“Over here!” Jabir says. He’s walking towards the path to the river.

“But the eagles aren’t there anymore!” I protest. “Let’s go up the road a ways and see if we can find that fox that hangs out by the big boulder.”

Jabir keeps walking towards the river path, so I follow him. Why does he want to go down there, even though the nest is empty?

The eagles left the nest weeks ago. Jabir and I watched them learn how to fly like any other couple might watch movies. We did little dances of celebration on the river’s rocky beach when a fledgling found success. I’m glad that he loves them like I do.

Now, with the nest empty, I’m eager to find other wildlife to sketch. Jabir’s holding a large notebook under one arm, and I have my own leather-bound one in my hand. I can’t walk fast—my belly is so round it makes me sort of waddle, but I try to catch up with him the best that I can.

Instead of going down the path as I thought he would, Jabir ducks into the woods, bending shrubbery and young saplings away to move forward. I follow close behind.

“I saw it here yesterday,” he says. “And I think you’ll like it. Just a little bit farther, now… There!” He stops short.

There’s a birch tree in front of us, and in the crook where a branch meets the trunk, I see a delicate little nest.

Jabir takes my hand and leads me to a boulder nearby. Chirping fills my ears. Jabir lets go of my hand and climbs up the large rock so that he’s standing on top of it.

“From up here, I can see straight into the nest!” he says. “There are four of them in there. Robins, I think! Must have been born in July!”

He scrambles down.

“I want to see!” I’m so excited I can’t stand it.

He smiles. “I knew you would. Hang on, I’ll help you.” He stations himself at the bottom of the boulder, and then steadies me as I take the few steps necessary to reach the top.

He’s right. I can see straight into the nest! I’m about to share my excitement when the feeling of water pouring down my legs makes me freeze. What just happened?

Jabir’s reaching for me, and his hands circle my waist. Effortlessly, he lifts me off of the boulder and place me on the ground. His face is filled with as much shock as I feel.

“Honey, that’s your water. Your water just broke!”

“But…it can’t be! My due date is two weeks away!”

“Dr. Newton said that was only an estimate, but that it could come a few weeks before or after.”

I feel my chest rising and falling, and a sensation of panic wells up inside of me. I wasn’t expecting this, today! I look around. The trees that looked so beautiful just minutes before now look like a thousand obstacles standing in the way of my body and the car we need to get to.

“Take a deep breath, baby,” Jabir says. His deep voice soothes my building panic. He reaches for my hand. “Come with me. Everything's okay. Follow me.”

He leads me back to the cabin swiftly, and then helps me into his car. “I’ll be right back,” he says, kissing my forehead.

“Wait, Jabir! Can you get clothes for me to change into? These pants are soaked. And something for me to sleep in, at the hospital? And my water bottle… It’s on the kitchen counter—”

“I’ve already packed our bags,” he says with a smile.

He closes the car door and I watch him through the passenger side window. He jogs to the house and emerges two minutes later with two little duffle bags that I’ve never seen before.

“Where did you—?” I ask, when he jumps into the driver’s seat, the bags safely in the trunk.

“I picked them up in Melrose last week. There’s a new bathrobe for you in there, and plenty of clothes. I wanted to be ready.”

“What would I do without you?” I ask, just as a slamming, squeezing sensation in my lower abdomen wipes the dreamy grin off of my face. “Ohhhh!” I cry, gripping a handle on the doorway tightly.

“Are you having contractions already?” Jabir asks.

I can’t let go of the door handle. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. Pain rips through my core, twisting my insides. And then, it’s gone.

“You are,” Jabir affirms, not waiting for an answer.

We’re already out the driveway, heading down the dirt road towards town. Jabir picks up speed, and I hear little pebbles bounce around the wheel wells.

“We just have an hour to go, before we get to Melrose,” I hear him say. “Once we get into town and we have cell service, I’ll make a call so they’re ready for us. Are you feeling okay?”

Though the word “okay” doesn’t seem to fit the state I’m in, I nod my head.

Jabir reaches into the back seat and then hands me my water bottle. “Drink some of this,” he says. “It’s important to stay hydrated.”

We’ve just reached town when another contraction hits me. As it passes, I hear Jabir mutter, “Sixty seconds.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, breathing hard. The contraction seemed to steal all of my breath away, and I feel frantic, terrified of the next one.

“Breathe, baby,” he says, looking over at me. “Keep breathing. Just like we practiced.” He demonstrates, and I try to copy him, but it’s hard. Before I know it, another contraction has me in its grip, tearing through my insides like fire.

Jabir makes a sudden turn.

“Where are you going?” I shout. We were almost to the main road that would take us out of New Hampstead, to the hospital in Melrose. I want to get there as fast as possible. “If you think you’re gonna stop for a sandwich now Jabir, I swear, I’ll—”

“Teresa, honey, those contractions were only five minutes apart. We’re not going to make it to Melrose. This baby is coming soon.”

I feel hot. I’m sweating, waiting for the next contraction to take over my body. I can barely think.

“I’m taking you to your mother,” Jabir says, his voice calm and steady. “She gave birth to you at home, right? She can help us.”

My mom! I never would have thought of that. Thank goodness one of us isn’t losing our head! I lean back, fully trusting that Jabir knows what he is doing. I tilt my head back and try to breathe as I feel my uterus muscles tighten once again. He’s right. Our baby is impatient.

We pull in to my parents’ driveway in a flurry of dust. Jabir’s out of the car in a flash, and then he’s at my side, holding me as we walk up to my folks’ house. As usual, we don’t knock. Jabir calls out, “Carol? Carol! We’re having a baby!”

I see my mom careen around a corner. “What?”

“Her contractions are lasting sixty to ninety seconds,” Jabir says. “They’re only five minutes apart.”

“Good Lord! This baby is anxious to meet us! Here, Jabir, bring her in here.”

I leave all of the talking to Jabir and my mother. I can’t figure anything out; not in my state. I simply lie down where they tell me to lie down, and breathe when they tell me to breathe.

The whole world seems to have flipped inside out. The sensations in my body are no longer secondary to what is going on around me; instead, they take over and the outer world becomes a fuzzy blur. It feels good to push, and when I am, my focus is one-pointed. I push, and push and push like it’s my only purpose for being on earth.

In the moments between pushing, I feel Jabir’s hand in mine. I feel him smooth my damp hair away from my face. I feel my mother place a blanket over my bent knees, and a pillow behind my head.

“You’re so close, sweet pea,” My mother says confidently just before another set of contractions consume me.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing wonderfully. Push, Teresa. Don’t give up. Push!”

I push, push, push—and then there’s relief.

And crying.

And laughter.

A sound of scissors, snipping.

And then a baby—a beautiful, perfect, child—is placed in my arms.

“It’s a boy,” Jabir whispers in my ear. He lies down next to me, right there on the living room carpet. His head is propped up on one elbow, and he’s looking down at me with so much love in his eyes.

I feel the weight of our baby on my chest. Jabir leans over me, and kisses my cheek. Then, he gazes at his child. The sight of him, kissing our son on the forehead, is the most precious sight I’ve ever seen in my life.

Jabir strokes out son’s impossibly small, dimpled fist. I see Jabir look down at his own hand, and his shining ring, and then to his son’s hand.

“I’ll give him my ring, when he’s old enough to wear it,” he says, softly. “I’ll tell him about his family crest—the eagle that brought us together. He’ll be a man of honor, integrity, and strength.”

I feel my heart bursting with pride. “What do you think we should name him?” I ask.

We both stare down at the little miracle in my arms. His skin seems paper thin. I can see his little veins. His eyes are puffy, and swaddled in the blanket that my mom’s wrapped him in, he looks like a little peanut. I stroke the soft skin of his arm, marveling at his little body. There’s a soft fuzz of dark hair on his head.

“He’s going to have your hair,” I say.

“But he’s going to be full of light, like his mamma,” Jabir whispers.

I glance at Jabir, and see that he’s just as captivated as I am.

“Yes. I think he will,” I say. I can already feel our son’s power, though he’s only a few minutes old. He’s done so much for us already. Jabir and I wouldn’t be here, now, if it wasn’t for the baby in my arms.

“What about Anwar?” Jabir says. “It means ‘bright’.”

“Anwar,” I whisper. My son wiggles and I swear he smiles. “It’s perfect.”

* * *

A few days later, I’m still holding Anwar to my chest. This time, though, he’s cradled in a baby carrier, and he’s sleeping soundly. The sun is a few hours from setting, and soft, evening light dances between green leaves high above Jabir and I as we walk home. We’ve just been sitting in one of our favorite places for drawing, but the need for dinner is coaxing us back to the cabin.

“What should we cook?” Jabir asks as we walk up the front steps. He’s just behind me, his hand on my back as if I might fall over at any moment. He’s been so protective of me, these past few days, serving me meals in bed, doing all of the chores around the house.

I enjoy his attention, but the truth is, I feel stronger and healthier than I ever would have imagined.

“How about we barbecue some chicken?” I suggest. “We have those peppers and onions from the farm. And I could make a salad.”

I open up the door to our cottage, expecting to walk into an empty room. But to my surprise, I see the living room filled with people. There’s my mom, my dad, and, though I only recognize them from photographs, Jabir’s parents! His brother Hassan is here too, along with a beautiful woman that I know is his brother’s wife, Sirah. Sirah holds a little toddler in her arms. That must be Jabir’s nephew.

They’re all waving excitedly, but no one is shouting.

“Is little Anwar asleep?” my mother whispers, stepping forward. I nod.

Jabir starts unhitching the baby carrier, and then slips our little peanut out of the pouch on my chest. He cradles our son in his arms, and walks towards his parents. They gather round the baby in awe, and the ahhs and oohs don’t have to be translated. I see that they love their grandson and nephew.

Jabir hands our son over to his mother, and then he starts making introductions. First, he introduces me to his parents. To my surprise, his father wraps me in a warm hug. I recognize the man’s smile right away—it’s the same smile I see on Jabir’s lips so often. And then, Jabir is introducing me to his sister-in-law, and his nephew, Jamal. The little toddler has big, shining eyes, and I wonder if our baby will be as cute as he is.

“Did we surprise you?” my mother asks, fifteen minutes later as I’m helping her find enough glasses for all of us. Hassan is on the couch, holding Anwar, while Jabir sits perched on the couch arm, talking to Sirah. Jamal is playing happily with a stuffed puppy that his parents must have brought along, and Jabir’s parents have stepped out onto the deck with my father, to get the grand tour of the property.

“Yes!” I say. “How did all of this happen?”

My mother laughs. “Jabir’s mother reached out to me last week. Amyrah wanted to plan a visit, so that they could be here for the birth. No one knew how quick Anwar would be! Mufid and Amyrah are staying with us at the house. Hassan and his family are at the Mountain Laurel. We all drove over together and parked down the road so that you wouldn’t see our cars.”

I laugh. My parents sure know how to create a little bit of excitement.

“Jabir’s mother is wonderful,” My mom says. “Did you know that she’s an artist too? I introduced her to painting on glass this morning and she took to it like a bear to honey.”

We bring the tray of drinks out to the deck and Hassan and his family join us. Soon, all eight of us are perched around the deck and the sun’s sinking lower behind the trees.

I’m so absorbed in the laughter and the feeling of being with family that it takes me another hour before the thought of dinner even occurs to me. I pull my mother aside. “Mom! I don’t know if there’s enough food here for everyone. I could cook some chicken, and we have plenty of veggies, but—”

“Not to worry, sweet pea. Amyrah and I put together enough food to feed an army, back at the house. It’s already in the oven. Should be ready any minute now.”

I give her a hug and then return to the thick of the conversation. My dad is roaring with laughter at a joke Jabir’s father has just told, and Sirah is cooing softly to Anwar, who is nestled in her arms. I look at Jabir, who is at his brother’s side, leaning against the deck railing. He winks at me. I feel like I’m in heaven.