“Inshallah,” he said between mouthfuls of food, but from the look on his face, Isra knew they never would. There had been a time when this would have hurt her, and she was surprised to find that she was no longer upset. For so many years she had believed that if a woman was good enough, obedient enough, she might be worthy of a man’s love. But now, reading her books, she was beginning to find a different kind of love. A love that came from inside her, one she felt when she was all alone, reading by the window. And through this love, she was beginning to believe, for the first time in her life, that maybe she was worthy after all.
“I don’t understand why you’re wasting time,” Fareeda said to Isra one Sunday afternoon in March. They were all gathered together at Fort Hamilton Park to celebrate Eid al-Fitr, which Isra found strange, considering that most of them hadn’t observed the Ramadan fast that year. Fareeda couldn’t fast because of her diabetes, Nadine was pregnant, and Sarah only pretended to fast so as not to upset Khaled, who, besides Isra, was the only one who fasted every year. She wondered if Adam only pretended to fast, too, but had never dared ask him.
She didn’t know why she herself still observed Ramadan. Some days she thought she fasted out of guilt—for often failing to perform her five daily prayers, for failing to trust in Allah and her naseeb. Other days fasting reminded her of her childhood, of evenings seated with her family around a sufra of lentil soup and fresh dates, counting down the minutes until sunset so they could eat and drink again. But most days Isra suspected she fasted purely from habit, a soothing familiarity in performing ritual for ritual’s sake alone.
“Really,” Fareeda said now, “why aren’t you pregnant again? What are you waiting for? You still need a son, you know.”
Isra sat at the edge of the picnic blanket, as far away from Fareeda as possible, and watched the rest of the family. Sarah and Deya fed pigeons by the pier. Khaled carried Ameer over his shoulders. Omar and Nadine held hands and looked out onto the Hudson River. Adam lit a cigarette. Behind them, the Verrazano Bridge stood high and wide, like a mountain on the horizon. “I already have three children,” Isra said. “I’m tired.”
“Tired?” Fareeda said. “When I was your age, I’d already given birth to—” She stopped. “Never mind the number. My point is that Adam needs a son, and you need to get pregnant soon to give him one.”
“I’m only twenty-one,” Isra said, startled by the defiance in her tone. “And I already have three children. Why can’t I wait a little?”
“Why wait? Why not just get them out of the way?”
“Because I wouldn’t be able to raise another kid right now.”
Fareeda scoffed. “Three or four, what difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference to me. I’m the one who has to raise them.”
Fareeda glared, and Isra looked away. Not from shame, but rather to conceal her pleasure. She couldn’t believe she had spoken her mind and defied Fareeda for the first time in years.
“Still eating?” Adam asked when he approached them.
Isra passed him a small smile, but Fareeda wasted no time. She cleared her throat and began. “Tell your wife,” she said. “Tell her it’s time to get pregnant again.”
Adam sighed. “She’ll get pregnant soon, Mother. Don’t worry.”
“You’ve been saying that for months! You’re not getting any younger, you know. And neither is Isra. What do you think will happen if you get a fourth girl? You think you’re going to just stop trying for a son? Of course not! That’s why it’s important to hurry.”
Adam fumbled inside his pocket for a pack of Marlboro Red. “You think I don’t want a son? I’m trying my best.”
“Well, keep trying.”
“I will, Mother.”
“Good.”
Adam looked away, squeezing the pack of cigarettes tight. Even though he was looking out toward the river, Isra could see it in his eyes: he would beat her tonight. She stared at him, hoping she was wrong, that he wouldn’t take out his anger on her. But the signs were all too familiar now. First, he’d beat her loud and hard, shaking with rage. Then he’d reach out to touch her again, only slightly softer this time, pushing himself inside her. She’d shut her eyes tight, clench her fists, and keep still in hopes she might just disappear.