Hobbling as a result of the extra weight on my shoulders and the weight around Dina's belly, I managed to help her into the cheap Community Hall chair. She almost dragged me down with her, but I caught myself before we could embarrass ourselves in front of our friends and family. Still huffing and puffing from the effort of bending down, Dina crinkled her nose at the sash that I tied around her torso. Finalizing the look with a makeshift paper plate hat, Dina stuck her tongue out at me.

      "So cheesy." Despite the quiet complaint she smiled for the other guests. I smiled back in a mixture of apology and indifference. I had been given the responsibility of planning the baby shower, I wasn't going to let her miss out on all the embarrassing traditions.

      "On the bright side," I started. "The sash is drawing attention to your chest and your boobs do be looking phenomenal."

      Looking down at the low cut, skin-tight black dress, the only one she found that fit, Dina chuckled. "They hurt as hell though," she tutted. "As do my feet. And did I mention that this guy is constantly kicking me." She looked down her stomach pointedly, and sure enough the material of her dress rippled with movement.

      I laughed; my future Just Dance partner in the making. "It'll all be worth it in three months."

      "Ah, yes," she answered sarcastically. "I'm looking forward to the nipple biting and torn coochie."

      I bit my lip in attempt not to laugh at her misery, but a choked giggle escaped me, nonetheless. Dina wasn't always so cynical. It was rather refreshing to hear.

      "But I am so looking forward to meeting my little bean." She felt the need to clarify as if she hadn't shown up at my house in the middle of the night, teary-eyed and bouncing with a positive pregnancy test, six months ago. "I just need him out."

      "Hang in there," I said, making move to reach for the first gifts. The guests were waiting, camera ready and eager to watch the mother to be opening their gifts. "For future reference, if you wish to avoid this." I gestured towards her stomach, voice low. "You might want to follow in my footsteps and run away from dick."

       Dina cackled; head thrown back in laughter. I had had the pleasure of filling her in on my unsuccessful dates during that morning's car ride.

      "With that in mind," she said. "You can throw any cheesy tradition my way. I shall forever remain amused."

      I stuck my tongue out. "With that in mind," I mimicked. "I'm going to turn this into a drinking game."

      Dina cocked a brow.

      "1 shot for every blue article, 2 shots for pink." Though Dina and I were certain she was having boy, the Xray technicians had yet been able to ascertain the sexe.

      "3 shots for every Star Wars related gift," Dina added, eyes shimmering mischievously.

      Christopher was a huge Star Wars fanatic. There was bound to be a few Yoda shirts or plushies. With puckered lips I pondered the suggestion.

      "It would probably be a good idea to not get wasted at 11am," I eventually concluded. "Wouldn't want you to convince me against playing baby-themed charades."

      "And Macbeth's three witches would not approve." Dina nodded towards my mother and her two sisters. It was a comparison I had made long ago, that Dina would never let me forget.

      You couldn't deny the Sarraf sisters shared genetics. They had the same dark hair and black eyes, with defined jaws, buttoned noses, and the most critical gaze to grace this earth. Despite their physical resemblances, they had very different styles. My mother was the pant suit type, hair slicked back and always ready for business. She towered over the other two with her four-inch heels. Aunt Hamia was the middle child and as competitive as my mother. She was the sporty type, stood tall in her expensive yoga pants and Pollo vest. She could be caught at the tennis court or golf house, gossiping, and sipping tea with her friends. If her constant mention of the sport weren't enough to prove her love for Tennis, her seven children and countless affairs certainly were. Aunt Dasia, my god mother was the youngest. She was the hippy of the trio. Long raven curls fell to her hips, curls as frayed as the hem of her ankle length knitted dress. Dasia was the most down to earth of the Sarraf sisters, but when it came to her sisters and comparing successes she was just as bad.

       Hunched together, the trio sat in the middle of the hall, ensuring they had the best seats to watch the gift opening. They were ready to loudly announce which gift was theirs, and hint at its cost. The bassinet tags my mother had been looking at when we went shopping weren't cheap. Strangely she didn't want to split with me on the Soaker-Uppers, bottle of wine and the makeshift diaper spacecraft.

      Doing my party planner duties, I caught the guests' attention and handed Dina the first present. A pink onesie with a smiling Yoda. That would have been 5 shots. Deciding against the drinking game had been wise.

      Upon reconsideration, I should have taken the shots.

      While I sent Dina to smell the chocolate smeared diapers with her friends, I somehow found myself alone with the 3 wit— sisters. They were deep into one of their not so subtle who's the better Sarraf offspring? conversations. Considering my poor rankings, I typically avoided these chats. Today, I missed my opportunity of escaping the crossfires.

       One after one, they listed their children's accomplishments. Angela was getting married to her high school sweetheart. Amir had been offered the head position at his firm. Cyla was pregnant, and Zaki and his wife were also expecting. Nadine was graduating from medical school and the list went on.

      "Yasmine has purchased the building off Crimson Boulevard. She started her own clinic," my mother announced, nose held high. Ah, so now she chooses to acknowledge the big step in my career. Was that pride hinting across her tight face?

      "That's great, honey," Aunt Dasia patted my hand excitedly.

      "For the..." Aunt Hamia tried. "What is it you do again?" Always the perfect woman to humble a person.

      "I'm a veterinarian," I reminded kindly. "I'm starting my own practice."

      "Ah yes, you're an animal doctor." Despite her choice of words, aunt Hamia nodded appreciatingly. I didn't miss the smug look on my mother's face.

      "You have enough clients for that?" Aunt Dasia inquired innocently. She didn't mean anything by it. She was just a curious woman with direct and brutally honest tendencies. Still, mom stiffened beside me.

       "She's not even fully open yet, and people are calling to be placed on her waiting list," my mother guarded. "The mayor recommended her to all his friends."

      I forced a smile, tension at the table suddenly suffocating. Both my aunts forced congratulatory remarks. I welcomed their compliments, staring into my 7 UP, wishing desperately that I would have added a few shots of vodka to the soda.

     Few silent moments passed and naively I thought the petty competition over.

      I caught movement in front of me and swallowed a groan. Aunt Hamia reached for a straw, uselessly stirring her drink. Posture straight as a telephone pole, red lips puckered smugly, the gossiping golfer wife in her emerged.

      "No boyfriend, yet?" she blinked innocently.

      No divorce, yet? I resisted the urge to ask. What was with people's obsession with my love life?

      "Not yet," I feigned indifference. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of reacting to the insult behind the inquiry. My mother was struggling to not react.

      "Yasmine has high standards," she tried to defend me but ended up sounding bitter. "We don't want her settling for someone that doesn't make her happy... She's dating. Testing her options."

      "Maybe you're looking in the wrong places," Dasia suggested. What was that supposed to mean?

      "You can't wait forever," Hamia butted in. "Being spontaneous helps in the dating world."

      My jaw tightened. I didn't particularly wish to take dating advice from a woman on her third divorce.

      "Spontaneous?" I repeated dumbly. What exactly were they accusing me of?

      "Sometimes we need to lower our standards." Hamia shrugged.

      "It's good to have a type," my god mother added. "But sometimes our type is different that we expect."

      I blinked twice before understanding. They were accusing me of being shallow. They thought I wouldn't settle for taking anything less than perfection to bed. This time I didn't hide the scowl. I was not shallow. I hated the idea of defining perfection. I helped Quinn dye her armpits blue last year. I left my brows un-plucked when some idiots made fun of a classmate in 7th grade.

      "I actually went on a blind date last night." I followed in my mother's footsteps; defensive. Was that spontaneous enough for them? It was none of their business but still I felt the need to defend myself.

      "And it probably went as bad as the last," my mother answered bitterly. She was relinquishing the competition. She thought I was so hopeless that I wasn't worth defending. She probably wanted to embarrass me, as if I'd put more of an effort in then.

      Fury rising to my throat, the lies slipped out easily. "It actually went great."

      Three pairs of the same black eyes looked up in surprise.

      "Really?" Mom inquired. I expected undeniable excitement, not skepticism. She didn't believe me.

      Just to get the look off her face, I nodded. "We're seeing each other again in a few days."

      "That's great," mom replied, eyes still crinkled doubtfully. "What's his name?"

      This is what I got for lying. Keeping up with a lie, always meant creating new ones. Émile would have been the logical answer, but I didn't want to bring him into this. If it came to it, and he had to play the pretend role of my boyfriend, I didn't want to mess with his feelings. I would not be that girl.

      Panicking to find a name, I spotted a teddy bear on the table of opened gifts, and the name slipped out without a second thought. "Arty."

      "Arty?" my mother repeated. She followed my gaze towards the table. "Like the stuffed bear you used to own as a child?"

      I forced my face to still, allowing no hints of the lie on my features.

      "Odd coincidence," I chuckled nervously. "He's a really great guy."

      Aunt Hamia and Dasia nodded with genuine smiles, but mom still didn't look convinced. "Does Arty have a last name and address?"

      "Of course." I sipped on my soda nonchalantly. I wouldn't falter under her challenging eyes. "But we've only been on one date. I didn't get all that information."

      "But surely you got some information you can share with us. We'd love to hear about it."

      I wasn't fooled by her sweet smile. Time to create an imaginary boyfriend on the spot. There was no turning back now.

      "He's a mechanical engineering apprentice." I thought of the latest contestant on the dating show I watched last night. "He's looking for a cat and recently bought a car. His favourite color is orange and he's a huge nerd for math."

      Those were fair date questions, right? I wouldn't know, but it sounded like stuff dates would talk about. I was relying solely on my knowledge of cheesy romance movies. Should I have mentioned some sort of traumatic past. A house fire? The abandonment of a parent?

      From the nods I received around the table, I gathered that my answer was satisfactory.

      "I look forward to meeting him." Mom smiled. There was a note of challenge in her tone.

      "Someday," I promised. "I'm sure you'll love him."

      "Will we be seeing him at Christopher's birthday supper?"

     Christopher was Dina's husband. Dina was hosting a family supper for his big 25.

     "That's 2 weeks away," I remarked.

      "Why is that a problem?"

      "We've been on one date," I said incredulously. "No one meets the parents that soon. That would be coming on way too strong."

     "If he's really the type of man I'd love, he wouldn't be opposed to you showing a strong interest."

     I stood my ground. My mother wasn't going to back down. Not in front of her sisters. The fact that she wanted to catch me in a lie in front of them was what made me the angriest. She thought my love status so pathetic that I needed a rude awakening, in the form of embarrassment. I wasn't backing down either; fuelled with pettiness.

     "Alright," I agreed, knowing already that I would come to regret it. "I'll try to convince him."

      "Great," my mother answered through a tight smile.

     "Fantastic," I returned.

      Aunt Hamia adjusted her collar as if made uncomfortable by the tension. Thanking the women for the lovely chat, I excused myself from the table. I had chip bowls to refill and prizes to giveaway. I would finish making this the best baby shower in my capacity and then I would worry about finding a fake boyfriend named Arty.