faris, or prince charming. He was always restless, even after a long day’s work, fidgeting with his dinner or biting his fingertips. He was prone to absentmindedness, a faraway look in his eyes. He clenched his teeth when he was irritated. He always smelled like smoke. Still, she thought, she liked his smile, the way a dozen lines crinkled around his eyes and brought his face to life. She also liked the sound of his voice, slightly melodious, perfect for calling the adhan, or so she imagined—she had never seen him pray.
Back outside the house, he turned to look at her. “Did you enjoy our walk?”
“I did.”
He took a long drag of his cigarette before crushing it against the sidewalk. “I know I should take you out more often,” he said. “But I’m so busy at work. I don’t know where the time goes between the deli and my store in the city.”
“I understand,” Isra said.
“Some days it feels like time is slipping through my fingers like water, as though one day I’ll wake up to find it all gone.” He stopped, reaching out to touch her belly. “But it will be worth it, you know. Our children won’t have to struggle like we did. We’ll give them a good life.”
Isra looked at him for a moment, feeling, for the first time, grateful for his hard work. She smiled and placed both hands on her belly, her fingers grazing his. “Thank you for everything you do,” she said. “Our children will be proud.”
Deya
Winter 2008
I just got off the phone with Nasser’s mother,” Fareeda told Deya when she returned from school that afternoon. Her eyes were full of satisfaction. “He’s coming to see you again tomorrow.”
Deya poured Fareeda a cup of chai in the sala, only half listening. She couldn’t stop thinking about the woman from Books and Beans. Should she skip school to go meet her? What if her teacher called Fareeda and said she’d missed school? What if she got lost trying to find the bookstore? What if something happened to her on the train? She’d heard stories about how dangerous the subway was, how women were often mugged, raped, even murdered in its murky corners. There was no way she could afford a cab with the measly vending-machine money Fareeda gave them. But she had to try—she needed to know why the woman had reached out. She couldn’t live with not knowing.
“I’m surprised Nasser wants to see you again,” Fareeda continued, reaching for the remote. “Seeing as you’ve managed to scare off every single suitor I’ve found you this year. Somehow the boy saw through your nonsense.”
“I’m sure you’re happy,” Deya said.
“Well, of course I’m happy.” Fareeda flicked through channels. “A good suitor is all a mother wants for her daughter.”
“Is this what you wanted for your daughter, too? Even though it meant never seeing her again?” Fareeda had married Sarah to a man from Palestine when Deya was still a small child, and she hadn’t seen her since.
“That was different,” Fareeda said. Her hands were shaking, and she set the remote down. Mentioning Sarah always hit a nerve. “You’re marrying right here in Brooklyn. You’re not going anywhere!”
“But still,” Deya said. “Don’t you miss her?”
“What does it matter? She’s gone, and that’s the way it is. I’ve told you a thousand times not to mention my children in this house. Why are you so difficult?”
Deya looked away. She wanted to stomp around the room, kick the door and walls, break the glass of the window. She wanted to scream at Fareeda. I refuse to listen to you! she’d tell her. Not until you tell me the truth about my parents! But when she drew a breath, the words dissipated. She understood her grandmother well enough to know she would never admit the truth. If Deya wanted answers, she would have to find them herself.
The next morning, at the bus stop, Deya made up her mind. She was going to the bookstore.
“Listen,” she told her sisters as they waited for the bus. “I’m not going to school today.”
“Where are you going?” Nora asked, eyeing her curiously. Deya could see Layla and Amal staring at her in disbelief.
“There’s something I have to do.” She felt the tip of the bookstore card in her jilbab pocket. “Something important.”
“Something like what?” Nora asked.
Deya scrambled for a convincing lie. “I’m going to the library to fill out college applications.”
“Without Fareeda’s permission?”
“What if you get caught?” Layla said. “Fareeda will kill you.”