“Didn’t you want sons so badly?” Fareeda shot him a sidelong glance. “Well, this is what having sons means, paying for things. It’s an investment in the future of our family. You should’ve known it would be expensive. Besides, you have Adam to help you out. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
She hoped Adam would understand. Lately he hardly spoke to anyone, including her. Especially her. At first, she thought he blamed her for Isra, who was only getting worse, retreating to the basement as soon as her chores were completed, barely a word to anyone. But now Fareeda was beginning to wonder if he was mad at her, at them, for all the responsibility they put on him. She thought back to when he was sixteen, how he would spend his days after school reading the Holy Qur’an. He’d wanted to be an imam, he’d told her. But he was forced to leave that dream behind when they went to America. What was she supposed to do? He was the eldest son, and they needed him. They’d all left things behind.
She turned to Ali. “So what do you want to do now?”
He shrugged. “Work, I guess.”
“Why don’t you work in the deli?” She turned to Khaled. “Can’t you hire him?”
Khaled shook his head, looking at her like she was an idiot. “The deli barely brings in enough money to pay the bills. Don’t you see all the work Adam does just to keep it running? Why do you think I want Ali to go to college?” He waved his hands. “So he isn’t stuck behind a cash register like we are. Don’t you understand a thing, woman?”
“I don’t know,” Fareeda mocked. “Do I? The last time I checked, I’m the reason we made it to America in the first place.”
Khaled said nothing. It was true. If it hadn’t been for Fareeda, if she hadn’t forced Khaled to give her his daily earnings, they never would’ve made it to America in 1976, or likely ever. It was Fareeda who had saved enough money for them to purchase their plane tickets to New York, and later, she who had saved Khaled’s earnings at his first job, an electronics store on Flatbush Avenue, in a navy-blue shoe box under her bed. She who had become ever more resourceful, limiting the amount of money she spent on food and household items, washing her children’s clothes daily so they didn’t need more than two outfits each, even baking ma’amool cookies for Khaled to sell his customers, who were enthralled by the foreign combination of figs and butterbread. Soon she had saved ten thousand dollars in the navy-blue shoe box stuffed beneath their bed, which Khaled had used to open his deli.
Fareeda took a sip of her chai, looking away from Khaled. “The boy wants to work, so let him work,” she said. “Maybe I’ll ask Adam to give him a job in his store.”
Ali jumped in. “What about Omar’s store?”
“What about it?”
“Maybe I can work there instead?”
“No, no, no,” Fareeda said, reaching for another loaf of pita. “Omar is still getting on his feet. He can’t afford to hire anyone right now. Adam has a steady business going. He’ll hire you.”
Khaled stood up. “So that’s your solution? Instead of encouraging him to stay in school, to do something on his own, you turn to Adam, again, as though he is the only man among them? When will you stop spoiling them? When will you start treating them like men?” He turned to his younger sons, his index finger shaking. “You two don’t know a thing about this world. Not one damn thing.”
Oh, for goodness sake, Fareeda thought, though she said nothing. Instead, she pulled the skillet of shakshuka closer, taking two, three bites in a row, chugging her chai to keep the food moving. Food, it was the only thing left that gave her comfort. She was considerably thicker now than she’d once been. But that didn’t bother her. In fact, she would spend all day eating if it didn’t cost so much. Of course she knew that burying her feelings in food was unhealthy—that it could kill her. But there were other things that could kill her, too, things like failure and loneliness. Like growing old one day and looking around to find a husband who resented you, kids who no longer needed you, who despised you despite all you’d done for them. At least eating felt good.