Read Online When Michael Met Mina by Randa Abdel-Fattah - Free Book Online Page A

thing we said no to.’
    Who would have thought? A silver lining among all the kitsch gold.
    *
    Within two hours of opening, we’ve got enough customers to keep the kitchen busy. I’m helping behind the counter and Mum is in the kitchen with Baba and Irfan. I’ve just taken a photo for a couple sitting on the throne when Baba approaches me and asks me to check on Mum in the bathroom. He looks worried and I rush to the ladies. I find her bent over a toilet bowl, vomiting.
    â€˜What’s wrong?’
    I wet some paper towels and help her clean herself up. She washes her face, wets the crown of her head and pulls her beautiful thick hair into a ponytail.
    She stands in front of me, panting slightly.
    â€˜I feel old,’ she says wearily.
    â€˜Mum,’ I scold. ‘You’re thirty-three, you just threw your guts up and you still look beautiful. Give it up.’
    â€˜I’m having a baby.’ She stands there, grinning at me.
    â€˜ What? ’ I lunge at her and give her a massive hug. I’m thrilled and feel like doing cartwheels around the restaurant. I’m surprised too. I’d given up on the idea of a baby a while back. Within the first few years of Mum and Baba marrying, I’d hoped for a brother or sister. Mum and Baba had their hopes high too. As time went on, and they murmured to each other about God’s will, I resigned myself to being an only child. So the news that it’s going to happen, after all this time, brings tears of joy to my eyes.
    Mum hugs me tightly and then gently pushes me away. ‘Sorry. I smell like vomit. I need to go home and shower.’ She giggles. ‘Oh, Mina, I’m sorry I had to tell you here, in a bathroom. I told Baba not to send for you. But he panics. Some nausea because I smelt the meat and he wants to send for an ambulance.’
    I laugh. ‘How many weeks are you?’
    â€˜Almost three months.’ She puts her hijab back on, adjusts it around her head. ‘Come on, we can talk about it at home later, in more dignified surroundings.’
    Baba is pacing outside the bathroom door. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks anxiously when we emerge.
    He looks at Mum with such tenderness and concern that my insides go all funny. There was a time when all Mum and I wanted was a safe place to live. We didn’t dare to hope we could find happiness. It had been hard for a long time. Everything was different. Mum used to tell me, Being in a new country is like learning to walk with a prosthetic. It takes time for the body and mind to adjust . I caught her crying alone often enough to wonder how much time it would take. Things got better when she started doing some courses at TAFE outreach and making friends. That’s how she met Baba, through one of the Afghan women doing the same sewing class. I was nine when Baba came into our lives and I wanted so badly to hate him. But it was impossible. He never tried to replace my father. He would sit and watch cartoons with me for hours. He rarely asked me to change the channel, and seemed happy just watching with me, laughing along sometimes too. I didn’t know then what had happened to him back home.
    I can’t believe I’m going to be a big sister again. It seems a lifetime ago when I was in the camp in Pakistan, rocking my three-month-old baby brother, Hasan, to sleep, trying to find him powdered milk and clean bottles because my mother’s milk had dried up. The water was dirty; there was never enough formula. He cried a lot. We all did. Except my mum. She was possessed of something I didn’t understand. A strength that both comforted and terrified me.
    Hasan died quietly. Just slipped away in his sleep one afternoon, a couple of months before we found the boat that brought us to Australia. It’s hard to admit even to myself, but I can’t remember what his face looked like. The realisation of that cuts me to the bone. Sometimes if I concentrate hard