Julie Iromuanya - Mr. and Mrs. Doctor

“Mommy,” one of the girls said, “she has one like yours.”

When Gladys didn’t reply, the girl tried again. This time Gladys gave her a firm jab to the side, but not without a small smirk that settled into the corners of her mouth.

“Ah-ah, you have gone for a second trip to Nigeria this year,” Emeka said by way of greeting. “Are you still living in the bush, my friend? Time is money in America.”

“I’m delivering a precious box,” Job said, looking at Ifi, then Emeka. “I had to drive carefully.” He both embraced Ifi and thrust her forward, to be devoured by the hungry eyes of the four girls. They varied in age from toddler to teenager. Job had told her the two oldest were away at university. The girls wore dresses under wool peacoats. All of them were adorned in braids and silk ribbons. Only the youngest wore thick cotton tights, covered with clinging balls of lint from the fabric of their coats.

Maybe if she had said something about their lateness, like Emeka, Ifi might have felt differently about Gladys, but Gladys only said, “Welcome.” Then she hugged Ifi far from her body, with the warmth that one would give a venomous snake. It was then that Ifi realized the single difference in the two coats: Gladys’s coat was real; Ifi’s was not.

Inside the restaurant candles glowed, revealing the silhouettes of masticating jaws, forkfuls of linguini, and wine glasses wet with the imprint of lips. A line awaited them, mostly older white couples, women in pearls and blue wigs, men in jackets and ties. As they made their way into the vestibule and stood at the end of the long line, their party began, one by one, to remove their coats and jackets, dusting off the fine layer of snow. Only Gladys and Ifi remained with theirs on.

Their voices joined the shrill chatter of the room. “Now, my friend, you are almost a man.” Emeka sent another glance Ifi’s way.

She smiled.

“Almost, you say?” Job grinned. “We are expecting our first son.”

“Son. You are so certain, eh?” Despite his smile, there was a hard edge to Emeka’s voice. He turned to Ifi and his smile broadened. “Well then, congratulations are in order. Dinner is on me.”

“No.” Job cut his eyes at him. “Not today. I will pay.”

“Thank you,” Ifi said quickly to Emeka. Again, she thought of the months she had spent with Job’s family. They had known that she no longer bled every month. They had known the subtle changes in her body because they had been looking for them. In a flash, Ifi saw her dreams begin to blur.

To Job, Emeka said, “Well now, perhaps your son will grow up to be a doctor, like his father.” Then suddenly, there was a private exchange between Emeka and Gladys. Had Ifi not been staring at the lining of Gladys’s coat she might have missed it, that small, discreet exchange of glances, just a whisper.

“Yes, Job, tell me,” Emeka said. “My wife has had a pain in her side during the entire pregnancy. She complains every morning when she rises. What can it be?”

Job stopped then. With a serious expression on his face, he made his way to Gladys. Ifi watched with pride as her doctor husband produced a stethoscope from his deep coat pocket, but she was still troubled by that secret exchange between husband and wife.

“Don’t mind him,” Gladys said. “It’s nothing.”

“No, she is only being modest,” Ifi said. Whether or not anything was wrong with Gladys, the fact was that Job was the only one among them who could do anything about it. She was not about to allow Gladys to spoil that.

Emeka agreed. “Gladys, allow him.”

“Not here,” she hissed.

“No, no. The obstetrician we see is a joke. I do not trust that woman, any woman doctor for that matter.” He beckoned to Job. “We have time. Look at this line. We are not going anywhere fast. And no one is paying attention.” Then he pointed to her side, smooth and elongated under the coat.

Job unbuttoned the coat, and Ifi watched in delight as Gladys shrank back in embarrassment. While he tapped along her side, she repeated, “I am fine.” Finally, he raised the stethoscope to her chest and listened to her heartbeat. After a moment, he pulled away.

“You have a heart murmur?”

“No.”

“You have a heart murmur.” It was no longer a question.

“How do you know?”

“It’s there, in your heart, a sound like a slow hammer.”

“Is that the cause of her pain?” Emeka asked.

“Of course.”

“Whatever can we do about it?”

“Acid-o-mana-phin.”

“Acetaminophen?”

“Yes.”

“Tylenol, you mean?”

“No, acidomanaphin.”

“Of course.”

“Yes, twice a day. Twice a day with a glass of orange juice each time. Or you can crush it into your fufu.” He paused. “Less time on your feet. Allow your husband to chase the children.”

“Will do.” Emeka nodded dutifully. “What would we do without you, my friend? Heh? Free medical treatment in a country where nothing is free.” He laughed, a jolly sound. Then Gladys joined in, and suddenly each of their daughters was joining in and laughing. Before long, the only one who was not laughing was Ifi. Even Job was laughing. There was a joke there, but perhaps she was too new to America to understand it. Slowly, uncertainly, Ifi joined their laughter.

“Now we eat,” Job said, swinging forward in the line.

Gladys hung back. “My, you are moving fast.” Instead of looking at Ifi, she turned up the jaw of her smallest and wiped away at a runny nose. There was a triangle of saliva on the front of the girl’s dress. “If you spoiled the picture, I will beat you, oh,” she said to her.

The girl shook a fierce no.

Emeka explained, “We have just come from our family photo.”

“You have no plans for yourself?” Gladys asked Ifi.

“Eh?” But Ifi knew exactly what she meant. Indeed, her words brought up the very fear that had been on Ifi’s mind since that morning months earlier, when it first occurred to her that she had stopped menstruating.

“Now that you have started, they will come.” Gladys’s eyes fell on each daughter. “One after the other.”

Ifi said nothing. It wasn’t true. Job had promised. After all, in spite of his wealth and success, he had chosen to return to Nigeria to find her. She stubbornly shook off the image of the shabby apartment, reminding herself that as a man, he surely had no taste for the finer things. He was practical. Her life would require a series of small adjustments, but they would all pay off in good time. She would follow through on every one of her dreams. She would be a nurse, and, just like Job had promised, they would build a clinic together at home.

“Never mind, oh. You have time. I am finishing my second master’s degree. If you work hard, Jesus will deliver.”

Again Ifi felt a hardness in her gut. She did not like this woman.

Emeka drew back to stand by Ifi. Following the line, the rest of the group moved in a swift procession. Job led the way. Eventually, just two couples remained ahead of them.

“Job tells me this is your first American meal.”

“Is this not Italian?” Ifi asked. She glanced at the inscription above the podium: Authentic Tuscan Cuisine.

“Ifi, my dear,” Emeka said, “when you have lived in America long enough, you will know that Americans have nothing and everything all at once.”

Ifi couldn’t help but think of her coat, heavy with its false weight. She felt ridiculous, like a small, hairy beast. Right then, she decided to slip out of it. When she did, Emeka smiled and sent her a knowing glance. She pretended not to notice.

“I am telling you, there are two choices one must make when ordering at this restaurant. Every fool who makes the mistake of ordering the wrong dish reveals something of himself.”