two large and one smaller one. Nur’s mommy opened one at a time, insisting only grown-ups could open packages. Nur waited as her mother pulled out one item at a time. She unfolded each article of clothing, inspected each pair of shoes and each tube of lipstick. Nur fidgeted, craned her neck to peek inside the open box, each time hoping an item would be for her.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” she said when her mother asked if Nur liked the matching baby hat, gloves, and booties. The same scene repeated as the boxes were slowly emptied. Nur did not despair, not even when she realized all the items had been taken out. She began looking through the new clothes; perhaps she had accidentally missed her new dress.
“Where are the things I circled, Mommy?”
“Oh, sweetie. I forgot to tell you!” her mother said. “When I called to place the order they said they were out of the items you picked.”
The hard thing that lived in Nur’s belly stirred. It moved upward and started clumping in her throat, pushing behind her eyes. The last time Nur had cried, her mother had told her to stop being a crybaby. She had written “Not A Crybaby” on her list. Now, as her mother left the room and Nur stood alone with three empty boxes and the new things strewn about, the memory of that undesirable trait helped to stop the tears. She wanted to ask if the catalogue people would send her things when they got more in, but she knew not to and went to her room instead. There, a silence crept along her edges, wrapping around her small body. The familiar bellyache ran amok inside her. Only when the pain became intense did Nur give herself permission to cry. Because you’re not a crybaby if something is really wrong . She cried, and cried harder and louder when no one came to check on her. She could hear Sam had returned home. She kept crying out, even though the pain had dissolved, until eventually, her mother came in.
“Mommy, my stomach and my head hurt really bad,” she said, relieved to stop crying.
“Nubia, how much attention do you need? You do this kind of stuff every time I make plans. Please try to go to sleep,” her mother said, closing the door behind her.
Late into the night, Nur awoke to find Sam sitting on her bed.
“Hi there,” he said. “How is your tummy feeling?”
“Better,” she said, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Let’s see here.” Sam lifted her gown. “Poor belly.” He rubbed her skin. “It’s a very pretty belly.” He leaned to kiss it, on her belly button, then above it. Then, around it. “And you have the most beautiful and unusual eyes I’ve ever seen.”
He put her gown back, covering her. “Do you think your mommy is mean sometimes?”
Nur shook her head no.
“Come on, tell the truth.” He tickled her slightly, making Nur laugh. “Oh, so you’re ticklish, too? I’ll have to tickle you silly soon.”
Nur decided that she loved Sam.
“So, tell me,” he asked again.
“Yeah, sometimes Mommy is mean,” she admitted.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to take good care of you,” he said. He tucked her back in, kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and left.
Indeed, Sam began to intervene on Nur’s behalf. He took her to buy new clothes to replace what never came from the catalogue. When Sam’s niece, who was Nur’s age, wanted to be the flower girl at the wedding, Sam insisted that honor was for Nur alone. At a dinner gathering with family, Nur climbed into Sam’s lap, taking possession of him, and stuck her tongue out at the niece. Sam squeezed her waist, affirming their secret alliance. He stopped going shopping in the evenings with her mother, staying home instead to babysit. On the first such evening, as they played checkers and Nur tried to cheat, Sam began tickling her. When she could catch her breath between fits of laughter, she begged him to stop. But as soon as he did, she taunted him to provoke more tickling.
“I know a special tickle spot you’ve never even
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” she said when her mother asked if Nur liked the matching baby hat, gloves, and booties. The same scene repeated as the boxes were slowly emptied. Nur did not despair, not even when she realized all the items had been taken out. She began looking through the new clothes; perhaps she had accidentally missed her new dress.
“Where are the things I circled, Mommy?”
“Oh, sweetie. I forgot to tell you!” her mother said. “When I called to place the order they said they were out of the items you picked.”
The hard thing that lived in Nur’s belly stirred. It moved upward and started clumping in her throat, pushing behind her eyes. The last time Nur had cried, her mother had told her to stop being a crybaby. She had written “Not A Crybaby” on her list. Now, as her mother left the room and Nur stood alone with three empty boxes and the new things strewn about, the memory of that undesirable trait helped to stop the tears. She wanted to ask if the catalogue people would send her things when they got more in, but she knew not to and went to her room instead. There, a silence crept along her edges, wrapping around her small body. The familiar bellyache ran amok inside her. Only when the pain became intense did Nur give herself permission to cry. Because you’re not a crybaby if something is really wrong . She cried, and cried harder and louder when no one came to check on her. She could hear Sam had returned home. She kept crying out, even though the pain had dissolved, until eventually, her mother came in.
“Mommy, my stomach and my head hurt really bad,” she said, relieved to stop crying.
“Nubia, how much attention do you need? You do this kind of stuff every time I make plans. Please try to go to sleep,” her mother said, closing the door behind her.
Late into the night, Nur awoke to find Sam sitting on her bed.
“Hi there,” he said. “How is your tummy feeling?”
“Better,” she said, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Let’s see here.” Sam lifted her gown. “Poor belly.” He rubbed her skin. “It’s a very pretty belly.” He leaned to kiss it, on her belly button, then above it. Then, around it. “And you have the most beautiful and unusual eyes I’ve ever seen.”
He put her gown back, covering her. “Do you think your mommy is mean sometimes?”
Nur shook her head no.
“Come on, tell the truth.” He tickled her slightly, making Nur laugh. “Oh, so you’re ticklish, too? I’ll have to tickle you silly soon.”
Nur decided that she loved Sam.
“So, tell me,” he asked again.
“Yeah, sometimes Mommy is mean,” she admitted.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to take good care of you,” he said. He tucked her back in, kissed her forehead, then her cheek, and left.
Indeed, Sam began to intervene on Nur’s behalf. He took her to buy new clothes to replace what never came from the catalogue. When Sam’s niece, who was Nur’s age, wanted to be the flower girl at the wedding, Sam insisted that honor was for Nur alone. At a dinner gathering with family, Nur climbed into Sam’s lap, taking possession of him, and stuck her tongue out at the niece. Sam squeezed her waist, affirming their secret alliance. He stopped going shopping in the evenings with her mother, staying home instead to babysit. On the first such evening, as they played checkers and Nur tried to cheat, Sam began tickling her. When she could catch her breath between fits of laughter, she begged him to stop. But as soon as he did, she taunted him to provoke more tickling.
“I know a special tickle spot you’ve never even
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