by Umm Zakiyyah
Aliyah suppressed a groan. That was beside the point. She didn’t need Deanna to psychoanalyze Nikki. Aliyah wanted practical advice on how to deal with the situation.
“No she’s not.” Aliyah was surprised by the exhausted brusqueness in her tone. Maybe it was Deanna’s insistence on coming to the office against Aliyah’s protests that was making Aliyah irritable. But whatever it was, Aliyah wasn’t in the mood for Dr. Deanna Bivens, the know-it-all. She wanted Deeja, the friend.
“Look, Aliyah,” Deanna said, her tone soft with empathy. Her expression was thoughtful as she leaned forward, her hands clasped on her lap. Deanna looked down for a moment, as if trying to find the right words for what she needed to say, and Aliyah got the feeling that Deanna was in therapist mode. “I don’t blame Nikki just like I don’t blame you.”
Aliyah nodded, listening, though she was unsure what Deanna meant.
“Nikki looks at you like you look at me.”
Aliyah moved her head in the beginning of a nod then stopped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Deanna drew in a deep breath and exhaled, apology in that sound. “Like I said, Aliyah. I don’t blame you. But with you it’s normal jealousy, but with Nikki, her jealousy is out of control.”
“Jealousy?” Aliyah said, her eyebrows drawn together.
“It’s okay, Aliyah,” Deanna said, waving her head. “I can excuse your jealousy. But Nikki’s is inexcusable. She’s using it to—”
“Are you joking?” Aliyah coughed laughter. “Do you really think I’m jealous of you?” Of course, this wasn’t the first time Deanna had mentioned Aliyah’s alleged jealousy, but it was the first time that Aliyah realized that Deanna actually meant it.
Deanna sighed and stood, lifting her handbag and pulling the straps over her shoulder. “I didn’t mention that to offend you, Ally. I just mentioned it so you can understand better where Nikki is coming from. It’s natural to feel jealous of someone who has a lot more going for them than you do. But it’s not natural to let jealousy cloud your judgment. You don’t let jealousy interfere with your interactions with me, so maybe you can help Nikki do the same with you.”
Aliyah’s offense nearly choked her, her words caught in her throat.
“I’m really happy to be here for you,” Deanna said, her hand on the door handle as she turned to Aliyah. Deanna’s lips formed a thin line, suggesting that she was troubled by something. “But next time, just keep in mind, I’m not always able to drop everything and come comfort you at a moment’s notice. Some things you’ll have to work through on your own,” she added. “But I’ll do what I can because I love you.”
Aliyah went through the rest of day as if in a daze. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. At some moments, Aliyah felt like she was going to throw up; at other moments, as if she would break down crying. She sat through the math faculty meeting with a polite close-lipped smile plastered to her face. She nodded when the other faculty members nodded, laughed when they laughed, and jotted down notes when they jotted down notes. But all she could think about was how humiliated she felt. She didn’t know whose audacity offended her more, Nikki’s or Deanna’s.
After the meeting, Aliyah sat in her office staring off into the distance. She couldn’t bring herself to go home yet. She needed a moment to pull herself together. A lump developed in her throat as she realized how pathetic her life was. No, she wasn’t jealous of Deanna, at least not consciously, but Aliyah couldn’t deny that, like Deanna had said, Deanna had a lot more going for her than Aliyah did. If nothing else, Deanna knew how to keep a husband. Even if it had turned out that it was Jacob and not Larry who had called Benjamin about marrying Aliyah, at least Jacob would have been seeking another wife, not a divorce. And that spoke volumes. Aliyah had supported Matt marrying another wife, and still he’d divorced her.
“As-salaamu’alaikum.”
Aliyah’s shoulders jerked in surprise at the sound of a man’s voice. She looked up and saw her department head standing in the open doorway. “Oh. Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam, Dr. Bivens,” Aliyah said to Jacob.
“I’m sorry to come unannounced,” he said.
“Is everything okay?” Aliyah was worried that someone had seen Deanna at Aliyah’s office during lunch break.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” Jacob said. “It’s not about work. Larry called me.”
Oh. Thank God. Aliyah sighed in relief.
“He said he’s spoken to your uncle about marrying you.”
Aliyah smiled beside herself. Jacob’s words reminded her that she wasn’t without hope after all. Maybe Larry was indeed “the one,” as her uncle so ardently believed. “Yes, he told me,” Aliyah said.
“But he said you thought it was me who had called your uncle.” Jacob had a troubled expression on his face, but a confused smile creased one corner of his mouth.
Aliyah’s heart thumped in embarrassment, and her eyes widened in apology. “I’m sorry, Jacob,” she said, professional etiquette dropping from her tone. “I didn’t meant to…” Her voice trailed as she realized that there were no words that could excuse her behavior. It had been completely irresponsible for her to say that to Larry. She could have left the topic alone after Larry had replied to her inquiry saying yes he had been in touch with Benjamin. But she had been so relieved that she’d laughed out loud and said to Larry, “Oh my God. You won’t believe what my uncle thought…” Then she told Larry point-for-point details about the conversation she and her uncle had had before she and Larry met in person at the restaurant.
“No, no, no,” Jacob said, shaking his head. “It’s okay. But I just wanted to make sure you didn’t mention your uncle’s phone call to Deanna.”
“No, of course not,” Aliyah said quickly. “I wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“Good.” Jacob exhaled in relief. “I told Larry I’m really happy for him and that I completely support the marriage. If that’s what you want, of course,” Jacob added tentatively, as if waiting for Aliyah’s confirmation.
“I’m definitely considering it,” Aliyah said.
“I’m sorry about the confusion,” Jacob said.
Aliyah laughed self-consciously. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. I should’ve known that you wouldn’t do anything like that.”
Jacob’s forehead was creased as he regarded Aliyah briefly before averting his gaze. “Aliyah, are you saying you…” Confusion was in his voice as if he’d lost his train of thought. “No, Aliyah,” he said finally, shaking his head. “What I’m saying is, it was me. But I told Larry I had spoken to your uncle before I knew he was interested in you. When my brother started calling your uncle, Benjamin and I spoke, and I told him that it was better if Larry married you.”
Inadvertently, Aliyah’s jaw dropped. She was at a loss for words.
Just then Aliyah recalled Larry’s silence on the phone after she had laughed and told him about her uncle saying it was Jacob who had called about marrying her. Aliyah had assumed it was male jealousy that had kept Larry from laughing too. But now she realized it was because her detailed story had made him privy to information he’d never known before.
“But I just wanted to apologize,” Jacob said. “Larry is really bothered by all of this. So I wanted to clear the air and let you know it was just a momentary lapse in judgment. I was going through a lot at the time, and I just thought if…” He shook his head, as if willing the thoughts from his mind. “Never mind. It was a stupid idea, and I should’ve never entertained the thought. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Aliyah said, surprised that she’d found her voice. “We all make mistakes.”
Jacob’s expression held a tinge of sadness, and Aliyah sensed that her words had offended him somehow. “Yeah,” he said, chuckling to himself. “We certainly do.”
Chapter 4
Her Best Friend’s Husband
Jacob and Deanna first met when Jacob was a Ph.D. candidate preparing to defend his thesis and Deanna
was a second year doctorate student at the same university. Jacob had been sitting alone at a table in the food court when he heard a chair being pulled out across from him. He looked up from the soft drink in his hand and the array of open books in front of him to find a woman smiling down at him. The first things he noticed about her were her eyes and her hijab. Her eyes were a rich brown, the kind that makes you do a double take because you might have missed them at first glance. The hijab she wore was a burnt red, a detail that stood out to him because it was his mother’s favorite color and because it brought the color of Deanna’s cheeks.
“As-salaamu’alaikum, Mr. Jacob Bivens,” the woman said, setting down her food tray as she lowered herself into the seat she had pulled out for herself. “I’m Deanna Michaels. I remember you from your lecture at MSA career day.”
Jacob smiled, flattered that he had made an impression at the Career Day Symposium sponsored by the Muslim Student Association about a month ago. “Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“I didn’t say I enjoyed it,” Deanna said, humorous sarcasm in her tone. “I said I remember you.”
Jacob chuckled self-consciously and nodded. “Sorry about that.”
“Are you coming to the dinner tonight?” Deanna looked at him in between putting forkfuls of lasagna into her mouth.
“Dinner?”
“The MSA is having a dinner tonight. Well, it’s actually more like a cocktail party,” Deanna said, “but without the cocktails.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“You should come,” she said. “You need a break from all that studying.”
It struck Jacob how the woman was speaking to him as if they’d known each other for years. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. He’d never liked forward women. Before he became Muslim, there were times that he reveled in the attention he received from assertive females, but that was only when he had selfish motives. As early as middle school, he’d known that the woman he finally settled down with had to be not only educated and intelligent, but also humble and reserved.
Which was probably why he was still single. He was beginning to wonder if such a woman even existed. “What time does it start?” Jacob asked.
Deanna couldn’t keep from grinning triumphantly. “Six thirty,” she said. “In the MSA room.”
Jacob nodded. “If I don’t get too bogged down,” he said noncommittally, “I’ll see if I can stop by.” But internally, he knew he had no intention of coming. He wasn’t a fan of religious-based clubs, though he occasionally felt obligated to accept invitations to speak.
“Give me your number.”
For a second, Jacob thought he’d misheard, and an uncertain smile lingered on his face. “What?”
“Give me your cell phone number.” She spoke as if it were the most natural request in the world. “I know you won’t turn down the chance to spend more time with me.” Her lips twitched in a flirtatious grin. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I could be your future wife.”
Jacob laughed out loud. He liked this woman already. He wasn’t one to laugh easily, but Deanna’s confidence and not-so-subtle hints touched a part of him that he didn’t know was there. “I’ll give you my number if you give me yours,” he said, mirroring her flirtatiousness.
“Deal,” she said then opened her purse and withdrew her phone. “I’ll give you a missed call.”
When Jacob arrived at the MSA dinner, his attention was immediately drawn to the far corner of the room. A woman was leaning against a wall reading a book, oblivious to all the commotion and chatter around her. Her expression was one of thoughtful intrigue, as if the words on the page offered a perspective she had never considered before. Educated and intelligent, he found himself thinking. And humble and reserved.
He wondered if she, like he, had been convinced to come to this event though she desired to be elsewhere. The thought humored him, and he smiled to himself, as if he and she were of a single mind. He walked toward her, but before he was close enough to introduce himself, he heard someone yelling his name.
He turned to see Deanna bounding toward him with all the confidence of an old friend. “As-salaamu’alikum, Jacob. You came!” She was no longer wearing the burnt red hijab, and for some reason, this disappointed him. The shimmering gold cloth that she now wore struck him as excessive and gaudy. “It’s too much,” he heard his mother’s voice in his head. “If you want to make a statement, make it with your mouth shut.”
Jacob’s mother was a fashion connoisseur who ran a small but renowned public relations company known for its witty, often figurative advice about physical appearance and social image. She often made analogies between being mouthy and annoying, and wearing loud “look-at-me” clothes. As a teenager, Jacob was often frustrated and embarrassed by his mother’s comments about people’s wardrobes and behavior, especially when she was quoted in a newspaper or magazine or was being interviewed on local television. But as he grew older and became directly involved with the company, he began to understand the significance of what he’d previously interpreted as hypercritical and nitpicky.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam,” Jacob said to Deanna, forcing a smile. He tried to keep from looking across the room at the woman leaning against the wall, but his gaze kept lingering in that direction.
“You must be hungry,” Deanna said. “Let me get you something.” A grin played at her lips. “But don’t worry, Jacob. I’ll find us a quiet place to sit down and enjoy each other’s company while we eat.”
Jacob offered a tightlipped smile that faded after Deanna turned around and headed toward the buffet tables. He found it unsettling the way Deanna was already referring to him by his first name. He was a respected adjunct professor at the university, so he was accustomed to being referred to as either Professor or Mr. before his last name. Amongst Muslims, the respectful title Brother was used if anyone referred to him by his first name alone. Only close friends and family called him “Jacob.”
Jacob glanced over to where he’d seen the woman reading a book, and he was disappointed to find that she was no longer there. He looked around the room, hoping she hadn’t left without him noticing. He scanned the faces of the crowd, and after a few minutes, he spotted her at one of the buffet tables, a paper plate in one hand and a large serving spoon in the other. He watched as she carefully tilted the spoon, a pile of spinach spilling onto the plate. Her mouth spread into a full-teeth smile, and she tossed her head back in laughter. And though it was the most irrational thing to do, he smiled too, as if it were he making her laugh. He glanced next to her and saw that it was Deanna who had been saying something to her.
“There you are,” Deanna said a few minutes later, handing him a plate of food while holding another close to herself.
He surveyed the plate’s contents and nodded approvingly though he wasn’t fond of most of the food items on the plate. That was another thing he didn’t like about forward women. They behaved as if they knew exactly what you wanted; and they rarely, if ever, asked you yourself. It was while he was in undergrad that he learned that many women saw it as a sign of being “a real woman” to know exactly what a man wants and be able to give it to him without instructions, feedback, or advice. “That’s dumb,” he’d said to a woman he was dating at the time. “What does reading someone’s mind have to do with anything?” She’d responded, “It’s about connection, not telepathy. If you’re soul mates, you don’t have to say anything. You just know things.” Incidentally, their relationship crumbled because she felt he prioritized his studies over spending time with her. Of course I do, he’d thought to himself at the time. I’m a college student, for goodness sake. But for her, his reaction was apparently a sign that their telepathic soul mate signals were out of sync. That was one of the last relationships he’d had before studying Islam. Sometimes he wondered if his internal frustration with women was what sparked him to search for deeper meaning in life. Maybe it wasn’t a humble and re
served “perfect woman” he was looking for, but a meaningful connection with a deeper part of himself.
“It’s quieter out in the hall,” Deanna said, her voice jolting him back to present tense. She was already walking toward the door before he had a chance to reply. She glanced back only once—to make sure he was following—before disappearing into the hall herself.
Jacob halted his steps. A part of him was tempted to stay right where he was. Maybe he could find a place in the MSA room to sit comfortably (preferably near the woman he’d seen earlier) and eat alone. But he knew it would be rude to stay inside the main room if the woman who’d invited him wanted to sit in the hall. As Jacob walked out into the hall himself, it was like déjà vu. Following a girl out of a room when he knew he didn’t like her reminded him of his experiences at his fraternity’s parties. It was unsettling to have that same feeling as a Muslim.
“So where are you from originally?” Deanna asked in between mouthfuls of food after he joined her on a couch in the hall lobby. As Deanna had predicted, the lobby area was much quieter than the MSA room, but right then, Jacob didn’t care about the quiet. His mind kept wandering back to the woman he had seen reading a book.
Jacob answered the questions as affably as he could, but he made sure that his answers were as brief as politely possible. He hated that he couldn’t get the other woman out of his head, and he mentally debated making up an excuse to go back into the room.
“We have a lot in common,” Deanna said after they had been talking for about fifteen minutes. “We should keep in touch. I’m sure you’d like to see me again.”
Jacob chuckled, again surprised by how easily he laughed with Deanna. And he couldn’t deny that he did want to see her again. Her charisma was contagious, and her physical beauty made it difficult to tear his eyes away from her. He even had to fight the urge to touch her, which was a rare struggle in his interactions with Muslim women. Maybe there was something to their meeting after all.
