“Amor!”
“Hi, Honey!” His voice is distanced, muffled.
“Amor?! Can you hear me?”
“Yes, yes, I can hear you. Are you ok?”
“No, I’m not”, my voice breaking slightly.
“What’s wrong? Has something happened? Is the baby ok?”. His voice is clearer now. He sounds concerned.
“Amor, you don’t understand.” My eyes begin to well up with tears, but I’m trying hard to control them. “Baby is fine. But I’m not!”
“Tell me! What’s going on?”
“I want an empanada!”
Silence. Then a snort of laughter follows.
“Honey….”
“No, you just don’t get it!! I NEED AN EMPANADA!”
He breaks out into full on laughter. “I thought something bad had happened.”
“It IS bad! You don’t understand what I’m feeling right now. You’re on the other side of the world, and so are the empanadas that I’m craving, and here I am in London with a big, fat, pregnant belly and NO DOMINICAN EMPANADAS. It’s not fair!”
I’m crying my eyes out now. Yeah, I know it’s the hormones but these pregnancy cravings have me out of control.
“There must be somewhere you can get an empanada, I thought you said London has everything!”
“NOT DOMINICAN EMPANADAS!” I retort, unable to disguise the annoyance in my voice.
“Mi amor, I know, I’m sorry for laughing, I don’t mean to laugh at you, I promise.”
I giggle, my face still wet with tears. I know it’s ridiculous to have such intense emotions over a fried pastry filled with meat and cheese but boy, nobody can warn you how crazy you can get during pregnancy.
“I’ll be there soon Honey, and I promise I’ll make you all the empanadas you want.”
He soothes me until I’m ready to face another day without empanadas.
That night as I sleep, I dream of my first time. The day I popped my empanada cherry. I’m in a little square in the Dominican Republic where I took my first bite of heaven. My teeth break through the crispy, golden pastry and hot steam escapes, burning my mouth. My eyes widen as the chicken, sweetcorn and gouda filling tantalise my tastebuds. A life-changing moment. I try to cling on to the taste in my dream, but I’m woken by a kicking baby in my womb. He wants empanadas too.
Dial tone.
“AMOOOOOR”
“Hi Princesa, are you ok?”
“NO! I need an empanada!” I cry. And cry. And cry.
He sighs. I’m only 5 months into this pregnancy.
