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There was an order to every fairytale— getting to know each other, falling in love, meeting each other’s friends and families, engagement, marriage and then spending a life together. It was much the same for you and Frankie… well, except for one teeny-tiny, small, minuscule little skip. Frankie had never met your family. Your parents knew him— they were there when you married him in a simple ceremony. But it was unheard of that an extended family would be left out of such an event.
There have already been many murmurs and underhanded comments from your family about feeling excluded. The plans had been thrown out, wholly unserious, until Frankie tentatively brought them up again, and your family kept pushing. Of course, you wanted Frankie to be acquainted with the people who held the keys to a room of your life that was now only accessible through longing and nostalgia. You knew this was important to him.
The expansion of a family was always a process akin to applying ointment on a burn. The sting and the burn of nerves, anxiety and fear of awkward meetings and introductions that were then soothed by the cool relief of warmth, love and acceptance. Your heart had doubled in size over the time you had gone from ‘Francisco's girl’ who they casually asked about over the phone to standing in his abuela’s kitchen as she packed you extra helpings of your favourites. And you wanted the same for Frankie.
But there had been hesitancy even when you had acquiesced to the silent plea of his doe brown eyes. It was because you were very Muslim, and Frankie was decidedly not. You did not know how your family would react to him not being Muslim— an outsider by both culture and faith. You could only hope they wouldn’t be overtly disrespectful towards him. Moreover, you also wanted to shield him from any covert complaints they might have against him. He was your Frankie.
Then you worried about your husband as well. Spending an entire month with a family right off the bat was stressful. Adding to that stress was the fact that it was Ramadhan. You didn’t know if he would be able to adjust to a hectic schedule of a culture in its full swing. But through it all, he was the gentle, calming balm to your fraught nerves. And you really shouldn’t have worried— he was nothing if not excited, curious and respectful.
Every day at 3.30 in the morning, after you’d snoozed the alarm for the umpteenth time, you would feel his lips against your face. He’d wake you up with gentle kisses and whispered caresses, only to finally kick you out of bed when you luxuriated for too long under his attentions.
It was during Suhoor he had won over your mother. She had found him alone in the kitchen, before any of the women had awakened, with the tea simmering on the stove for the family. He had let you sleep in that day. All mothers wanted for their daughters was for someone to love and care for them with gentility that did not need to be proved or attested. And she could see her own daughter was quite lucky to have a man like him.
You hadn’t been worried about the cousins. A few of them had taken one look at how dashing and handsome he was before giving you a not-do-discreet nod of approval. The others had discovered he could fly, and suddenly he was the coolest person they had ever known. It was the elders you had been nervous about— their eyes wary and faces lined with experience and a life you had never experienced. Frankie had adored your elders with all their character and peculiar habits.
It was the aunties he had charmed first. Not only with his disarmingly broad shoulders and pretty boy looks, but with the same steadfast respect and care he showed his own family. Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales, who rolled tamales at his mother’s table, blunts on your coffee table, took to rolling samosas and spring rolls just as well.
He always lent his hand to clear up after meals, which made the aunties find him far more endearing than their own children who sat on their asses. Frankie had solicitously announced he would take on more chores so the women could have more time to pray. And you’d had to contain your giggles when all the women had collectively, dreamily sighed. You had privately rewarded him with many kisses right after.
The uncles were much harder to please. They would incessantly poke and prod at his life, his family, his career, his salary. You’d lost your cool one evening at a string of intrusive questions, face hardened and tongue poised to tell an uncle to back off when Frankie had covered the back of your hand with his large one before giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance to silence you. Regardless, you were fuming. It was difficult to draw lines in the sand with family. But you knew their concern for you comes from a protective corner of their heart. “It’s something we have in common, baby,” He had said.
And as if making a fool out of you, all the tension between them had melted. The very next evening, you had found Frankie in the middle of a small, boisterous crowd engaged in a heated game of carom. His eyes were trained on the pieces on the board with a single-minded purpose with his tongue peeking out between his lips.
In a spur of impish mischief, you had made a loud noise that cause him to miss his shot. The small disks had skidded aimlessly across the board. He hadn't needed to look to know they'd all missed the hole. He had looked up at you with a face so pained and eyes so wounded under his hat that you had almost, almost, felt bad. All the men had treated you like the villain you were. But late into the night, when the house was sleeping, your husband had kissed you sweetly all the same.
They would have never accepted him, he had explained, if you had spoken up in his defence. You would have hurt their feelings by spurning their concern which would have only made them see Frankie as an interloper who was turning you against your family— isolating you from those who wanted best for you. They had received his gesture of stopping you as a show of quiet honour and self-assuredness.
He had picked up the bad habit of smoking a cigarette with the men of the household after the evening prayers. Frankie had whispered his apologies at the scent of smoke clinging to his clothes. He had coaxed you with sweet nothings and promised to quit as soon as both of you returned. You would never tell him how maddeningly attractive he looked smoking one.
You dragged him across the city to all your old haunts, fed him the late night snacks you enjoyed and kissed him in the shadows of dark streets. It wasn't until the holier nights, later into the month, when your grandmother had placed her wrinkled hands on his head— her shaky fingers stroking his curls— blessing him after her prayers, that you saw him feel the love and acceptance. Your nose had burned with the tears just as his eyes had glazed over. Both of you had hidden your overwhelmed faces by turning them down in prayer.
Eid was a celebration of many things— the celebration of all the hardwork invested into cultivating a better self, a stronger connection with God, with community, with family. So it was an Eid for Frankie too, a day to celebrate a newfound, expanding family and stronger love.
His smile was bright and dimpled. The crinkles around his eyes more pronounced as the sun scattered from his curls. He was dressed in his new white outfit, holding a wad of cash as the children gathered around him. They obediently chirped “Eid Mubarak” in their high, excited voices to receive their Eidi and a big smooch on their cheeks from their uncle Frankie before running off with the money.
You couldn't help but mirror his smile as you waited with a bowl of dessert for him— a delicacy he would taste first from your lips before inhaling the dish.
