at him, and he scoffed. “I mean, for God’s sake, it’s not like he didn’t have a reason!”
It was as though he’d smashed a brick into her face. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” Nasser stood. “It was nothing. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” He walked toward the doorway without meeting her eyes. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“Wait,” Deya said, following him across the kitchen. “Don’t go. Tell me what you meant.”
But Nasser rushed down the hall and out the door in a blink, his startled mother following suit, before Deya could say another word.
Fareeda
Fall 1995
Fareeda had suspected all along that Umm Ahmed would not be interested in Sarah for her son. It was because Umm Ahmed didn’t share Fareeda’s view of the world. She thought Fareeda wasn’t religious enough, that she shamed girls too much. But at least Fareeda understood the way the world worked, unlike Umm Ahmed, whose daughter Fatima had gotten divorced. She was sure Hannah would get divorced, too. That’s what happens, Fareeda thought, when you live life as though you’re in a TV commercial, everyone running around laughing, falling in and out of love.
“The phone never rings when you wait for it,” Fareeda said now, chomping on a stick of gum and staring at Nadine, who had joined her in the sala. It was the beginning of the school year, and Isra was waiting for Deya at the bus stop. It was her first day of preschool.
“Who are you expecting to call?” Nadine asked, smoothing her hair.
“Just a potential marriage suitor.”
“Oh.”
Fareeda knew what she must be thinking. Somehow the summer had passed, and not one suitor had asked for Sarah’s hand in marriage. Perhaps the other Arab mothers thought Sarah wasn’t good enough, Arab enough. Perhaps, like her, they preferred a girl from back home. All of this was possible, but deep down Fareeda couldn’t help but fear it was the jinn, still haunting their family after all those years, as if Isra’s girls were a payback for what she had done.
Nadine cleared her throat and Fareeda straightened. She hoped the girl couldn’t sense her fear.
“You’ll miss her, you know,” Nadine said, looking at her with her stupid blue eyes. “She’ll be married soon, and you’ll miss her.”
“Miss her?” Fareeda tucked her yellow nightgown over her knees. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I just mean you shouldn’t worry about marrying her off so quickly. You should enjoy the time you have left.”
Fareeda didn’t like the look on Nadine’s face. There was a time when she had enjoyed Nadine’s company, a break from Isra’s dullness and Sarah’s rebellions. But now it was Nadine who irritated her the most, with her constant sense of entitlement. The girl did whatever she pleased, regardless of what Fareeda asked of her. As annoying as Isra was, at least she did what she was told. At least she knew her place. But one damn child, and Nadine walked around as though the world owed her something. As though she wasn’t a woman like the rest of them. You have to earn the right to bend the rules, Fareeda thought, and Nadine hadn’t earned a thing.
“But I guess you’re lucky,” Nadine said. “She’ll get married right here, and you’ll see her all the time.”
“See her all the time? Do you think you’d see your mother all the time if you were living back home?”
“Of course.”
Fareeda laughed, her eyes squinting into tiny slits. “When a girl gets married, she puts a big X on her parents’ door.” Fareeda drew the letter with her index finger as large as she could in front of her. “A very big X.” Nadine stared at her, fingering the tips of her hair. “No man wants a wife still stuck up her family’s back end when she should be home cooking and cleaning.” Fareeda spit out her gum, squashed it into a tissue. “Believe me, I’ll kick Sarah right back into her husband’s lap if she starts coming around here after she’s married.”
Deya
Winter 2008
What are you hiding from me?” Deya asked Sarah the next day, as soon as she walked into the bookstore. There were customers, but Deya didn’t bother to keep her voice low. “Nasser—Nasser, of all people—said there was a reason Baba beat Mama. What was he talking about?”
“I don’t know—”
“Stop! I thought we said we wouldn’t lie to each other.” Deya lowered her voice, trying not to cry. “Please. Just tell me the truth already. What happened to my parents?”