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“Well?” Laila asks, chewing on her nails as she hovers between us.
“She has some congestion in her chest,” Dr. Simone informs us. “And it’s causing her some discomfort?—”
“She can’t breathe!” Laila interjects.
“She can’t breathe because she’s crying so hard,” Dr. Simone explains calmly. “It’s best to distract her so that she can get a few good inhales in.”
“You don’t sound worried,” I say.
“It’s just a little cold. Every child gets them. It’s a good thing, really. Little Nina here needs to build up her immune system. Her fever is down, so now, we need to make her comfortable so she can get some sleep. Rest is the most important thing for her right now.”
Laila doesn’t look at all comforted by the doctor’s assessment. “I’m so careful with her. She hasn’t been exposed to that many people, and I wipe her hands after we?—”
“You’ve taken good care of her. Viruses are normal. You just have to live and trust that her immune system is going to do its job.”
“You’re not going to prescribe anything for her?” Laila chokes back a sob, and, as if she can sense her mother’s mood, Nina’s cries amp up another notch.
I wrap an arm around Laila’s shoulder and say above the crying, “Thank you for your time, Doctor.”
As Polina shows Simone out, I take Laila’s arm and lead her to my bathroom. She follows me blindly, her eyes locked on Nina in her arms. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to calm you both down.”
By the time we get to the bathroom, Nina’s crying has subsided somewhat. but I’m pretty sure it’s from pure exhaustion. Her breathing is labored and raspy, and as much as I think Laila is blowing this out of proportion, it’s still tough to watch.
I point the showerhead at the tile wall and crank the heat as high as it will go. Steam instantly starts to billow above the glass door.
Laila is so busy trying to calm Nina that she barely notices as I grab her by the shoulders, press her to my chest, and lower all three of us to the floor.
“What is this?” she asks. “What are we?—”
“Breathe,” I command, smoothing my hands down her arms.
The air is warm and humid, and after a few wails, Nina starts to calm. She’s still hiccupping, but her breathing is coming easier and easier the longer we spend in the makeshift sauna.
“She’s doing better,” Laila whispers as Nina’s eyes finally start to droop closed. “How long do we stay like this?”
I kiss the back of her head. “As long as you want. As long as you need.”
34
ARSEN
It’s as if a home decor shop went through a shredder.
Interior design magazines are spread across the floor of Laila’s room like a mosaic, dogeared or lolling open or ripped apart entirely. A smattering of colored sticky notes is plastered to the loose pages. Laila herself is sporting a few squares of neon pink and yellow on her sleeves.
I have to make a wide circle around the carpet so as not to step on the graveyard of magazines. “I take it this is for the new house?”
She nods without looking up at me. “I’ve been experimenting with ideas for each room. I even found this amazing wallpaper store in the city. They make custom wallpaper according to your specifications. Isn’t that cool?”
I grunt in response, walking over to Nina’s cot to watch her snooze because it’s easier than looking at my crazed wife right now.
“So, you’re moving out?” I can feel Laila’s eyes on my back, but I don’t turn around. Not until I’m sure I can fight back my scowl. “Were you going to tell me before you left or was I going to wake up and be surprised by your empty room?
“You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad.” I force myself to breathe. “I gave you the keys. I just might have been hoping you wouldn’t take me up on the offer.”
