“I had absolutely no idea that he was seeing Caro,” she reassured Tracy. “And you can bet that Mr. Charming didn’t tell me about her.” She gave a mirthless chuckle.

Tracy just stared at her, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

“Well? Now do you believe me?” Max asked, angrily. “And would you stop looking at me like that?”

“But what about Thurston?” Tracy managed to whisper, “You’re engaged, for God’s sake.”

“It was the before the engagement, obviously,” Maxine answered, waving her hand as if shooing away a fly, knocking over a precariously balanced cardboard box with her elbow.  The two women jumped back as it crashed to the floor, spilling open to reveal a tangle of lingerie.

“I wonder whose that is?” Tracy asked as Max bent down to stuff it back in the box.

“I’m guessing Valerie,” Max said holding up a powder-blue lacy thong and stretching out the waistband. “It’s big enough to fit a baby hippo.”

Tracy laughed, despite herself. As Max stood up, Tracy grabbed her in a hug. “Oh, Max,” she said holding her at arm’s length and looking at her friend’s guilty expression. “You need help, honey.”

“Well, maybe I did. But I don’t anymore. I’m starting a new chapter in the book of Maxine White.”

Tracy looked unconvinced.

“But you know who really needs help? Like, right now? The woman who is about to get on a plane and marry that Lebanese slut.” Max shook her fist.

Tracy raised her hand to her mouth and gasped, “Caroline!”

They had raced out the door and down the driveway, but they had been too late.

And now Caroline was married to that Lebanese slut. Max knew that she would have to tell Caroline about her affair with Louay in person. She couldn’t email or call with that kind of devastating news. It would have to wait until Caroline returned to Dubai in August.

That will give me plenty of time to think of the nicest way to tell my best friend that I slept with her husband, thought Max.

 

4.1 The Best Laid Plans

July

Hi guys,

Sorry for the group email, but figured I’d be telling you both the same things, so why not kill two birds with one stone?

Louay flies into Toronto in a few days. Only staying for a week, so will have to run the gauntlet of my wonderful (if slightly crazy) relatives at warp speed. In the meantime, mum and I are trying to pull together a little reception for the folks here. You can’t imagine how seriously displeased she was that I, her only daughter, eloped. Had to throw her a bone!

Also, she’s not thrilled about the getting-pregnant-before-marriage thing but relieved I’m not showing yet, as I’ll be able to fit into her wedding dress. Can you believe she said my Roland Mouret looked like a used hankie?

Hers makes me look like very mature prom queen, but if it will make her happy, whatever? Right? After all, I’m doing this whole reception for her. I’m already married! Have to keep pinching myself.

BTW Seychelles were amazing! Beautiful, romantic, well what I saw of them anyway. Practically spent the whole time in bed. Am totally jonesing for Louay, but don’t know how hot and heavy things will get on the family room sofa-bed with my parents right next door.

 

Hope your reception-planning is going smoother than mine, Max. So far, pimply teen cousin Shane is the best we can do for a D.J. Pray he’s gotten over his Linkin Park obsession, or things could get ugly!

Hope you and babe are growing according to the book, Tracy. Still can’t really believe there’s a tiny, new person living in my belly. Haven’t felt any different except for bout of nausea last night, thoughsuspect that was due to repulsive Vomit Casserole (official name: 10 Minute Tofu Honolulu) was forced to choke down for dinner.

Miss our happy hours, brunches and daily texts.

Write soon!

XO Caroline

 

Caroline clicked send and leaned back in the faded plaid computer chair. Though her parents had upgraded the computer several times since their first Commodore 64, they had neglected to do the same with the chair.  In fact, very little had changed in the entire house since she was a teenager. It was somehow comforting to know that, no matter what else happened, the cheesy watercolor print of the schooner would still be hanging above the desk.

Caroline tried to ignore the twinge of guilt tickling her conscience. She hadn’t been entire truthful with Max and Tracy in her email.

What she had seen of the Seychelles had been beautiful, all unspoiled white sand and azure sea. And the ceremony itself had been incredibly romantic. She had managed to subdue her wild frizz into beachy waves and the Roland Mouret clung and flared in all the right places. Louay had looked more handsome than ever in an ivory linen suit and white shirt, open at the collar. Everything had been bridal brochure perfect. Until dinner.

She was taking her first bite of coconut flan and gazing into her new husband’s eyes as he described his brother-in-law, who frankly sounded like a bit of an idiot to Caroline, when she felt it. Achy. She tried to focus on Louay’s voice while discreetly massaging her neck and shoulders. She had wrapped her pashmina around her but was shivering nonetheless.

“Brr,” she said when she thought Louay must have finished his story. “Can you ask them to turn down the A/C? It is freezing in here.” Caroline tried to smile through her chattering teeth.

“You are joking?” Louay answered, looking mildly irritated. “Habibati, there is no A/C.” He pointed to the huge ceiling fans whirring above them and the wide open louvered doors that let in a view of the now darkened beach.

“Oh, right,” Caroline said, pulling her wrap tighter. “Then I think I’ve caught something.”

“Habibi, no! You can’t be sick on our honeymoon.” Louay frowned. He reached for her hand but withdrew it sharply. “You are cold. Yallah. I’ll take you to bed. Sleep. In the morning, you will be fine.”

But in the morning Caroline was not fine. If anything, she was worse. “Habibti, it is after ten o’clock.” Louay’s voice seemed to come from far away. “They have put breakfast on the patio. Come. Eat some fruits.” They were staying in small, thatched-roofed villas set on stilts over the sea. Inside, everything was dark wood and white linen. Outside, a shaded patio overlooked the clear water teeming with brightly colored tropical fish. Caroline knew the breakfast would be as exquisite as the setting, but she had no appetite. Her bones felt like lead. She opened her eyes a millimeter but the room was glaringly bright. She attempted to make her mouth work.

“Can’t,” she croaked. “You eat.”

She felt a cool hand on her head.

“You are burning!” Louay’s voice was worried. “I will ask for a doctor.”

“No…” Caroline protested weakly, but she heard Louay on phone to the front desk.

She must have drifted off to sleep, because the next thing she remembered was a small, dark Indian man with the softest little hands examining her.

“Hello. I am Dr. Gupta,” he said, wobbling his head and smiling, his teeth bright against his skin. He took her temperature, listened to her chest and looked in her ears, eyes and mouth, his expression impassive. Louay hovered nearby, fidgeting, looking out between the slats of the shutters.

When Dr. Gupta had finished poking and prodding Caroline, she retreated gratefully back under the cool, white duvet, peering out with slitted eyes.

“Your wife will be fine,” he said to Louay.

“Aham du lil’allah, thank God,” Louay answered, breaking into a wide grin.

“But!” Dr. Gupta raised one small, dark finger. “She needs rest. Complete bedrest. For 48 hours.”

“We are only staying for two more days!” Louay was almost whining.

“Sir, I know you want your wife to be well,” Dr. Gupta said, packing his instruments neatly away into his briefcase.

“Of course, but…” Louay hesitated.

“No buts. She must rest. And drink plenty of clear fluids. Call me if there is any womiting or diarrhea.”

She heard the door click closed behind him. Louay sighed dramatically and flopped down in a chair, then got up and started pacing. She knew she should be placating him, but she was just too tired. Maybe after a little nap, she thought, pulling a pillow over her head. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard Louay talking to someone on the phone and wondered who. Then darkness descended.

When she next awoke it was to a quiet, dark room. With great effort she sat up and switched on the lamp. Someone had placed a pitcher of water and a glass on her bedside table. It took several glasses to remove that dry, cottony feeling from her mouth and throat. Caroline looked at the small clock on the nightstand. It said nine-thirty-four. Where was Louay, she wondered as she sunk back under the covers. She opened her mouth to call him, but it was just too much effort. She drifted off to sleep again.

Caroline didn’t see Louay until seven o’clock the next evening. After napping on and off all afternoon, she had finally managed to muster the strength to have a shower. Wrapped in one of the resort’s plush terrycloth robes, her wet hair piled beneath a towel on top of her head, she opened the en suite door to find Louay lying on the bed, flipping through the channels on the TV. He was wearing his trunks and had left a trail of sandy white footprints across the bamboo floorboards. He smiled up at her, charmingly.

“Habibbati!” He propped himself up on one elbow. “You are finished at last. It’s halftime.” He gestured toward the flat-screen in the mahogany armoire. “I watched all the first half of the match while you are in the shower. I thought maybe you drowned.” His smile widened to indicate that he was joking. In one swift motion, he stood up, kissed her cheek and walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

“I’m feeling much better, thanks for asking,” she said, knowing full well he couldn’t hear her. She flopped down on the bed and pulled the duvet over her, willing herself not to fall back to sleep until Louay came out of the shower. Despite her best intentions, she found herself drifting into a light snooze, oblivious to the sound from the TV. When she woke up again, the TV was off, tucked back behind the ornately carved armoire doors. Louay was standing in front of the full-length mirror, buttoning up his shirt.

“Louay,” she croaked.

“Habibti, you are awake,” he said, surprised. He looked at her in the reflection in the mirror and winked. “I didn’t want to wake you, but you are feeling better? You are coming for dinner?”

“Yes, I’m feeling better,” she answered, clearing her throat. “But not better enough to go out. I thought maybe we could order room service.” She gave him her best bedroom eyes, though the last thing in the world she felt like was having sex, no matter how hot Louay looked in that shirt. Her body still ached and her head felt fuzzy.

Louay finished buttoning his shirt and slid onto the bed next to her, his face close to hers.

“Caroline,” he said, with wide, earnest eyes.  “Habibati, that sounds wonderful, but I have already promised my friends to have dinner with them.”

“Your friends?” Caroline asked, incredulous, “What friends?”

“Just some guys I met on the beach.” Louay pulled away from her, rolling onto his back. “I know you are sick, habibati, but you want me to just sit in the room while you are sleeping? No, you are not like that. You know I paid too much money for this trip.”

“Yes, okay,” Caroline said, guiltily thinking, that’s exactly what I want. “But you would rather spend the last evening of our honeymoon with ‘some guys you met on the beach’ instead of your wife?” Caroline fought the wave of sleepiness and apathy pulling her down.

“Of course not, habibati.” He ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. “But look at you. You would fall asleep on your plate.” He dropped, face first onto his pillow and let out a deep, rasping snore. Hearing her giggle, Louay peeked up at her. “Right?”

“You’re right,” she agreed, grudgingly. He kissed her on the forehead and sprang off the bed. Caroline snuggled deeper under the duvet and rolled onto her side to watch him, fixing his hair in front of the mirror.

“Besides, it would be rude. They are Lebanese, from Beirut, too. They are living and working in Dubai. Maybe I will see them again.”

Caroline yawned, feeling the delicious blanket of sleep slipping over her. “Mmm,” she muttered, speaking on autopilot, “What do they do?” Her eyes slid shut, but through the fog of her sleep she thought she heard Louay say, “They’re flight attendants.”

The next morning when Louay woke her, he was already dressed and the suitcases were packed.

“Habibti, hurry. Fix your hair and put on your clothes. The driver will take us to the airport in 30 minutes.” He hustled her into the bathroom, hanging her sundress on the back of the door and placing a cup of hot tea on the vanity beside the sink.

As the warm water flowed over her matted curls, Caroline began to really wake up for the first time in three days. All the aches and foggy-headedness were gone. She felt human, alive, ready to frolic on the beach and dance under the stars and make love to her husband. Husband. The word sent a thrill of adrenaline racing through her nervous system. So what if she had missed her honeymoon because of the flu? They had their whole lives to frolic and dance and make love.

Dressed in summery floral cotton, her wet hair gelled and twisted into a chignon, Caroline stepped out of the bathroom and wrapped her arms around Louay, planting a passionate kiss on his full lips. “Thank you, sweetie, for being so patient. I’m sorry I was sick and ruined our honeymoon. I hope you didn’t have a terrible time without me.”

Louay laughed, kissing her back. “Habibiti, it’s not your fault. Don’t worry. Mafi mishkala. Come. If we miss this plane, maybe you will miss your plane to Canada. Then maybe I will visit Trenstone alone.”

“Trenton,” she corrected, walking out the door with Louay, holding his hand. “Population fifteen hundred. Home of Canada’s oldest mechanized bull and birthplace of the fried bologna sandwich. Though Halifax has tried to claim that honour.”

“I will have to try this fried bologna,” Louay said, laughing. “Is it like spaghetti Bolognaise?”

“Hardly,” Caroline answered, enjoying the easy banter, the warm sunshine and the beautiful view of the Indian Ocean as they walked to the main building to meet the car that would drive them to the airport.

They were walking along a winding wooden boardwalk that wove past other thatch-roofed cabins, following the curve of the beach. The smooth white sand was littered with beach umbrellas and loungers. A few couples and a family with twin toddler girls in frilly pink swimsuits splashed in the turquoise water. In the near distance three curvy tanned girls in bright floral bikinis and Jackie O sunglasses were stepping out onto the veranda of their cabin. As they got closer, an unwelcome memory popped into Caroline’s head.

“I must have been hallucinating or dreaming or something last night, but I swear I heard you say that the, um, guys you met on the beach were flight attendants.” Caroline laughed nervously. “Crazy, right?” She tightened her grip on Louay’s hand.

“Ha!Ha!Ha!” Louay laughed.

One of the bikinied girls spotted Louay and Caroline on the boardwalk and nudged her friends. As they passed, the girls waved and shouted “Bye-bye, Louay!” Louay waved back and yelled something in Arabic which made the girls collapse with laughter, but he kept walking. Caroline looked over her shoulder to see the girls giggling and talking excitedly.

Caroline stopped dead in her tracks, feeling her face turning crimson.

“Those are the guys you spent our honeymoon with?” she asked.

Louay grabbed her hand and yanked her closer to him. Wrapping his arm around her, he steered her down the boardwalk. A rosy flush had spread across his high cheekbones. Behind her, Caroline heard the girls shrieking with hilarity.

“Yallah!” he whispered through clenched teeth. “You are embarrassing me.”

The car ride to the airport and the two flights that took them back to Dubai had been unpleasant, to say the least. Caroline had attempted to maintain a frosty silence toward Louay, but neither frostiness nor silence had ever been her strong suit. Instead, she vacillated between raging outbursts and fierce grilling sessions. Of course, Louay had an answer for everything. For his part, he alternated between angry indignation and seductive sweet-talk, trying to soothe his unreasonably jealous new wife.

By the time they had taxied into Dubai International Airport, however, both had tearfully apologized. They left the airport holding hands, Caroline contrite and Louay consoling. When Louay had dropped her off at her villa to pack for her flight to Canada, he made the taxi driver wait for him while they said goodbye in the hallway. He kissed Caroline, slowly, slipping his hand up under her dress and running it down the bare skin of her back.

“We don’t tell anyone about this disaster of a wedding, hm?” he breathed into her ear.

Caroline nodded, lost in the sensation of his touch.

And then he was gone, leaving Caroline slumped against the door frame, emotionally exhausted, yet full of desire. As she trudged up the stairs of her empty villa her thoughts were of all of Louay. Just a few weeks, she had thought, I’ll be kissing those lips in just a few weeks.

And now it was just a few days. Two, actually, she realized, looking at the calendar above the computer.

“Caroline?” Caroline jumped out of the chair, startled.

“Yeah, Ma. What is it?”

Betty Mulligan poked her head around the door frame of the den. She wore her white-streaked auburn hair in a neat French twist, as always.

“Are you almost done on the computer, sweetie? Dinner’s ready,” she smiled.

“Yep, Ma. I’m coming.” Caroline stood up and stretched, following her mom through the family room to the stairs that led to the kitchen and dining room above. “What are we having? It smells great?” she lied. It actually smelled like feet. Her mother’s perky voice floated down the stairwell.

“Well, your Dad and I are having spaghetti and meatballs a la King, dear, but don’t worry, I whipped up a batch of tofu balls for you. Tofu balls a la King!”

3.6 Much Ado About a ‘Do

As Caroline opened the front door of the villa, she heard Mimi say, “Wait, Care. Close your eyes.”

Caroline did, dropping the heavy liquor store bags to the floor with a thud.

“Okay, you can look now.”

Caroline opened her eyes. Though their down-at-the heels villa was a far cry from Max and Tracy’s sleek new apartments, she had to admit Mimi had done wonders. The white throws that covered their stained sofas had been freshly laundered and bunches of white spider mums rested in blue glass bottles. Tea lights and fairy lights cast the room in a forgiving glow.

Caroline was impressed. “The place looks amazing, Mimi!”

“Yeah. Val and I did it all” The art teacher brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face as she stepped down off the chair. “Not bad for a couple hundred dirhams, eh?”

“Not bad at all,” Caroline agreed, picking up the heavy bags again. “You’re like a dollar-store Martha Stewart. I’m going to put the booze in the fridge.” She shuffled with the heavy bags toward the kitchen.

“Let me take care of that while you go and make yourself beautiful. It’s 6:30 now, and I know you could never be ready in a mere 30 minutes.” Mimi grabbed the bags from Caroline.

“I don’t believe Valkyrie is actually helping.”

“I delegated. She didn’t have a choice.”

“Just make sure she’s not in charge of the music.” Caroline laughed, walking slowly up the stair. “I don’t think I can handle Miley Cyrus’s greatest hits tonight.”

When Caroline emerged from her room an hour later, it was, thankfully, to the sounds of a gentle world beat compilation. She had heard the doorbell ring several times as she was getting ready, so she knew the guests had begun to arrive. Maybe Louay was even there. Caroline’s heartbeat quickened at the prospect.

She smoothed down the skirt of her fuchsia Club Monaco shift dress and started to descend the stairs. She had thought about wearing the frothy white maxi-dress she bought for the ceremony tomorrow, but changed her mind. What if somebody spilled their drink on it? She wouldn’t put it past Valerie to suddenly come over all clumsy. On a whim, she had decided to leave her hair curly. Louay had never seen it au naturel.

“Hey there she is,” Lionel called, spotting her. She waved to the small crowd gathered in the living room. They seemed to be mostly male teachers from school, who along with Shebir and Roy, were stationed around the makeshift buffet table. The assortment of pastries, dips and flat breads Mimi had ordered from the Lebanese restaurant down the street were quickly disappearing.

“Well, well.” Lionel, met her at the foot of the stairs, Corona in hand. “The bride is wearing is wearing hot pink! Does that mean what I think it does?”

“If I know how your mind functions, Li,” Caroline said sweetly, “probably not.”

“Come here, you,” Lionel growled, grabbing her hand and pulling her close to him. “I have to congratulate you properly.”

Caroline laughed and stretched her arm out straight, keeping Lionel at arms length. She held out her other hand and sang, in a breathy voice, “A kiss on the hand may be quite continental…”

Lionel obliged. “I know, I know, but diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” He examined her hand. “So, where’s yours?”

Caroline lifted her head in a haughty gesture. “Wedding rings are enough. Louay and I don’t need the bourgeois symbol of female oppression of an engagement ring to sanctify our love.”

“Mm hmmm…” Lionel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. She knew her cheeks were as rosy as her dress. “Mr. GQ doesn’t have it where it counts, huh?” Lionel laughed. “In the wallet, I mean.”

Caroline wrenched her hand out of his grip. “He maxed out his credit card paying for the wedding in the Seychelles, never mind the airfare to Canada.”

“Easy, Red,” Lionel soothed, “I’m just teasing.”

“I know, Li,” Caroline said, steering herself around him.

“By the way, I love the hair,” Lionel called after her as she walked toward the kitchen, “Very porn star.”

Caroline made a face at him over her shoulder.

“Classy porn,” he corrected. “Art porn!”

Caroline shook her head as she sidled up to Mimi who was playing bartender behind the stained marbled island where the three teachers usually had breakfast.

“Did you hear that?” she asked. Mimi added a couple of ice cubes to the Tupperware container she was using as a cocktail shaker and nodded.

“That’s our Lionel. Smooth.”

“Hey, you’re looking hot!” Caroline said to Mimi as she strained the concoction into their one proper martini glass and popped a peeled litchi into it. Mimi was barefoot and wearing black, as usual, but it was in the form of a knee-length strapless dress that clung to the curves of her petite frame. Her trademark glasses were missing, and her thick dark mane spilled down over her shoulders.

Mimi handed the glass to Caroline, “One non-alcoholic litchi martini. You’re looking rather ravishing yourself.”

“Mmm.” Caroline sipped her drink and peered over Mimi’s shoulder, trying to see out the window into the garden, but all she saw was her own reflection. Hmpf! Art porn star, she thought. “Is Louay here? Or Max or Tracy?”

Mimi nodded, splashing vodka into the Tupperware container.  “I haven’t seen Tracy or Max, but Louay’s out in the garden. Just look for the crowd of women.

“Right!” Caroline laughed as she slid open the patio doors and stepped outside. Caroline could see a cluster of people gathered underneath a Christmas-light bedecked palm tree. Peels of high-pitched female laughter rippled through the sultry air.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, walking toward the crowd.

“Oh, Caroline, hi!” Valerie said brightly. “We were just talking about you.” She was standing beside Louay, who was completely encircled by a ring of women.

“Ah, here is my lovely bride.” Louay lazily pushed himself away from the palm tree tree. “I was telling your friends how I will probably fall asleep waiting for you on our wedding day.”

“Carrie isn’t known for her promptness,” Valerie piped in, fluttering her false lashes in Louay’s direction, her mint green eye-shadow the exact shade of her dress. “Why, if it wasn’t for me banging on her door every morning, Dubai International would be without a head teacher.”

“And I am so grateful to you for it.” Caroline cast an icy smile at Valerie over Louay’s shoulder as he wrapped her in a warm embrace. Valerie sneered back, the envy plain on her face.

“Oh, Val, I think Roy was looking for you. You know, your fiancé? He’s in the living room, near the buffet. He really does like his cheese manakheesh, doesn’t he?” Caroline said referring to the rich Arabic pastry that Roy was scoffing.

With a withering glance, Valerie stomped past in the direction of the villa.

“Great decorating job, by the way, Val,” Caroline called after her, savouring the thought that after tonight she would never see Valerie again. By the time Caroline got back from the Seychelles, she would be in Texas, starting her new life with her Pillsbury Doughboy Prince.

Louay held Caroline at arms length, looking at her with concern. “What did you do to your hair?” he asked.

“Uh, nothing actually,” she answered. “This is how it is naturally. Why? Don’t you like it?”

“No,” Louay said, with characteristic Lebanese bluntness. “It’s very big. Too…fuzzy.” The women near enough to hear tittered.

“I just thought, since we’d be on the beach for the wedding, the humidity…” she ran a hand over her hair, pressing it down.

“No, problem,” Louay grinned at her. “You will have time to fix it before the wedding. We will have pictures, no? You want to look nice, not like…” Louay puffed out his cheeks and held his hands out from his head. The other women giggled. Caroline cheeks burned.

“And you will change from this dress, yes?” he continued.

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Caroline muttered.

“Louay, my man.” Lionel came up behind them suddenly and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “That’s the way. You rope in the ladies, and Lionel will close the deal. We’ll make a great team.”  Louay laughed, his teeth a flash of white.

“Hey, Red,” Lionel said to Caroline. “I think some of your friends are looking for you. A hot Naomi Campbell type with a buzz-cut and a cute pregnant chick?”

“Oh, thanks,” Caroline started toward the patio doors, leaving Louay behind.

Caroline pushed open the patio door. Deep ujai breath, she said to herself, echoing the words of her yoga instructor. Inhale. Hmmm. Exhale. Haaaa.

She knew Louay was not trying to be hurtful. He just wasn’t used to the Canadian way of pussyfooting around the truth. He called it like he saw it, and she should be grateful that he was honest.

Hearing Maxine’s distinctive laugh coming from the living room, she put on her brightest smile and walked through the kitchen to greet her friends.

“Mimi, darling,” Max was saying, “What a cute little dress!” Mimi wore a distinctly nonplussed expression. “Cute” and “little” were to Mimi what “Carrie” was to Caroline. Hovering around 5 feet tall, Mimi was extremely sensitive about her diminutive stature.

“Hi, ladies!” Caroline said, inserting herself between Mimi and Max before Mimi could respond with a sarcastic comment.

“Caro! You look fierce, darling. So eighties revival. Chaka Khan meets Agnes Deyn,” Max gushed, air kissing her. “You two remember each other, of course,” she continued, reaching for Thurston’s arm.

“How could I forget?” Thurston smiled, pulling Caroline close for a kiss on the cheek. “Congratulations, my dear,” he said.

“Oh! Yes, congratulations!” Tracy nudged Thurston aside and grabbed Caroline in a hug as tight as her belly would allow. “I am so happy for you, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Tracy,” she said. “Me, too.” And at that moment, her best friends beside her, she really felt it. She, Caroline Mulligan, who hadn’t had a relationship that lasted longer than a few months since college, was getting married. And having a baby, she reminded herself, as she looked at Tracy, running an hand over her own stomach.

“Darling, what is that you’re drinking?” Max asked.

“Oh,” Caroline looked down at her nearly empty glass. “Mimi makes the most amazing litchi martinis. This one’s a mocktail, of course.”

“Mimi,” Maxine said without looking at her, “I’ll have one of those. Fully loaded of course.” She turned to Thurston. “And one for my devastatingly handsome fiance?”

“Ahem.” Thurston took in Mimi’s dark expression. “I’m more of an ale man, myself. But let me help you, my dear.” Thurston extricated himself from Max and reached down to link a chivalrous arm through Mimi’s.

“Uh, sure,” Mimi chirped. She let herself be swept into the kitchen and out of firing range of Max.

“So,” Tracy said, reaching for Caroline’s hand, “Where is your fiancé?”

“Yes,” Max grabbed the other. “Where is this mystery man?” Caroline watched Max scanning the room for people of interest. Looking over Caroline’s shoulder, Max’s eyes suddenly brightened.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Tracy was saying, her voice filled with concern, “I mean, are you having any morning sickness?”

“No. Not yet,” Caroline answered, turning to see who Max was smiling at.

“I hope you don’t get it! I basically didn’t eat for a month. I guess in retrospect it’s a good thing. Imagine how big I’d be if I hadn’t had it.” Tracy laughed.

Caroline’s distracted chuckle came a beat too late. Max was looking at Louay, who was walking toward them. As if their recent exchange in the garden had never happened, a grin spread across Caroline’s face. He was just so damn good-looking.

“Louay!” Max called, waving and smiling brightly. “What on earth are you…” She stopped mid-sentence and looked at Caroline, the smile frozen on her face. “Louay,” she whispered. “Is he…are you…” Her eyes searched Caroline’s. Caroline nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

“Ah, here you are.” Louay put an arm around Caroline’s waist and pulled her close. Caroline melted into him, her earlier anger completely forgotten.

“Honey,” she looped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “I want you to meet my two absolute best friends in the world.”

“Girls, this is Louay,” her voice swelled with pride and giddiness, “my soon-to-be-husband.”

Louay flashed his pearly grin at Tracy and Max. “Insha’ allah. God willing,” he said.

“Um, of course you know Max,” Caroline continued, a bit nervously, putting her hand on Max’s crossed arms. Caroline had contemplated telling Max about Louay earlier, but she was worried Max might be a bit uncomfortable with her best friend dating one of her so-called team. She had wanted to be sure that it was the real deal, first.

Max wore an inscrutable expression, but Louay seemed unfazed. He had agreed with Caroline not to tell Max about their relationship but didn’t seem the least bit ruffled now. He winked at Max.

“Of course, Boss,” he said, putting his hands on her crossed arms and leaning in to kiss her cheeks. Max took a step back and held out her hand for him to shake, instead. She gave him a tight smile.

“Congratulations, Louay,” she said in the same chilly voice she used to address customer service representatives who had really messed up. “I should have put two and two together.”

“And this is Tracy.”

“Wonderful to meet you.” He bent down to kiss her cheeks and Tracy giggled. Caroline had never heard Tracy giggle.

“Oh, it’s wonderful to meet you too, at last.” Tracy gushed. “Caroline has been so secretive about you.”

“She certainly has,” Maxine said, silkily. The icy smile hadn’t left her lips.

Louay laughed and wrapped his arms around Caroline.

“Well, we have been busy,” she said, biting her bottom lip.

“Yes, indeed.” Max’s voice was flat, the humorless smile in place. What was up with that, Caroline wondered.

“Oh, well, I guess you would be!” Tracy laughed, “When I first met Nigel, we barely came up for air.”

“I remember!” Caroline exclaimed. “It was like you had disappeared off the face of the earth. Max and I were ready to file a missing persons report with the police.”

“Mm,” Max’s mouth curled up at the corners slightly. “Oh, speaking of remembering things, I’m going to be terribly gauche and talk shop. I don’t want to bore the rest of you, so I’ll just steal your groom for a moment.” She put her hand lightly on Louay’s arm and stepped between him and Caroline. “You don’t mind, do you Caro? I’ve just remembered,” she emphasized the word, “something rather important.”

Louay’s smile wavered for a minute, then returned. “Of course.” He looked at his watch. “But our taxi is waiting. I was just coming to tell you, habibati.” He slipped out of Max’s reach and grabbed Caroline’s hand. “We don’t want to miss our flight.”

“Ah! The taxi’s here already?” Caroline panicked. “I haven’t finished packing.” The slightest frown of annoyance flickered over his face then disappeared so quickly Caroline wasn’t sure she had seen it.

“You have your dress, your bikini, what else you need, hm?” He smiled suggestively, running a finger under the strap of her dress. Caroline beamed with pleasure.

“Yallah, I’ll help you,” he said, leading her upstairs. He paused halfway up and glanced down at Max. “You call me on my mobile, okay, Boss?” He mimicked holding a phone to his ear and flashed her a wink and a grin. Caroline widened her eyes and gave her friend an innocent what-can-I-do shrug. Max returned the shrug, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Too much Botox? Caroline wondered.

After Caroline and Louay hurriedly stuffed a few things into her silver hardback, she followed Louay down the stairs to the living room, carrying her wedding dress like a piece of rare art. Someone had called all the guests in for a final farewell to the soon-to-be-newlyweds. Caroline stood on the next to last step, her hands on Louay’s shoulders and scanned the crowd, looking for her two best friends.

Just then Lionel caught sight of her and, leaving the slender Asian girl he had been chatting up, pushed his way to the stairs. He gave Louay a playful punch on the shoulder and insinuated himself between the two of them.

Lionel put his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. “Tweeee-weeet!” All conversation stopped.

“Alright boys and girls, now that I have your attention,” Lionel, looping an arm around Caroline’s waist and giving her a surreptitious squeeze. “I propose a toast to Louay the Model and our just-looks-like-one head teacher Caroline Mulligan, alias Red.”

He waited for the applause to dissipate. Caroline looked over at Louay and raised her eyebrows. He smiled back at her, but she saw him nudge Lionel and whisper something to him.

“Okay, okay, man,” Lionel said, then addressed his audience. “ It seems Louay is very eager to claim his new bride – not that I blamehim – so I’ll make this a quick one.”

He raised his plastic cup of beer. Caroline looked out at the crowd of friends and colleagues and saw a range of emotions on their faces – wistfulness, envy, curiosity, nostalgia – and remembered the countless engagement parties and baby showers and weddings she’d attended in the past five years. Now, at last, it’s my turn, she thought.

“To the beautiful couple!” Lionel shouted. “May their marriage be as good as they look!” Lionel drained his beer as the crowd whistled and cheered. Louay gently pulled a reluctant Caroline down the stairs. It was her moment of glory and she wanted to savor it.

“Thank you for coming, everyone!” she yelled, smiling so hard she felt her cheeks would break. She waved and grabbed hands, like J. Lo on the red carpet, as Louay pulled her toward the open door. This is really happening, she thought. But she felt a little niggling something as she reached Mimi and Thurston at the door and neither Max nor Tracy had appeared.

Mimi grabbed Caroline in a quick hug, her thin but surprisingly strong arms wrapping around Caroline’s rib cage. She pulled back, still holding on to Caroline, and said, “You go, girl,” in a voice cracking with emotion.

“Here.” She thrust an envelope into Caroline’s hand and retreated behind Thurston to wipe her eyes. “We didn’t have time to buy a gift, but we did stick something in the card. Maybe this will pay for, like, a sleeve of your dress or something.”

“Yes, dear, you go,” Thurston said, deadpan, holding out two more thick, creamy envelopes. “From Tracy and Nigel and Maxine and myself. You really didn’t leave us any other option but to give you cold, hard cash. Not exactly heirloom material, I’m afraid.”

“I know,” Caroline apologized, casting one last glance into the villa. “Where are…”

“Caroline!” Louay shouted. He had taken their luggage to the taxi and was standing beside it, gesturing impatiently.

“I haven’t the faintest idea where Maxine and Tracy have got to,” Thurston answered, anticipating her question. He looked at her with sympathetic eyes. She smiled and shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Bye!” she shouted a final farewell to the crowd in the living room and rushed to the car, feeling the tiniest chink of disappointment in her moment of happiness that her best friends weren’t there to see her off.

Just as they were about to pull out into traffic, Caroline looked out the window to see Max sprinting toward the car with Tracy holding her belly and puffing behind her. Warmth flooded through Caroline’s chest as she watched her friends draw closer. She rolled down the window, letting the humid night air in, and yelled, “I love you guys! Bye!”, but the car was already moving into the stream of traffic. Caroline twisted around and looked out the back window, waving at her friends who had stopped at the curb, shoulders slumped in defeat.

She quickly rummaged around in her purse for her mobile, and finding it, flipped it open. The screen was blank. “Ah! My battery’s dead! Louay, can I use yours to call Max?” she asked.

Just then the distinctive crooning of the Egyptian pop star Amer Diab erupted through the confined space of the cab. It was Louay’s phone. Louay took one look at the caller ID on his phone and rejected the call, his face impassive.

“Who was that?” Caroline asked, curious.

“No one, habibati.” He reached for her hand. “Just this, what do you call them? Telephone salesmen?”

“Telemarketers?” Caroline offered.

“Yes. This telemarketer got my number somehow. He is calling me one hundred times everyday.” He handed the phone to Caroline.  “I hope you know her number.”

“Louay!” Caroline laughed, unconvinced, “She’s your boss. You must have it in your address book!”

“Only the office number, habibati,” he said, apologetically.

Caroline scrolled through the names in his address book, but they were all in Arabic. She slumped back against the seat, frustrated but impotent. Louay nuzzled her neck, reaching for the useless phone in her hand. She held it tighter, not ready to give up.

“Habibatii,” he whispered, his voice seductive. “You will talk to them soon. This. Now. This is about us.” He was drawing feather-light circles on her palm with his finger. Caroline shivered as he traced a line from her hand, up her bare arm to her shoulder, neck and jaw. The phone dropped from her hand, forgotten.

3.5 Keep the Mimosas Coming

Maxine walked into Yolanda and made a beeline for the table in the far right corner of the room. She could see Caroline’s auburn head bent over her phone, texting furiously. Probably the new boyfriend, she thought.

Though Max always looked forward to their monthly brunch date, she had to admit she was feeling the tiniest bit nervous about this one. Caroline had called her the day after their monumental fight at the Noodle Factory last month. Both had apologized for the hurtful things they had said to each other, and both accepted each others apologies with grace, but by unspoken agreement they hadn’t touched on the things they had accused each other of: Max’s infidelity and Caroline’s serial monogamy. The wounds were still too raw.

Since then, they’d both been so busy. They had texted back and forth about superficial things, of course, but they hadn’t really talked or seen each other since. Max had been counting on Tracy being there to smooth things over between Caroline and herself, so when she got the text from Tracy saying she couldn’t make it, she almost canceled, too. But she had a feeling that if she did, she would be pounding the last nail in the coffin of her friendship with Caroline.

Max took a deep breath as she approached the white linen-covered table and pulled out a chair opposite Caroline.

“Hello, darling,” she said, noticing that Caroline was wearing her hair curly for once. Full, bouncy russet curls cascaded down her back, like a heroine in a Pre-Raphaelite painting.

“Oh, God! Hi Max,” Caroline said, startled out of her texting daze. She stood up to kiss Max’s cheek.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, Caro,” Max said as they both sat down. “You really should think about wearing your hair like that more often. It’s simply stunning.”

“Oh, yeah.” Caroline pulled a face, self-consciously patting her hair. “I slept in this morning and it was desperate for a wash. I didn’t have time to fix it.”

“What’s to fix?” Max laughed, “I only wish my bad hair days looked as good.” She signaled a passing waiter. “Two mimosas, please.”

“Um, Max, you barely have any hair,” Caroline pointed out.

“That’s right, darling.” Max smoothed a hand over her cropped curls. “And you can imagine why. You think you’ve got volume issues? Hah! I could give Jimi Hendrix a run for his money.”

Caroline smiled, nodding gratefully as a waiter handed her a  fluted glass. An awkward silence descended on the table.

“You know Ta-Ta’s not coming, don’t you.”

“Mm hm.” Caroline took a sip of her drink. She put it down on the table, and gave Maxine a cautious glance. “I actually thought you might cancel, too.”

“Ha!” Max laughed, though it sounded tinny and false to her ears. “Well, darling,” she continued, dropping her gaze to the table, “it did cross my mind. I mean, you wouldn’t believe how incredibly busy we’ve been at the office. With Sophie out sick and that hideous Rania taking over, well, needless to say I’ve got my hands full. And the wedding. Of course Thurston’s absolutely no help in that department. Yes, dear, whatever you like dear, but will he even pick up the phone to make one call? I can barely get him to give me a list of people to invite. Don’t be surprised if you show up at the wedding and there are no guests on his side–.”

“Max, stop,” Caroline interrupted, laying a gentle hand on her friend’s.

Max raised her gaze from the tablecloth to meet Caroline’s eyes. They were full of compassion.

“We both said a lot of really harsh things to each other.” Caroline spoke softly, her hand still on Max’s. “And I know I said I was sorry, but I want to say it again, so that I can see that you honestly forgive me. I want to know that some silly fight is not going to destroy one of the most important friendships in my life.”

Looking into her friend’s eyes, Maxine could feel herself misting up. Not again, damn it, she thought. Since her meltdown in Boutique Chic last month, she had found herself close to tears for the most ridiculous reasons. Johnson & Johnson ads, for God’s sake.

“Max,” Caroline said, “I’m sorry.” She reached for her friend’s other hand.

“Me too,” sniffed Max. A tear spilled over the edge of her eye and ran silently down her cheek.

Caroline looked at her with horrified concern, leaning forward to get a better look.

“Oh, my God, Max!” she gasped. “Are you crying?”

“Don’t worry about it, darling.” Max tried to appear nonchalant, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. “It happens all the time now.”

“I have never once seen you cry. Not in the five years that I’ve known you.”

“Well darling, the ice queen has started to melt. Better grab a canoe because there’s a whole lot of water frozen in here and it’s going to come out.”

“This is good Max.” Caroline was enthusiastic.

Max looked skeptical.

“No, really. Tears are healing. Dealing with your emotions, your mistakes, your ghosts is healthy. Otherwise…you implode. And speaking of mistakes,” Caroline added, looking distinctly uneasy, “I thought long and hard about not saying anything, but I wouldn’t be a real friend if I didn’t ask.”

“Ask what?” Max narrowed her eyes. She could feel her emotional armor snapping back into place.

Caroline looked at her steadily. “Have you told Thurston about your, um, extra-curricular activities?”

“No,” Max said, breezily. “I did consider it,” she lied, “but really, what purpose would it serve but to unburden my own conscience? When you think about it, that’s utterly selfish. It would only hurt him. Besides, I’m not entirely sure he’s so innocent himself, and to be honest, I don’t want to know. The important thing is I’m not going to do it again. I wrapped up the little thing I had going on, and I’m finished. Khalas!” she said, dusting her hands off.

“And you’re still going ahead with the wedding.” It wasn’t a question.

“Absolutely!”

“When you’re not sure whether or not he’s being faithful?”

“We’ll deal with it if it comes up.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Caroline trailed off.

“I’m sure.” Max was emphatic. She smiled, cat-like, at her friend. “Now, have you put as much thought into your own issue as you have into mine?”

“Well, to be honest,” Caroline said, caught off guard, “I’ve been pretty busy too. End of the year, you know. Exams. Making sure all the teachers get their grades in on time. Planning my trip to Canada.”

“Mm hm,” Maxine nodded, smiling cynically, “and the new boyfriend.”

“And the new boyfriend,” Caroline continued, but I don’t think serial dating and commitment are going to be big issues for me anymore.” Caroline gave Maxine a smug grin.

“Oh, really. And why’s that?”

“Because,” said Caroline, pausing for effect, “I’m getting married.”

“You’re what?” Maxine exclaimed, nearly knocking her empty champagne flute off the table.

“Hi, guys, sorry I’m late! Did I miss anything juicy?”

Caroline and Max both looked up to see Tracy standing beside their table, her ample belly swathed in white cotton eyelet.

“Ha!” Maxine laughed ironically. “I’ll say.”

“Wow, Tracy.” Caroline stood up to give her friend a kiss. “What a nice surprise. I thought you were spending the weekend in bed with Nigel.”

“So did I,” Tracy said dryly, slumping down into her chair. She stopped a waitress who was passing their table. “I’ll have a mimosa, please.”

Caroline and Maxine exchanged glances. Tracy had sworn off alcohol since she had found out that she was pregnant.

“Yes, and one more for each of us,” Max added, gesturing to Caroline and herself. “We have to toast Caroline properly.”

“Ooh,” Tracy looked at Caroline, eyes bright. “That’s right! What’s the big news?”

Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but Maxine interrupted.

“She’s getting married!”

“What?” Tracy gasped, eyes and mouth wide open. “To who? Er, whom? When?”

“Tomorrow,” Caroline said, smiling smugly.

“Tomorrow?” Tracy and Max said simultaneously.

“But you just met this guy–”

“We don’t even know his name–”

“Are you insane–“

“You’ve only known him for a month –“ Tracy and Max fought to be heard over each other.

“Whoa!” Caroline nearly shouted, holding up both hands for quiet. “It has been nearly two months…”

“But—“ Max tried to interrupt.

“Shtt!” Caroline held up her hand again staring hard at Maxine.

“I know it is not a long time. But I have never felt like this about anyone before. I knew he was the one from the moment I laid eyes on him,” she said, dreamily. “He’s unbelievably gorgeous,” she continued holding up a hand and ticking off the points on her fingers, “a great dresser, funny, charming, and um, very inventive in bed. He treats me like a lady, opening doors for me and all that stuff. You know I’m a sucker for that. And he likes me. He likes me a lot. In fact,” Caroline smiled shyly down at the table, “he’s even kind of jealous, possessive.”

Maxine and Tracy exchanged concerned glances.

“And that’s a good thing?” Max said.

“Yes.” Caroline was firm. “Yes it is! Most of the guys I dated before, well, they didn’t really seem to care. It was like they had already made up their minds that I was a short term fling. Louay’s not like that.”

“Louay!” Tracy exclaimed. “At last, we have a name!”

“Yeah, Caro. How about a little more information, hm?” Max added, “Like what does he do. where did you meet him, where’s he from? I’m guessing Lebanon, from the name.”

Caroline nodded. “You’re right. But…Oh, thanks,” she smiled up at the waitress who had returned with their drinks. “But that’s all the information you’re going to get out of me until you meet him.”

“Caroline!”

“Caro!”

Tracy and Maxine both glared at their friend, ready to deliver a tirade, but Caroline just held up her hands again for silence. They complied, begrudgingly.

“We’re leaving for the Seychelles at midnight tonight.” Caroline smiled sliding the glossy wedding brochure across the table. Max and Tracy examined it with interest. “But we’re having a kind of engagement party at my place tonight, so you both can meet him before we officially tie the knot.”

“Oh, I’ll be there.” Tracy raised her glass.

Maxine frowned. “Thurston has actually agreed to have a look at the wedding venue with me tonight…” she sighed.

“Bring him!” Tracy and Caroline said together. Maxine looked uncertain.

“Please,” Caroline pleaded, looking into Max’s eyes. “I need you there. You’re my best friends.” Her warm gaze took in both women.

Max took a deep breath, her eyes glittering. “Yes! We’ll be there. Even if I have to tie Thurston up in the trunk.”

“Perfect!” Caroline beamed, raising her glass.

“To Caro and Louay,” Max said, consciously suppressing her reluctance. “May they have many happy years together.

“Here! Here!” chimed in Tracy. “And may Louay prove to be as compliant as he is gorgeous.”

“And as solvent as he is good in bed,” added Max, raising her glass with mock gravity.

“I’ll drink to that!” laughed Caroline. They all sipped their drinks. Then Caroline pushed hers across the table to Max. “Now, you’re going to have to finish this for me, because I’ve had my limit.”

Max and Tracy looked confused.

“You’re not driving,” Tracy said. Caroline didn’t have a car.

“Oh. My. God,” Max intoned, blanching to a washed-out beige. “You’re pregnant.”

“Mm hm.” Caroline smiled broadly.

“No!” said Tracy.

“Yes,” Caroline answered emanating guilty smugness.

“Well, that’s great! That’s amazing!” Tracy babbled. “We can be pregnancy buddies! You too can be a Boob. You have to use Dr. Nawallah, she’s just the best. And you can have my maternity clothes as I grow out of them…”

Maxine stared grimly, arms crossed. “Please tell me this is not why you’re getting married,” she interrupted, “because there are other ways, you know. I know a fabulous clinic in London. They could have you in and out in a few hours.”

“Max!” Tracy looked at her friend, shocked.

“Tracy,” Max explained, “I just don’t want her to jump into something because of a little mistake. If that’s the reason she’s marrying this guy after only knowing him a month…” Maxine trailed off.

“Almost two!” Caroline interjected.

“I married Nigel not that long after we met,” Tracy argued. “When it’s right, it’s right. You just know it.” She crossed her arms over her belly.

“Mm hm.” Max arched a brow, the faintest of smiles stretching her lips. “And how are things going with Nigel?”

A hot flush spread across Tracy’s cheeks.

“Guys, wait.” Caroline put a hand on each of her friends’ arms. “Tracy’s right. When he’s the one, you feel it. I know marriage takes effort, and you’re not always going to be 100% happy with your husband,” she looked sympathetically at Tracy, “but if you love each other enough, you’ll work it out.”

Tracy nodded her approval. Max looked thoughtful.

“Besides, Um Umar has given the marriage her stamp of approval.” Caroline looked at her friends earnestly.

“Um who?” Max asked. She and Tracy looked at each other, confused.

“Um Umar,” Caroline answered, exasperated, “Remember? The fortune teller? The one who told me there would be a marriage, a divorce, a death and a birth in my life all within the space of a year?”

Tracy sat in thoughtful silence. Max had her eyes closed and was rubbing her temples.

“Oh, God,” Max moaned. “You are not getting married and keeping this baby because of something a goddamned fortune teller told you.” She opened her eyes and looked at her friend, her expression pained. “Are you?”

“No, Max,” Caroline smiled, patting her friend’s arm, “Of course not. It’s just added confirmation.”

Tracy squeezed Caroline’s hand. “Congratulations, honey. This is all happening really fast, but when it’s right, it’s right. We are happy for you. Aren’t we, Max?

Max took a long look at her friend. Caroline was literally glowing. Max had never seen her looking so happy or sure of herself. Whoever this Louay was, he was definitely having a good effect on Caro. A real friend would give her blessings, Max thought.

“Caro, congratulations,” she said with real warmth, feeling her eyes mist up. “This guy is obviously making you happy. You look like you’ve had the mother of all chemical peels, you’re so damned radiant! If marrying him and having his baby is what you want to do, of course I’m behind you all the way.”

“Thanks, Max,” Caroline smiled, tearing up. She nudged Tracy. “Look at Max, Trace, those are real tears in her eyes!”

“Oh God, the two of you,” Tracy stood up to put her arms around her friends.

“Pathetic!” Max and Caroline said together.

“Absolutely. Now let’s go get some food!” Tracy said, “Or I’m going to start crying, too.”

3.4 Trouble at the OK Corral

Tracy looked at the clock on her cell phone again. 7:15. Nigel was fifteen minutes late. She reread the text he had sent at seven.

STUCK IN TRAFFIC

B W/ U SOON XOXO

This week wasn’t exactly turning out the way she had expected. She had been hoping for late, lazy lie-ins, the occasional lunch out and evenings curled up on the sofa watching movies or having romantic dinners a deux. After Nigel came home over an hour late on Monday night to a dried out, gummy lasagna that Tracy had spent all afternoon making, she realized that her vision of a second honeymoon at home was not going to be realized.

In fact, since that first marathon of lovemaking and talking on the night Nigel flew in from Sweden, there hadn’t been very much of either. When Nigel got home from the office at eight, he was wound up with the events of the day. He would either launch into a monologue about work, or collapse on the sofa, flipping between soccer matches and National Geographic while Tracy ordered take-out. After dinner in front of the TV, Nigel would shower and fall asleep in bed with a book on his chest.

On the plus side, he had taken an hour out of his day to meet her at the hospital for her appointment with the midwife today. As the midwife gently poked and prodded at her belly, they had listened to their baby’s rapid heartbeat on the Doppler monitor. Nigel had looked into her eyes and squeezed her hand.

“Wouldja listen to that? That’s our little man’s heart pumping a hundred to the dozen.” His eyes looked distinctly misty.

“Little man?” Tracy smiled, enjoying the moment of intimacy.

“Or little lady,” he corrected quickly. “You know I’m not bothered, as long as he or she can kick the football around with the old man every now and then.”

As Nigel was walking her to her car after the appointment, she had taken his arm, forcing him to slow his stride to match hers.

“Listen, Nigel, I know you’ve been really busy with work, so I haven’t wanted to bother you, but we need to talk. This little man or lady,” she’d said, putting his hand on her belly, “is going to be more than just a heartbeat in a few short months.”

“I know, pet.” He sighed. “I’ve been completely distracted by the giant kerfuffle at work. But I’ve booked us a table at Le Theatre,” he said, naming her favorite French restaurant, “and we’ll talk about it all tonight. No telly. And I promise to shut my gob about work. Now come on, let’s get you to the car. It can’t be good for the baby to be out in this insufferable heat.”

He had helped her into the little Nissan, saying, “I guess this car is one of the things we’ll have to talk about.” He patted the steering wheel of the two-seater. “Sorry, GTR, time to find you a new home. We can’t be stuffing junior into the boot, now can we?” He winked at Tracy and shut the door. As Tracy drove off to her meeting with the Boobs, she’d been optimistic. It was Thursday, practically the start of the weekend. Maybe she and Nigel would have their second honeymoon, albeit a very abbreviated one, after all.

“Madam, perhaps you would like a drink?” A tuxedoed waiter interrupted Tracy’s thoughts. Tracy looked up at his olive-skinned face. Egyptian, she thought, noting his 5 o’clock shadow, thick dark eyebrows and hair restrained with copious amounts of gel.

“Uh, yes, please,” she answered, thinking an enormous glass of Bordeaux sounded perfect. “I’ll have a Perrier please. And would you mind bringing some bread?” She ran a hand over her protruding belly. “We’re starving!”

“No problem, madam.” He bowed a little.

“Thank you,” she said. “Oh, by the way, where are you from?” It was a little game she liked to play in Dubai where at least 80% of the population was from somewhere else.

“Where do you think?” The waiter teased, playing along.

“Egypt?” she asked?

“Ack!” the waiter cried theatrically throwing his hands up in the air. “God forbid!” he joked. “I am from Morocco.”

“Oh, of course. That was my second guess.”

“Hiya. A Heineken for me, mate. Cheers.”

Tracy turned to see Nigel, red-faced and tousle-haired. As the waiter left to get their drinks, Nigel sat down across from her, running his hands through his hair, tousling it further. Tracy reached across the table and smoothed it down a bit, smiling.

“Hi, you.”

“Hi, yourself.” He grabbed her hand and held it between his. “Sorry I’m late, love. I had to take the jeep in to the garage, you remember. And the bleeding taxi driver had his head up his arse. Trying to take the Garhoud bridge on Thursday at rush hour, I ask you?”

“Tough day at the office, too?” she asked, sympathetically.

“Yeah,” he smiled ruefully. “It shows, does it?’

“Well, you’re having a beer.” Nigel hadn’t had so much of a sip of alcohol in her presence since her pregnancy had been confirmed.

Nigel hung his head and peered up at her from beneath his pale eyebrows. “You don’t mind, do you? Just the one?”

Tracy laughed. “No, I don’t mind. Have as many as you like. I’m driving, remember? But you have to give me a sip.”

“Alright,” he said, sternly, “but just a sip. We don’t want junior to be a pickled egg.”

“One sip,” she promised. She knew that a glass of wine or a pint of beer every now and then had little chance of harming the baby. But Nigel was insistent. It was an easy thing to do to please him, and besides, better safe than sorry, she reasoned. “Now tell me what happened at work to get you so riled up.”

“Oh, just general incompetence, stupidity and complete lack of common sense,” he said, matter-of-factly, though his cheeks were beginning to glow. He leaned across the table. “That fuckwit, Malek can’t manage to tie his own bloody shoes! What were they thinking, putting him in charge of the Dubai office?”

Tracy nodded sympathetically, but she could feel her thoughts starting to drift off. She wanted to support Nigel, but his daily rants about the people at the office were beginning to wear on her.

“And they’ve brought in this geezer from Wales of all places. I mean, do they even have a bloody airport in Wales?” Nigel continued, warming to his topic, “I swear…” He trailed off, looking at Tracy. Suddenly, he smacked the table with the flat of his hand. “No!”

Tracy jumped, startled out of her thoughts.

“Damn it! I promised you I wouldn’t talk about work tonight, and there I go again, blathering on about Malek and Llewelyn.”

Just then the waiter returned with their drinks, the bread basket and a pot of sweet Normandy butter.

“Thank you, Hameed.” Tracy read his name tag.

“What, are you on a first name basis with the help, now?” Nigel joked as the waiter left them. “I’m a few minutes late and you’re ready to replace me with the Egyptian bloke.”

“Moroccan, actually.” Tracy smiled, slathering a thick layer of butter onto a slice of baguette and taking a bite.

Nigel raised his eyebrows. “Ooh, you were getting cozy. Should I be packing my bags?”

Tracy laughed and reached across the table for Nigel’s beer, but he intercepted her hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed it, gazing into her eyes. She melted. Now this is more like the old Nigel, she thought.

“No more talk about work, I promise,” he said, softly. “Now tell me what it is you wanted to discuss.”

“It’s alright. You can tell me about work if you need to get it off your chest. After all, we’ve got all weekend to talk.

“Ah, yes, about that.” Nigel lowered his gaze guiltily.

“Oh, no.” Tracy snatched her hand away from him. “Nigel, you promised! Don’t tell me you’re going in to the office tomorrow.”

“Worse, I’m afraid.” He hung his head.

“What?” she said, exasperated. “What could be worse?”

“They need me back in Sweden. Tomorrow morning. They’ve completely bollocksed up, and I’ve got to sort it out.”

“But it’s the weekend…” she argued.

“Not in Sweden, love,” Nigel countered. Oh, right, Tracy thought. Unlike most of the rest of the world, the weekend in Dubai was Friday Saturday, not Saturday Sunday.

“Besides,” Nigel continued, “our offices in Sweden are open on Saturday.” He reached for her hand again, but she had her arms crossed. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes. “Look, pet. You know I don’t want to go. But somebody has got to sort out this bloody mess, and unfortunately, that somebody is me.”

“But why? Why does it have to be you?”

“Because that’s my job, pet.”

Tracy nodded, resigned.

“As you Americans say, ‘That’s why they pay me the big bucks’,” he said in a pathetic attempt at a Texas accent, trying to jolly Tracy out of her funk. She laughed, despite herself.

“We’ve got tonight, love,” he said, serious again. “Let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

Tracy nodded, smiling and blotting the corners of her eyes with her napkin.

Nigel clapped his hands together and rubbed them enthusiastically. “Good!” he said in his Texas twang. “Now let’s rustle up Ham-eed, ‘cause I fancy getting’ me a nice piece o’ rib eye.”

Tracy laughed. “An American would never say ‘fancy’,” she corrected.

“Wouldn’t he?” Nigel asked, eyes wide. He reached across the table for her hands again. This time she let him take them. “Well, m’ darlin’,” he laid on the John-Wayne-meets-Rhett-Butler accent thickly, “yer just gonna hafta school ol’ Nigel, ain’t ya?”

Tracy smiled, squeezing his hands firmly. “You betcha, podner. You betcha.”

3.3 The Icing on the Wedding Cake

“School’s out for sum-mer!” Mimi sang along with the jukebox in the corner, wrapping her thin arm around Caroline’s neck. “School’s out for-ever!” She took a long drink of her Amstel and shimmied off to dance with a few of the other young teachers who had gathered on the dance floor.

It was the last day of school for the year, and a group of the teachers from Dubai International had organized an impromptu farewell party, descending en masse to Pacolito’s, the closest thing Dubai had to a dive bar. The UAE was a Muslim country after all. It was Dubai law that no establishment outside of a hotel or private club could serve alcohol. Fortunately for Mimi and her crowd, there were enough low-rent hotels scattered throughout Bur Dubai to provide bars with a bit of grit. And cheap beer, of course.

Pacolito’s was the grittiest, a dark, smoky place, with only cursory attention given to décor. By day, it masqueraded as a Tex-Mex restaurant, serving up cheap and greasy tacos to businessmen and oil workers on leave from the rig. By night, it was a popular Filipino meet-market. Karaoke competitions were de rigeur. But now, at 3:30 in the afternoon, it was practically devoid of clientele, aside from Caroline’s coworkers and few tattooed, grizzled biker types at the bar, getting a head start on happy hour. Max and Tracy would die of laughter if they could see Caroline now, Jimmy Choos tucked protectively under her chair and off the vaguely sticky floor.

Caroline sat toying with her margarita glass and watching her colleagues blowing off steam, waiting for Louay. He was late. Again. But Caroline had lived in Dubai long enough to know that time was a flexible concept in the Arab world. It was nothing personal. Besides, everything else about Louay was perfect.

Aside from being jaw-droppingly gorgeous, he was everything that all the other schmucks she had dated in Dubai was not. He opened doors and pulled out chairs and was insulted when she even suggested paying for anything. He lavished her with compliments and affection and gentle teasing. Maybe he wasn’t what you’d call well-read. And he thought museums and the ballet were a snore. The important thing was, he was deeply into the one thing that mattered most to Caroline. Her.

She thought back to their first date, drinks that had led to dancing that had led to Caroline showing up for work the next day wearing the same dress she had left the house in the night before. Thank God she had thought to bring her cardigan to wear buttoned up over top, or she would have gotten some looks and perhaps a meeting with Ms. Whittington, the school’s director.

Even then, it would have been worth it. The date, like Louay, and like every date that followed it, had been perfect. Well, almost perfect. There was the tiny matter of the condom malfunction.

Lionel, resident playboy and sixth grade teacher, danced up to her, interrupting her reverie. He took a sip of her neon yellow drink, leering at her over the rim of the glass.

“Ack!” he spat, raising his bottle of Budweiser. “You should stick with the beer!” he shouted over the music, sitting down across from her. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you. You’re looking really good lately.”

“Lately?” She smiled, preparing herself for one of Lionel’s charm offensives.

“Well, of course you always look good,” he said, grinning seductively. “But you look extra-good. Glowy.”

“Glowy?” Caroline laughed, pleased despite herself. Li had attempted to seduce every female teacher at DIS, bar none. This was hardly his first try with Caroline, but she had never even been tempted, handsome as he was in his Collin Farrell way. Besides being a complete slut, he was two inches shorter than she was.

“Yeah,” Lionel said. “Lit from within. Are you in loooove?” He made a low growl.

“Actually, I am,” Caroline admitted, unable to stop her smile from widening.

“Really?” Lionel’s thick eyebrows rose. “Awesome!”

“Yeah, it is kind of awesome.” Caroline leaned toward him and whispered, “And I’ll let you in on a little secret, Li, if you promise not to tell anyone.”

Lionel made a zipping motion with his hand across his lips and leaned closer.

“I’m getting married,” she said.

“Get out!” Lionel breathed. “I thought you were going to finally admit your secret crush on me.”

Caroline laughed and swatted him playfully on the arm.

“So who is the lucky guy who managed to land Caroline Mulligan?” Lionel asked.

Caroline nodded her head in the direction of the finger-smudged glass door of the bar several feet behind Lionel.

“He is.”

Lionel looked over his shoulder. Louay was standing in the doorway, wearing crisp chinos and a pale pink button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His eyes were scanning the room for her. She waved, and a radiant smile lit up his face. Caroline noticed that most of the female teachers on the dance floor had stopped dancing and were looking at Louay and whispering to each other.

“Damn!” said Lionel, turning back to her. “Now, you know I’m not gay. But that guy is hot. What is he, a model or something?”

“Yep.”Caroline smiled, standing up to greet Louay. “Well, hello. You’re early, for you.”

“Hey, man…” Lionel stood up, hand extended for a shake.

Louay smiled tightly at Lionel then gripped her arm, pulling her to the back of the bar. His cheeks were flushed with anger. “Who is that?” he asked, still holding her arm. “And what is that?” He pointed at her margarita.

“Whoa, relax!” She said, her body tensing. She pulled her arm out of his grip.

“Don’t say ‘relax’ to me!” Louay raised his voice. “Did you invite me here to meet your boyfriend? Or did you think he would be gone before I came?”

Caroline felt her muscles unclench. Louay was jealous. She laughed, incredulous. “Lionel? Please. He’s just a coworker. You have nothing to worry about, trust me. And the drink? I’ve been working on it for an hour. I’ve had all of three sips.”

“But the way he was looking at you…” Louay said, glancing back at Lionel.

“He looks at every woman like that.” Caroline adjusted his collar and smoothed down his shirt over his shoulders. Such broad shoulders. She had a hard time being around him without touching him. And this jealousy. It was…endearing. “Even her.” She pointed to Joanne, one of the kindergarten teachers, who’d had one too many Budweisers and was doing a tipsy version of the twist. With her long gray braid and bifocals, she was approaching 60, Caroline guessed.

Louay laughed, his anger dissipating in an instant.

“That grandmother? Really?”

“Really,” Caroline confirmed. “And there are rumors that it wasn’t just looking. Now come on and meet our very own Tiger Woods.” Caroline turned, pulling Louay gently by the hand behind her.

“Wait.” He spun her around to face him. “I have something to show you.” Caroline noticed the thick, glossy envelopes in his hand for the first time. He handed them to her, a proud smile on his face.

Caroline tore her eyes away from his beautiful face with difficulty. Arabian Holidays was printed in bold red script on the outside. He was taking her away somewhere! Caroline was pleased and puzzled. He knew she was leaving for Canada next week for summer vacation. They had just secured a tourist visa and an airline ticket for him to come visit her a few weeks later. Caroline was desperate for her family to meet her fiance.

“Plane tickets?” she said, “But Louay…”

“Just open,” he interrupted.

“Okay,” Caroline said and did as instructed, a curious smile playing over her lips. Louay certainly was full of surprises.

Inside the envelopes were plane tickets to the Seychelles, hotel vouchers for a suite at the Orchid Spa and Resort and a brochure titled Start as You Mean to Go On: Wedding and Honeymoon Packages in the Romantic Seychelles Islands. Caroline looked up at Louay, eyes wide.

“Oh my God!” Caroline could not keep herself from squealing. She flung her arms around Louay, and he grabbed her around the waist and twirled her, laughing.

“But wait,” she said when he put her down, looking into his eyes. “When?”

“The flight is tomorrow, midnight. The wedding will be Saturday afternoon. A few days of honeymoon.” He ran his fingers lightly from her cheek along her jawbone and down her neck to her collarbone. She shivered. “Return to Dubai Tuesday, my wife.”

“But you haven’t even met my family yet,” she dithered, “or my friends.”

“No problem.” He kissed her hand gently. “We will have a party tomorrow night, before the flight.”

“But my family? Your family?”

“Hey,” Louay pulled back from her slightly, frowning, “I thought you would be happy. When I asked you before to marry me, you said yes. You changed your mind?”

“No. No! Of course I want to marry you, but this is all so fast…” she trailed off, looking at him pleadingly.

He placed a gentle hand on her belly and returned her gaze.

“But faster is better, no?”

“Oh, right.” She blushed. She had always pictured herself walking down the aisle in sleek slip dress. If she waited much longer, empire-waist would be her only option.

“Hey Caroline, aren’t you going to introduce us?” It was Mimi, leading the other teachers like the Pied Piper. Their curiosity had finally gotten the better of them.

Despite the fact that she had been seeing Louay for nearly two months, he hadn’t even met Mimi yet, let alone Max or Tracy. They had only gone out together a few times, spending virtually every evening that Louay didn’t have a shoot holed up in his room at The Governor’s House. The one time Louay had come to Caroline’s, Mimi had been on a camping trip in Oman. He had met Valerie and her ever-present fiance Roy, though. Valerie’s eyes had practically bulged out of her head, and she had simpered and fluttered her false eyelashes shamelessly.

Louay turned around to face the throng of teachers, smiling. He pulled Caroline in front of him and wrapped his arms around her waist possessively.

“Uh, Mimi, everybody, this is Louay, my fiance,” she said, unable to keep the pride out of her voice.

“Damn!” Caroline heard Mimi whisper, appreciatively. Valerie was sitting at a table with another kindergarten teacher, studiously ignoring the cluster around her house-mate.

“Hi,” Louay addressed the group. “I would like to stay and have a beer with you, but we have some important business, don’t we, habibti? The rings?”

“Uh, yeah.” She raised her voice so the whole bar could hear. “Party at my house tomorrow at seven! I’m getting married!”

A murmur of surprise ran through the crowd. Lionel stood up and started clapping. As the rest of the teachers followed suit, he put his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

One of the bikers at the bar rose unsteadily and shouted, “Way to go Red!” Valerie reluctantly got up and started clapping.

“Yallah, come on,”Louay whispered in her ear. He took her hand and pulled her gently toward the door.

“Don’t forget, seven o’clock!” Caroline called over her shoulder as Louay pushed open the door. “Ask Mimi or Val for directions!” She glanced back to see Valerie, arms folded over her frilly pastel blouse, pink mouth clamped in an unappealing grimace. And Caroline had thought she couldn’t be any happier. That look on Valkyrie’s face was the icing on the cake.

3.2 Bad Reception

“Yes, I’m calling to discuss the Wintergreen-White wedding,” Maxine said into the receiver. “Yes. I had my receptionist book the date and I’m calling to discuss the details. December 14^th. No, not Narula-Pradesh. Wintergreen-White. Narula-Pradesh has the 14^th? Are you sure? I see. Thank you.”

Max used all her self control not to slam down the phone. Rania, she thought, and clipped out of the office, past Sophie’s empty desk and down the hall to the lobby.

When Sophie had gone to the doctor’s for a routine pap smear and breast exam last month, they had discovered a pea-sized lump near her left armpit which, upon biopsy, had been found to be malignant. Though they had removed the lump immediately, her doctor had recommended a course of chemotherapy. Sophie, Max’s right-hand woman, had been out of the office sporadically over the past month and her absence was keenly felt.

It didn’t help that her illness coincided with an influx of new talent and the planning of Max’s wedding. Maxine had asked Rania to take over most of Sophie’s duties, but the little minx seemed to be more interested in chatting up the male models than doing her job, particularly when it came to Max’s personal errands. This screw-up with the dates at the Ritz-Carlton was just the latest in a string of botched tasks.

Under normal circumstances, she’d have fired Rania long ago. In fact, it was rare for a receptionist to last as long as Rania had at Top Models.

Rashed Bin Sultan, Maxine’s shadow business partner, was an Emirati with his fingers in many pies. A very busy man, he took very little interest in any aspect of the agency but one; he insisted on hiring the receptionist personally. Each one he selected had been curvaceous, beautiful and monumentally stupid. He had never complained when Maxine informed him that she was letting yet another one go. He simply laughed and said, “No problem, Mexine. I send another.”

When Rania had first appeared, Maxine had been pleasantly surprised. The girl’s English was flawless, and she was punctual and switched on. Unfortunately her mind wasn’t the only thing that was sharp. So was her tongue. She had a way of talking to Maxine that made her feel like a subordinate. With Sophie away and so much on her plate, Max would have to keep her for a few more weeks. But she’d be damned if she’d hold her tongue in the meantime.

“Rania.” Max approached the sleek mahogany counter behind which Rania worked. The curvy brunette was on the phone, laughing. She didn’t even glance at Maxine as she held up a finger, instructing her to wait, a tiny frown of annoyance creasing her forehead.

“Habibi,” she said, speaking in Arabic into the receiver.

“Rania,” Maxine repeated, feeling searing rage radiating from her solar plexus. Rania’s laughter trilled as she swiveled her chair so her back was to Maxine.

Max took a deep breath as she reached over and calmly removed the cord from the phone. Rania whipped around in her chair to face Maxine, a smile still on her face, but her eyes hard as the black lacquer on her long nails. Maxine leaned against the counter, smiling coolly.

“I hope Ahmed Suliaman doesn’t mind being hung up on,” Rania said, mentioning the name of an important client and friend of Max’s partner.

“We’ve been having such problems with our phone lines recently,” Maxine lied. “I’m sure Mr. Suliaman has experienced the same thing and will be very understanding when I call him back.” She idly picked a scrap of paper from the desk and pretended to look at it. “If that even was him. Habibi!” she spat.

“Do you mind?” Rania held out her hand, palm up, “That’s mine.”

Max didn’t take her eyes off Rania, sliding the paper into the pocket of her camel Michael Kors trousers. “Let me tell you what I do mind, Rania. I mind having to clean up after your messes. I mind your insubordinate attitude and complete insensitivity to anyone’s needs but your own. And I mind having to do the work that I pay you to do.”

Rania averted her gaze and began fiddling with the phone cord, trying to reinsert it.

“I called the Ritz just now, Rania,” Max continued. “They have no record of a Wintergreen-White wedding booked for December 14^th. They do have a record of a, oh what was it? Maharishi-Astanga wedding, booked just today, however. Now why would that be, when I specifically asked you to book the Ritz over a week ago?”

Rania wasn’t backing down. “Maybe that’s because I was hired to work for the agency, not be your personal gopher. What are you going to ask me to do next? Pick up your dry-cleaning?” she sneered.

Maxine leaned in close to Rania. “Now you listen here, darling,” she hissed, “as Sophie, who is out with cancer, is my personal assistant, you have to take over her job, which is, if you can wrap your little head around this, to assist me. You will do whatever I ask, or you will find yourself out of a job, without a reference, when she returns.”

“We’ll see about that,” Rania smirked.

“Oh yes, we will.” Maxine started walking away, then casually turned back to look at Rania. “And darling, don’t think your, um, special friendship with Rashed will help you,” she said. “You’re just the latest in a long line of Ranias. He’ll find another before you can say ‘visa cancelled’.”

Rania’s smirk faltered a little.

Maxine looked her over critically. “Let me guess. 32 D, US size 8, L’Oreal Preference Medium Chestnut?”

Rania was taken aback. She touched her medium chestnut hair and nodded.

“That’s what I thought.” Max put her hands in her pockets and walked slowly back to her office. That will show her exactly where she stands, she thought. She pulled out the scrap of paper she had put in her pocket and glanced at it, ready to drop it in the recycle bin beside Sophie’s desk. She stopped and read it again.

The note said:

Louay S. 050-332-4598

Bar None 10:30

3.1: June: Pregnancy Complications

June

Tracy lay on her side, head propped on a goose-down pillow, in a state of delirious contentment. Nigel’s strong, freckled forearm was draped over her, palm resting on her belly. She watched his chest rise and fall, his sleeping breath deep and regular. He had been away so much on business this past month, Tracy felt like they were new lovers, getting to know one another all over again.

Interair was expanding and Nigel was heavily involved with setting up their new offices in Europe. But this week, she’d have him all to herself. Almost. He did have a few meetings to attend at the Dubai headquarters, but he promised her that the evenings and this weekend were all hers.

Of course she’d had to cancel a few of her own plans; a birthday party for a former colleague, her Wednesday evening prenatal yoga class, and Friday brunch at Yolanda with the girls.

She wasn’t bothered about the yoga class or the party, but she hated missing out on their monthly gossip-fest over mimosas – sans champagne for her – and eggs Benedict. Max and Caroline had made up, thankfully, but Tracy suspected their first physical meeting since the fight would go better with her as a mediator. And Tracy was dying to quiz Caroline about the new guy she was seeing. She’d been keeping uncharacteristically mum. She hadn’t even told them his name, claiming she didn’t want to jinx it. But she had sent this text message:

 

BIG NEWS GIRLS!

WILL TELL ALL AT BRUNCH.

 

Tracy hadn’t yet told the girls that she wasn’t going to be able to make it. Nigel had just gotten in at midnight, and they’d been up until the wee hours of the morning talking and…otherwise occupied.

Tracy sighed happily. If only she could feel this good all the time, she thought. Unfortunately, with Nigel being away so much, Max involved with Top Models and planning her rapidly approaching wedding, and Caroline virtually AWOL with her new mystery man, Tracy had been feeling increasingly isolated and lonely. She had thought that she would relish time to herself to really get to work on her novel. It was every writer’s dream to be financially supported and freed from obligations, right? And yet, every morning, she’d roll out of bed and do virtually everything she could think of to put off sitting down and writing.

She’d invented must-do chores like alphabetizing the cans in her cupboards and reorganizing her closet. She’d even started teaching herself how to bake and decorate cakes. That was a huge mistake.

But when she could put it off no longer, when she’d run out of excuses not to, Tracy would sit down at the computer and write the first paragraph of her novel. Again.

The thought of that never-quite right paragraph caused Tracy such irritation and discomfort that her sweetly contented mood of just moments before dissolved into thin air. Tracy gently lifted Nigel’s arm and slipped out of the bed, into his bathrobe – hers was too small – and out of the room. She took her laptop with her as proof of her intent. Nigel was sure to sleep for another couple of hours. Maybe she could finally get that paragraph right. But first, tea.

Tracy shuffled into the kitchen, put the kettle on and retrieved a triple chocolate cupcake with mocha glaze from beneath a glass cake dome, absentmindedly nibbling at its perimeter and running her hand over her straining belly. Just a matter of weeks until there would be a tiny little person watching her make her morning tea and eat her morning cupcake. Cupcakes, she corrected, reaching for another. She just couldn’t wrap her head around it.

“Oh darl’, you don’t know what you’re in for!” the Australian with the pink Todd’s diaper bag had said to Tracy at the last gathering of the Boo-Boos. She had gone to two meetings since the first, hoping that her initial reaction to the Boobs, as she had privately taken to calling them, was a fluke of nerves and hormones.

So far, no dice.

At the last meeting, Tracy had made the mistake of telling the Boobs that she was a writer and was hoping to finish her novel this year.

Tamasin had laughe. “You’d better write terribly fast, Tracy,” she’d said with an air of superiority that came from experience. Her daughter cooed and gurgled at her feet, popping a Lamas teething toy in and out of her slimy mouth. “You’re due in August, aren’t you? So, you’ve got a matter of weeks to get that novel finished.”

Tracy must have had a dismissive look on her face because a woman with a tan Mulberry, nursing her little boy under a vast pashmina, chimed in, “Seriously. Once your baby comes, you can say goodbye to writing anything longer than an email. I barely have time to get my roots and nails done.”

The other women nodded gravely.

“But you all have nannies,” Tracy pointed out, “and husbands. Besides, don’t babies sleep most of the day?”

A Scott with a Burberry gave a throaty chuckle. “Moost o’ the dee, yes,” she said in her Edinburough burr. “It’s tha night that’s tha prrroblem.” Sure enough, her two-month old was sacked out in his infant seat. “Ah haven’t tha energy ta fix meself a cuppa tea, moost dees. That’s what tha nannies fer. And as fer tha husband…” she had trailed off, making a wry face.

All the Boobs laughed at this.

Pink Tod’s had looked up at her from where she was crouched on the floor, changing her little girl’s diaper. “Come on, darl,” she said in her Aussie twang, “just how much of your husband do you see now? Do you think that’s going to change when you have the bubb? Unlikely. If he’s anything like mine, you’ll see even less of him.”

Tracy contemplated this thought as she stuffed the last bite of cupcake into her mouth and poured hot water into her oversized mug and carried it into the living room.

Nigel was the one who really wanted this baby, the one who had convinced her to toss out her birth control pills on their honeymoon. She had just assumed that when the baby came Nigel would scale back his hours at work. To think he would be around even less, well…That was another thing to discuss with him when he woke up.

“What, no tea for your weary husband? Never mind a full cooked breakfast?”

Tracy turned to see Nigel standing behind her in his sock feet, fastening a tiny pair of footballs into the cuffs of his white shirt. He was smiling, his sandy hair still a bit damp and spiky from the shower. She had told him once that he looked like a shorter version of Paul Bettany. “What, that ugly ginger bloke?” he’d joke. “He only wishes he looked like me.”

He crossed the room toward her now and gathered her up in a tight embrace. “Mmm,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “What kind of woman have I married? Leaves her man completely spent and doesn’t even fix him a cuppa?” He smelled like Pears soap and clean laundry.

Tracy snuggled into him. “Hey, I didn’t expect you up for a few more hours. After last night…”

“Mmm. You did wear me out.” He pulled back to look into her eyes. “But duty calls.” He walked to the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, “No, don’t worry about me. I’ll fix my own tea. Can’t expect  an American to fix a proper cuppa.” He poked his head around the corner and winked at her.

She smiled back at him. And then it hit her. He was dressed for work. She followed him into the kitchen, arms crossed. “Hey,” she said accusingly. “You just got in at midnight and,” she looked up at the clock on the microwave, “it’s barely eight o’clock and you’re going to the office. I thought you said I’d have you all to myself this week.”

Nigel turned and put his warm hands on her arms.

“You, will, love. I’ll be all yours after eight o’clock tonight at the absolute latest,” he said, placating her. “Seven thirty,” he corrected as she glared at him. “Seven?”

Tracy’s arms were crossed, a sour expression on her face. She knew she looked the picture of a nagging housewife, but she just couldn’t help it. Could it be the Boobs were right? Was she going to be a virtual single parent?

Tracy turned to leave the kitchen.“I’m going to have a shower.”  She was trying to keep the sulk out of her voice and failing miserably.

“Oh, come here, love.” Nigel put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. She looked down at the floor, but he gently tilted her chin up. He was smiling, his expression affectionate, amused. “You know there is nothing I’d like better than to cuddle up here with you all day, but this is a critical time at work. I’ve got meetings up the euphemism, pet. If I handle this well, the big boys will know I’m up for anything. I’m doing this for us.” He said us like “oose” in moose or goose. Tracy melted.

Nigel put his hand on her belly. “I’m doing it for all of us.”

“I know…” she said softly, looking down again. Nigel lifted her chin and gave her the gentlest kiss.

“Good girl. Now go get in the shower,” he ordered, smacking her lightly on the bottom, “and I’ll make us a quick fry up and,” he paused for effect, “a proper pot of tea.” Tracy couldn’t help smiling as she walked down the hall to the bathroom. It was impossible to stay upset with Nigel. She turned on the shower, letting the bathroom fill up with steam. Still, she thought, we have to talk about what’s going to happen when the baby comes. Tonight, she promised herself.

 

2.8 Too Sexy for Dubai

Caroline was standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, examining the last of ten outfits she had tried on. Mimi, sprawled on her stomach on Caroline’s bed, was idly flipping through a magazine, hair piled in its usual floppy bun, a look of incredulous disdain on her face.

She peered at Caroline over the top of her Buddy Holly glasses. “I don’t know why you buy this crap,” she said, flicking the pages of the magazine.

Caroline turned with a flourish, struck her best I’m-too-sexy-for-Milan pose and said, “So that I know how to do this.”

She was wearing a perfectly tailored bustier-top mid-calf dress. The fabric was black satin, sprinkled with electric yellow, blue and red butterflies and flowers – vintage Dolce and Gabbana, a gift from Maxine. Her pedicured feet were perched on high wedges and a bamboo-handled linen bag hung from her elbow. Simple gold jewelry and a creamy cashmere cardigan on her shoulders tilted the look decidedly away from tramp towards lady.

Mimi gave a low wolf whistle. “Sex-y! But I would still go with the, what was it, fourth outfit? The halter and jeans combo? It’s more casual, but still hot.”

Caroline shook her head, astonished at her roommate’s naivety. “Mimi,” she said as if talking to a particularly thick student, “This guy is Leb-an-ese. If I wore that, I probably wouldn’t get a second date. They are all about glamor, bling. This,” she indicated to the outfit she was wearing, “is seriously understated for Lebanese women.”

Mimi arched her brow and said, “But if he asked you on a date, maybe he’s not interested in Lebanese women. Maybe he’s interested in Canadian women. Who wear jeans.”

Caroline turned back to the mirror and fussed with her hair. “Weeelll, he didn’t exactly ask me for a date. I asked him.” She peered sheepishly over her shoulder at Mimi.”

“Woo-hoo! You go, girl,” cheered Mimi. “So, how did you meet him, again?”

“I told you! At Max’s office. Before the Noodle Factory fiasco.”

“Right. The cat-fight,” Mimi nodded. “So are you going to apologize?”

“Yeeess,” Caroline answered, carefully applying another coat of mascara. “Tomorrow, for sure.”

“Hmpf. In my opinion, she should be apologizing to you.” Mimi and Maxine had met each other a few times over the years, but they hadn’t exactly hit it off. “Where does she get off criticizing you?”

“I know, right?” Caroline said, but her heart wasn’t in it. She had always blamed her exes, but her fight with Maxine had awoken a niggling suspicion that she was not entirely without fault for her string of failed relationships.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Mimi closed the magazine with a snap, suddenly alert, “Did you say you met this guy at Max’s office?”

“Mm hm,” Caroline answered, slicking on a coat of lip gloss.

“So, he’s a model?” Mimi smiled wickedly.

Caroline tucked the lipstick into her purse along with a vintage compact, her phone and her wallet. “Yep. He’s a model. So?”

Mimi’s smile got wider. “He must be, oh, 22? 23? 25 at the oldest, right? And how old are you, again?” she asked, knowing the answer, full well.

“Don’t you dare call me the ‘c’ word! I hate that word!” Caroline glared at her impish friend.

“What ‘c’ word?” Mimi said innocently, “Cougar? Cougar, cou-gar, Carrie is a cougar,” she sang, and fell back on the bed in hysterical laughter as Caroline hurled clothes from the heap of discards at her.

“Hey. Careful.” Mimi sat up, holding a skirt that Caroline had flung at her. “Don’t you know how much this thing cost?” She flipped through Caroline’s copy of Gracias, until she found a picture of the skirt. “1000 dirhams. 300 bucks. Holy shit, Care. That’s a lot of money for one little skirt.” Mimi looked at her, eyes narrowing. Caroline imagined she was mentally calculating Caroline’s maximum possible salary and finding it insufficient for wardrobe full of three-hundred dollar skirts. She was right.

“I suppose the hours of workmanship that went into this, the quality of the fabric, the genius of the design are too much for your juvenile brain to appreciate,” Caroline said, loftily.

“Uh, Care, it’s a black skirt,” Mimi responded, unconvinced. “Besides, doesn’t the tag say ‘Made in China’?” She smiled up at her friend, batting her eyelashes in a mockery of innocence. Caroline raised her purse as if to hit Mimi with it.

“Okay, okay!” Mimi held her hands above her head, protectively, “Craftmanship, design, I get it. I’m an artist, remember?” She held her hand to her mouth, looking thoughtful. “Hm…I wonder how much your wardrobe would get me on Ebay? It would keep me in oils and canvas for a while, I’m sure.”

“Mimi!” Caroline screeched, but she was smiling.

“Hey, you know I’m just joking, right?” Mimi was suddenly serious. “I mean about the cougar stuff. Why not? Men do it all the time and it’s no big deal. Why shouldn’t we?”

“Exactly!” Caroline sat down on the bed beside Mimi, relieved that Mimi’s wardrobe dissection was over. “What’s 5 years, anyway?”

“Five?” smirked Mimi.

“Okay, ten,” Caroline playfully punched her friend’s arm.

“So where is this young man taking you?” Mimi asked, sternly.

“Well, he’s staying at the Governor’s House,” Caroline said, referring to one of Dubai’s hippest hotels.

“Nice.” Mimi nodded her approval. The boutique hotel was in the old part of Dubai and was surrounded by a bevy of galleries that had sprung up in the past five years as the city started to attract a younger, hipper crowd.

“Sooo,” Caroline smiled, toying with the handles of her purse, “he suggested we meet at the bar for a drink and then take it from there.”

“Ah-ha,” Mimi said with a knowing smile. She reached over and opened the lid of the lacquered wooden box on Caroline’s bedside table. “So, you’re going to need some of these,” she said, holding up a purple Durex Extra Sensitive.

“Do ya think?” Caroline looked at Mimi coyly.

“Come on! Meeting at his hotel for a drink? 100 dirhams says you don’t leave the hotel until tomorrow morning.” She was examining the condom packet. “Except these expired last March.”

“Oh, whatever.” Caroline grabbed the packet and put it in her purse. “Those dates don’t mean anything. It’s not milk.”

“Okay,” Mimi shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

Caroline looked at her friend, feeling nervous and excited, hopeful and scared. “Come on. Wish me luck,” she said, beseechingly.

“Hah! Like you need it.” Mimi stood up and stretched. She hooked her arm through Caroline’s as they walked out of the room. “Gorgeous, you are definitely going to get lucky.”

Caroline smiled, remembering the feeling in the pit of her stomach when she saw Louay that told her that he was The One. “You know what?” she said. “I think you’re right.”