spoonful of rice onto Ali’s plate. “Eat up, son. Look at how thin you’re getting.” Then she turned to Nadine, who sat with her hands in her lap. “You too, dear. Come on.” Nadine smiled and reached for her spoon.
Fareeda could feel Isra staring at her. “You need to eat, too, Isra. You haven’t gained much weight this pregnancy.”
Isra nodded and refilled her plate. Though Fareeda hadn’t mentioned it, she was worried about the gender. Why hadn’t Isra asked the doctor for an ultrasound while she was gone? Because she was an idiot, Fareeda thought, scooping another serving of rice onto her plate. But she should stop worrying and enjoy this moment with her sons. Yes, she should savor it. It was a reminder of how far she had come since that day. How long had it been—thirty years? Longer? She’d tried so hard to forget. For a long time Fareeda had believed she was cursed, haunted by the jinn. But then Adam had been born, and then Omar and Ali, and her memory of what happened began to fade, bit by bit, until it was almost gone. Like a bad dream. But then Sarah was born—a daughter—and the memories Fareeda thought she had put to rest burned a hole inside her anew. How much she hated looking at Sarah, how much she hated to remember. She had hoped her memories would fade when Sarah got older. Only they hadn’t. And now it was Deya who reminded her.
Please, God, Fareeda thought, staring at Isra’s belly. Don’t let this one be another girl.
Isra
Winter 1991
It was a girl.
The delivery room was quiet, and Isra lay beneath the thin hospital sheet, cold and bare, staring at the midnight December sky though the window. She longed for company, but Adam had said he needed to return to work. She had hoped that children would bring them closer, but they had not. In fact, it seemed as if each pregnancy pushed him farther away, as if the more her belly grew, the wider the space between them became.
She began to cry. What was it that moved her to tears? She wasn’t sure. Was it that she had disappointed Adam once again? Or was it because she couldn’t be happy as she looked at her newborn daughter?
She was still crying when Adam returned to visit her the next morning. “What’s wrong?” he asked, startling her.
“Nothing,” Isra said. She sat up and wiped her face.
“Then why are you crying? Did my mother say something to upset you?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
He took a brief look at the baby basket before walking toward the window. Was Isra imagining, or had Adam’s eyes reddened over the years? The thought that he was drinking sharaab crossed her mind again but she dismissed it. Not Adam, the man who had once wanted to be a priest, who had memorized the entire Qur’an. He would never commit haraam. He must be tired or sick, or perhaps it was something she had done.
“I’m afraid that you’re upset with me,” Isra said in a soft voice. “For having another daughter.”
He sighed irritably. “I’m not upset.”
“But you don’t seem happy.”
“Happy?” He met her eyes. “What’s there to be happy about?” Isra stiffened. “All I do is work day and night like a donkey! ‘Do this, Adam! Do that, Adam! More money! We need a grandson!’ I’m doing everything I can to please my parents, but no matter what I do, I fall short. And now I’ve given them another thing to complain about.”
“I’m sorry,” Isra said, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s not your fault. You’re a good son . . . a good father.”
He didn’t smile when she said this. Instead, he turned to leave, saying, “Some days I envy you for leaving your family behind. At least you had the chance to start a new life. Do you know what I would’ve done for an opportunity like that?”
Isra wanted to be angry at him for not seeing how much she had given up, but instead she found herself pitying him. He was only doing what was expected of him. How could she be mad at him for wanting the same things she wanted: love, acceptance, approval? If anything, this side of him only made her want to please him more. To show him that the place he could find love was with her.
Isra searched for the basket at the end of her bed, pulled her newborn daughter to her chest. She decided she would