Breeding Dylan

36: Out of Shape

"You will look so perfect," Azani assured me as he buttoned up a midnight blue dress shirt on me that shimmered in the blazing sunlight that filtered in through the sheer curtains.

"I feel like I'm getting bigger." I looked at my profile in the mirror and could see baby Ahmed starting to push out my stomach.

"He is too small to show yet, and your tummy is flat as ever." Tareq raised an eyebrow like he thought I was seeing things.

"You are twink perfection. You're a designer's dream!" Azani agreed. "It is too early in your pregnancy to worry about showing, and these tuxedos will cover even if he does spontaneously double in size. You are so easy to dress, little Dylan."

"Are you sure?" I raised my arms as Azani helped me into the blazer.

Emerson and Mrs. Zakar had hired Azani to design our wedding attire. He'd come to the house with a huge rack of ideas. He was the number one men's designer in the Middle East. 

"You will look wonderful," Emerson signed. He had one of the house workers there to translate for him.

We tried on a few different tuxedos before settling on the midnight blue one for me and a light blue for Tareq. Yes, our wedding colors would be two shades of blue. That's what I picked.

Emerson was trying to involve me in the decision making, but he actually made it not so overwhelming. He'd get me talking about something or watching something on TV and then out of nowhere he'd pull out a clipboard with some samples or pictures and ask me which one I'd prefer for the wedding.

The "choices" were always carefully curated options chosen by him and Mrs. Zakar so it was kind of a false choice, but I was glad he was trying to include me without stressing me out.

This morning, we were eating breakfast and talking about a Pixar movie where a family of forks escaped from an evil caterer when a house worker suddenly brought over four pictures of flower arrangements and asked which one I liked best. He was sneaky about it. He nodded with an approving smile when I picked the second picture.

"That one is my favorite too," he signed.

Later, I discovered there was indeed a wrong choice. I was finishing the morning workout routine with him and Mr. Hamad in the gym we used in the main house. We were doing cool-down yoga when he pulled out a plastic page protector from underneath his yoga mat that had a set of fabric samples of the ceremonial cloth for the... ceremony (I don't know what stuff is called over here). 

I picked the one with wide stripes in the dark blue and light blue, but I immediately saw the disappointment in his face.

"That is the one you want?" Mr. Hamad translated his husband's mood as if his face was not abundantly clear.

"Oh no! I was picking the one I like the least. This one is tacky, very very tacky. Only a total psycho would choose this one," I immediately corrected. That earned me a laugh from both of them.

"I guess my face betrayed me. It really is your choice," Emerson signed with a smile that said he was sorry for making me feel bad for my selection.

"Dylan wants to make us happy," Mr. Hamad said and signed before ruffling my hair.

"I want to make you happy, but I more want Mrs. Zakar to not think I'm a tacky gold-digger with bad taste. I really want her to have the day she dreams of and also be married to Tareq so we don't have to worry about being separated again. It would really help if you could just pick whatever is going to please the crowd and make them compliment her so she doesn't come back later and make me feel bad," I confessed.