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When I’m back at my grandma’s, I’m unsure about sharing this news with her. I think Nonna could be an advocate for either. I’m not sure I want anyone else’s opinion on something so dear to me. At least, not now. I legit need to do a list of pros and cons. Old school style, a penciled line right down the center of my page.
I’m hoping this will give me clarity. Sitting at the pretty glass table in my pink and cream room at Noona’s house, I start my list. The title - “To Dubai or Not To Dubai.” If only all those readers that love my work were to see me compile such a random, childish list.
Underneath ‘Pro’ is a dollar sign, fame, and credibility.
But then I start to think about what’s under credibility. Who will I be credible to? Hmmm. I add a question mark after credibility, and then I add exposure after that. This is all I have so far for the Pros.
Underneath ‘Con’ is looking for a new doctor, giving birth in a foreign country, not sure if Joaquin will be willing to go, missing Adam.
Wait, there’s no way Joaquin will uproot without Adam. It’s not like there’s a mother there. This is all so layered.
Also underneath Con is the unshakable feeling of fear. The fear of the spotlight. What will happen if I have my child and write about the Khan dynasty? I will need lifelong protection. I may need to be hidden. I will live a life that wouldn’t allow much freedom after that. The Khan story is so heavy.
I set my pen down and pulled my hair back. I need a warm shower and a good rest, but I know Grandma made her cherry pies, and she’s at my bedroom door frame, shimming her shoulders, excited about her baking.
“You can’t work that baby out of you!”
“I’m definitely not ready for that to happen.”
“Have you called your mother or father yet?”
“No. Maybe next week, I’ll reach out to Dad.”
“Not ready to tell my daughter, huh?”
“Well, you know who raised me.”
“Yea, your father and I!”
“And Lucy.” I insert.
“Ah, yes! Can’t forget about the Nannies.”
“But… I’ll probably get to telling Mom the next time she calls me. Probably my birthday.”
“Late September? You think you won’t talk to her until then?”
Nonna looks appalled, and I truly don’t know why.
I get up from my desk.
“Nonna, you know—-“
“Your mother is very proud of you! I need you to understand she never had a good example of a good mom. I didn’t provide that for her. Now,she wasraised by a string of nannies. Her last nanny was from Costa Rica and pulled strings for your mom to take a job there.”
“The things I have learned since being here. I should report on that.” I laugh.
There’s a hollowness when I think about my mother. I’ve never been connected to her, so it feels like I’m given random information about a stranger. Being pregnant, I know my desire to learn about her experiences may grow, but I trust it will happen organically. I already have enough mental weight in my head that my knuckle cannot relieve this stress.
Grandma leads me to the kitchen. I’m surprised Pearl isn’t around to assist her. She probably was told to step back. I know when Nonna wants to lead, she will do so and expel anyone else from getting in her way.
There are three aesthetically beautiful pies on the marble island. There’s a mixed berry, a cherry, and a blackberry. I try the mixed berry, and my mouth buckles with delight. It’s what the universe ordered. The texture is perfect, and the flavor buzzes with all the right zings.
“This is what I needed. Oh my god.”
“My life is stressing you out. You may want to extend your writing time if you can.” Grandma pours herself an evening cup of joe.
“Oh, well… it’s not your life that’s weighed me down.”
