Page 69 of If I Loved You Less
“I cannot wait to have a little cousin,” I say. “Tell useverything. How many weeks are you? Do you know the gender yet? Oh, I need to go shopping!”
Phuppo tells us, and we have the best time. I’m still elated when I get home and share the news with Papa, who has already been informed via FaceTime from Phupoo. Papa is just as pleased as I am, and we are both positively buzzing with jubilation.
We spend an entire hour discussing all the fun we’ll have when the baby finally comes, until I catch sight of the clock and realize we need to be getting ready for dinner.
Papa is taking me out to a fancy dinner in the city, where Naadia and Phuppo will be joining us with their husbands. We don’t usually go crazy for birthdays with gifts or parties, just excellent food.
Papa goes up, but I linger downstairs, searching up stuffed animal toys on my phone. Then, before I go to get ready, I’m distracted by a knock on the front door. Papa is already in the shower, so I put on a scarf and go to answer the door.
It’s Fawad.
“Oh, hi!” I say, my heartbeat quickening. Fawad grins when he sees me, holding something in his hands.
“Happy birthday,” he says, coming in. I grin, too.
Birthdays really are so fun. I love to have the attention on me, just on me, and be loved and adored all day long. It does make a girl feel special. And there is nothing expected in return.
“Thank you, thank you,” I say, taking a few steps back to properly let him in.
Then, the smile fades from his face. Confused, I follow his eyes to where they have flicked over my shoulder: the flowers, teddy bear, and chocolates, sitting on the table.
He opens his mouth as if to ask who they are from, then thinks better of it. He crosses his hands behind his back, but I could have sworn he had something in his hands.
“What is that?” I ask, trying to peek. “A gift for me?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly, voice strange. “Just some mail I picked up on my way out.”
It was wrapped in brown paper and twine, so it very well could be a package, but I do not know if I believe him.
“Won’t you open it?” I ask.
“No, I’ll open it later. It’s just ... socks.” With some difficulty, he gives me a nonchalant smile.
Hm, he is serious.
I want to see what it is, almost sure it is meant for me, but something in his eyes stops me. A pinched quality to them.
He does not look to be in the mood for games. He looks rather … distressed.
“Oh, okay,” I say. He puts the package on the front table, then follows me inside, where I offer to make him tea. He shakes his head.
“I just came to wish you happy birthday and give you your book back,” he says, handing meThe Piper’s Son.I didn’t notice he was holding it before.
“Thank you.” I take it, holding it to my chest. I hate loaning people my books and always feel much better once they have securely made their way home in one piece. Casually, I inspect the book to check its condition, and Fawad laughs.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I haven’t harmed it. No dog-eared pages, no stains, no cracked spine.”
I let out a laugh. “I appreciate it.”
He stands a bit awkwardly, waiting a moment before asking, “Did you ... Did you readThe Secret History,yet?”
Guilt needles through me.
“No, I haven’t,” I reply, tone apologetic. “I’m sorry.”
I haven’t gotten to it. It’s been sitting on my side-table, right there, but I just haven’t given it my attention.
“No, it’s okay, take your time,” he says, but disappointment flickers across his face, though he masks it so quickly I wonder if I saw it there at all. “I don’t mind waiting.”
