by Umm Zakiyyah
Aliyah glanced out the passenger window again. Is it that obvious? she thought sadly.
“That’s why you need to know what you’re up against if you accept Jacob’s pro—, I mean,” Reem corrected, “if you ever marry Jacob.”
“Like I said, there’s no offer of marriage,” Aliyah said, still looking out the window. “But if something like that did ever happen, don’t worry, I’m aware of how Muslims treat their brothers and sisters who choose something they wouldn’t.” She snorted. “I got a crash course from Deanna.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“What?” Aliyah said, eyebrows furrowed as she turned to Reem. “That my best friend was stabbing me in the back for over ten years?”
“No.” Reem shook her head. “That you have no support system if you get married.”
Aliyah shrugged. “I never really thought about it, to be honest. I’m so used to hearing Muslims bash polygamy, I kind of drown it out. I wouldn’t dream of them supporting me if I were in it.” She grunted laughter. “I’d count it as a miracle if they touched my feet and shoulders when I lined up next to them in Salaah.”
Reem chuckled. “Seriously?”
“Maybe not the prayer part,” Aliyah said, a trace of humor in her voice. “But I wouldn’t expect their support. At this point, I’m not sure I’d want it.”
“Why not?” Reem sounded genuinely surprised.
Aliyah sighed, her eyes growing distant momentarily. “It’s nice to have support, of course. But it’s exhausting expecting good from people. It’s so much easier to only expect good from Allah.”
“But Allah created us as an ummah for a reason. We need each other. That’s part of the good He’s given us on earth.”
“But I can’t create an ummah by myself, Reem. If Muslims are going to ostracize me because my marriage looks different from theirs, what can I do about it? The way I see it, those aren’t people I want in my life anyway. What if I start thinking like them? I don’t want to view right and wrong through the lens of my personal insecurities. Allah can give His blessings to whomever He wants, however He wants, and I don’t have a say in that, especially in someone else’s life.”
“Astaghfirullah,” Reem said, her tone regretful. “May Allah forgive us. We’re so arrogant and ungrateful.”
“That, we are,” Aliyah said pensively. “So, nope, I’m not expecting support from anyone for anything I do. After my family disowned me when I became Muslim, Deanna was the closest thing to a family I had.” She rolled her eyes. “And you saw what happened with that.”
“Your family disowned you?” Reem’s voice was high-pitched in shock, her wide eyes going from the road to Aliyah then back to the road.
Oh. Aliyah had forgotten that she hadn’t shared that information with her Qur’an teacher. “Yes, unfortunately,” she said, surprised by the calmness of her voice. “They won’t accept my calls, they won’t let me visit, and they returned all the mail I sent them.”
“Laa hawla wa laa quwwata illaa billaah,” Reem uttered in dismay. There is no movement or power except with God.
“Don’t sound so shocked,” Aliyah said, embarrassed laughter in her voice. “I’m used to it. Life goes on.”
“Laa ilaaha illaAllah,” Reem said, still in shock. “How can you survive without your family?”
Aliyah drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “I don’t have a choice, that’s how.”
“SubhaanAllah,” Reem said as she guided the car into the parking lot outside the athletic complex. “I can’t imagine how strong you have to be to deal with that. May Allah reward you with the highest level of Paradise.”
“And you too, Reem,” Aliyah said sincerely.
“But do me a favor,” Aliyah said as Reem put the car in park and removed her keys from the ignition. “Can you stop talking to me about Jacob? I don’t like it.”
“I’m sorry,” Reem said. “It’s just that I’m worried about what would happen if you marry him.”
Aliyah rolled her eyes as she unfastened her seat belt. “That’s not going to happen, insha’Allah. I never want to put anyone through what Nikki put me through.”
“I doubt Nikki was trying to break up your marriage.”
“Whether she was trying to or not,” Aliyah said, “she did.”
Reem was quiet as she unfastened her seat belt and opened the driver side door. “You shouldn’t say that,” she muttered before she stepped out the car, Aliyah following suit. “Things happen, and they’re not always anybody’s fault.”
“She could’ve told me that she was Matt’s ex-girlfriend,” Aliyah said after they closed their doors.
“Isn’t that how you found out?” Reem pressed the button on her keychain to lock the car.
“Yes, but that was after I already let her into my life.”
“You taught her about Islam,” Reem said as they walked toward the building. “If that’s the only good that came out of it, then that’s a huge blessing, mashaAllah.”
Aliyah sighed. “That’s true. It’s just hard to see it that way. Right now, I can barely stand the thought of marriage, after what I went through.”
“May Allah make it easy for you. I can only imagine. I hope you find someone that makes you happy.”
“No, no, no,” Aliyah said, shaking her head emphatically. “That is not something I hope for.”
Reem’s eyes widened, turning to Aliyah as they neared the front entrance. “Why not? Don’t you want to be happy?”
“Yes,” Aliyah said. “But not because of a man. What if I never get married again? I think I can still be happy.”
Reem chuckled and shook her head. “You Americans.”
“What?” Aliyah said, chuckling herself. “It’s true. I don’t need a man to be happy.”
“We need companionship in this world,” Reem said. “Allah didn’t create us to live alone. That’s why we have friends, neighbors, and family. Maybe it’s not the only thing that makes us happy, but it’s an important part of it.”
Aliyah shrugged. “Important, maybe, but not essential.”
***
Jumu’ah, the epiphany came to Jacob as he watched his sons run up and down the indoor basketball court taking turns dribbling a ball along with about fifteen other boys. About ten feet from Jacob stood Matthew, arms folded over his chest, eyes concentrating on Ibrahim. Next to Matthew was a woman dressed in wide-legged jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and hijab. Jacob assumed she must be Matt’s new wife. She seems nice, Jacob found himself thinking after he greeted Matt with a perfunctory wave and salaams.
How did I end up with someone like Deanna as a wife? This question had haunted Jacob for the past month. It was only recently that he began to notice how strikingly different other Muslim women were from his wife. Their humble mannerisms, their easy smiles, the comfortable banter between them and their husbands. For years, these were interactions Jacob had associated with putting on a front. “We have to show people what a real relationship looks like,” Deanna would often say, and Jacob had agreed.
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
But it was difficult to extricate himself from this mentality because this was how he had been taught to think about Islam itself. Somehow the requirement to call others to worship God alone had turned into a marketing campaign that was more about optics than obligation. Personal struggles were unaddressed or outright denied if it meant risking presenting a “negative image” of Islam—and supporting open sin or wrongdoing was preferable to religious obligation if it meant presenting a “positive image” of Islam.
But Jacob was growing exhausted from living a life rooted in optics. Though it had been difficult for him to admit, part of the reason he felt stuck in his marriage was fear of looking bad in front of other Muslims—and fear of making Islam look bad. If he, the husband of a marriage guru and a source of marital inspiration himself, couldn’t stay married, what did that suggest about his faith? It was his religious duty to stay married, he’d kept telling himself. I
f not for himself, then for his sons and other Muslims. “People look up to you,” Jacob was often told, as if that alone laid in front of him the obvious course of action he should take when making a decision.
O Allah, if You know this matter to be good for me regarding my religion, my life, and my welfare in the life to come; then ordain it for me, make it easy for me, and bless me in it…
After praying the Istikhaarah prayer about whether or not to divorce Deanna, this was the part of the supplication that stayed with him. Up until a month ago, it had never occurred to Jacob to consider whether or not his marital decisions were about protecting his faith and soul. Everything had been about only one aspect of that prayer—his worldly life.
Optics over obligation.
During his doctorate studies, Jacob had been neglectful of Jumu’ah, the obligatory weekly congregational sermon and prayer, because he didn’t feel comfortable being associated with most Muslims. At the time, not only did he have self-righteous convictions about religious-based clubs, he also had self-righteous convictions about religious-based gatherings. He would occasionally agree to speak at Muslim Student Association events because he felt he owed that to other Muslims, but he wouldn’t participate in the MSA otherwise. Unfortunately, his attendance to the Friday prayer had been approached similarly. It was as if his occasional attendance was some sort of favor he owed to Islam and the Muslims.
“You can’t pick and choose how you worship Allah,” a young undergrad student had said to Jacob. The way the student’s voice was a mixture of concern and admonition had annoyed Jacob. Who does he think he is? Jacob had thought at the time. I don’t need a masjid to worship my Lord.
How did he end up with someone like Deanna as a wife? Because at the time he married her, she was a reflection of Jacob himself. He’d arrogantly neglected the rights of Allah when it suited him, and she arrogantly neglected the rights of His servants when it suited her.
***
“Aunty! Aunty!” Younus eagerly waved with one hand while bouncing a basketball with the other. The shouts of his brother prompted Thawab to look toward the sidelines, and when he saw Aliyah, Thawab grinned shyly and waved too. At the sight of them, Aliyah grinned and lifted a hand in a wave, but she cringed at the prospect of seeing Deanna at the athletic complex. She quickly scanned the faces of the adults and exhaled in relief when she saw Jacob standing alone near Matt and Nikki.
“Mommy!” Ibrahim dropped his basketball and ran toward his mother, prompting one of the volunteers to rush on the court and grab the rolling ball before it obstructed the movement of the other boys.
Aliyah spread her arms wide and kneeled as Ibrahim met her with an enthusiastic embrace. “As-salaamu’alaikum, cookie monster,” she said, brushing the top of his head with a kiss.
“Did you see me, Mommy?” Ibrahim said, breathless. “I was bouncing the ball and running fast!”
“Yes, I did see you,” Aliyah said, still holding him close. “And I want to see more,” she added as her gaze met that of the coach who was nodding his head in her direction as he held Ibrahim’s basketball. “So you better go back out there.” Ibrahim released Aliyah and rushed back to the court. A smile lingered on Aliyah’s face as she watched him.
“That looks tough,” Reem said good-naturedly after Ibrahim resumed running the length of the court, bouncing the ball at the same time.
“Have you ever played basketball before?” Aliyah asked.
“No,” Reem said, shaking her head. “But I’ve shot around a few times. I prefer football, personally.”
Aliyah’s eyes widened. “Football?”
“Soccer, I mean,” Reem said.
“Oh yeah,” Aliyah said. “I forgot the rest of the world calls that football.”
“As-salaamu’alikum.”
At the sound of someone behind her, Aliyah turned and found Nikki smiling at her.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam,” Aliyah said, embracing Nikki briefly.
“Thanks for meeting us here,” Nikki said. “Matt really wanted to take Ibrahim to his first basketball practice.”
“It’s no problem,” Aliyah said sincerely. “I understand.”
After Nikki defended her online, Aliyah’s heart had softened to Matt and Nikki. Though Aliyah preferred to spend as much time with Ibrahim as possible, Aliyah didn’t put up a fuss when Nikki asked if Aliyah could pick up Ibrahim from the athletic center Saturday morning. “You can drop by during the week any time,” Nikki had added. “I don’t mind. Matt works late most nights, so I could use the company, and I’m sure Ibrahim would be thrilled to see you.” Aliyah had thanked Nikki and said, “I just might take you up on that.”
“Anyway,” Aliyah added with a grin, nodding her head toward her Qur’an teacher, “Reem wants to give me some tennis lessons.”
“As-salaamu’alaikum,” Reem said, leaning forward and extending a gloved hand to greet Nikki.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam,” Nikki said, a curious smile forming on her face as she shook Reem’s hand. “You play tennis?”
“Yes, a bit,” Reem said, releasing Nikki’s hand. “I used to want to play professionally.”
“Really?” Nikki sounded surprised.
“But I gave up that dream,” Reem said humorously. “I’m not sure the world is ready for a niqaabi tennis champion.”
Nikki chuckled and shook her head. “But that would be something, wouldn’t it? Having a fully covered Muslim woman competing in professional tennis matches?”
“I would love that,” Reem said, awe in her voice. “But it’s not realistic.”
“It is if you want it to be,” Nikki said encouragingly.
Reem laughed. “Insha’Allah.”
“I think we left our rackets and balls in the car,” Aliyah said, remembering just then.
“SubhaanAllah. I’ll go get them.” Reem swiftly turned and walked toward the exit.
“I admire women like that,” Nikki said, her eyes following Reem. “Whenever I wear hijab, I feel like people are staring at me. I can’t imagine how it feels to wear a face veil.”
“I know what you mean,” Aliyah said. “It took a long time for me to feel comfortable in hijab, and I still feel judged, especially at work. I definitely don’t think niqaab is for me.”
“Matt was saying that some scholars say it’s obligatory.”
Aliyah shrugged. “That’s what Reem believes, but I don’t agree with that.”
Nikki nodded thoughtfully. “Does she have children?”
Aliyah furrowed her brows. “Reem?”
“Yes.”
“Two. A boy and a girl.”
“How old are they?”
“They’re a year younger than Ibrahim.”
“Both of them?”
“They’re twins,” Aliyah said.
“Four-year-old twins?” Nikki sucked in her breath. “That must be a handful.”
“Her mother helps out a lot. She usually keeps them whenever Reem goes out.”
“It must be nice to have help.”
The sad reflection in Nikki’s voice prompted Aliyah to glance down at Nikki’s shirt. A knowing smile spread on Aliyah’s face. “Are you pregnant?”
Nikki averted her gaze as an embarrassed grin toyed at one side of her mouth. She glanced cautiously behind her then lowered her voice. “Ten weeks. But Matt doesn’t want anyone to know.”
“MashaAllah,” Aliyah said in congratulations. “This is your first, right?”
“Yes.”
“How are you doing?”
“It’s hard,” Nikki said reflectively, exhaling her words. “I feel sick most days. I almost didn’t come out today.”
“How’s your appetite?”
“I can’t eat anything except white bread and potato chips.” Nikki frowned. “It’s a horrible diet, but I have to eat something.”
“Just keep up with your prenatal vitamins, and you should be fine insha’Allah.”
“I gag every time I take them, so it’s a chore get
ting th—”
“Isn’t that that crazy Muslim chick?”
Aliyah stiffened as she heard the loud whisper coming from a small crowd gathered near the court. She willed herself not to look in that direction.
“Looks like it,” another voice said. “Or that whore mistress.”
“Isn’t it funny how they cover up like that? Like their stuff is all holy, but they get around like everybody else.”
Laughter. “I bet they’re—”
“Are you here for a purpose, or just to harass people?” It took a few seconds before Aliyah registered that it was Nikki who was speaking, her face contorted as she looked toward the crowd. “Yes, I’m talking to you. I heard what you said about Muslim women, and I think it’s ignorant and immature.”
Aliyah glanced uncomfortably toward the small crowd then back at Nikki. “It’s okay,” Aliyah whispered, panic choking her as she placed a hand on Nikki’s arm. “Just ignore them,” Aliyah said.
“Is everything okay?” Matt said, appearing at Nikki’s side suddenly, concern on his face as he looked at his wife.
“Everything’s fine,” Aliyah said quickly. “They were just—”
“No, it’s not fine,” Nikki said, glaring toward the crowd before rolling her eyes and turning away. “I’m sick of people’s disrespect.”
“What happened?” Matt said as he put his arm around Nikki’s shoulders and led her away.
“These people were sitting there saying…” Nikki’s voice faded as she walked with Matt toward the other side of the gym.
Cheeks aflame, Aliyah turned her back to the crowd and concentrated her attention on the boys on the basketball court, but it was difficult to stay focused. Couldn’t he at least give salaams? Aliyah thought, offense stinging her. Here she was, coming to pick up their son—a day later on his request, and Matt was acting like she wasn’t even standing there. Was it “inappropriate” to greet his son’s mother?
“Sorry about that,” Reem said, appearing at Aliyah’s side, the straps of two tennis racket cases over her shoulder and a can of tennis balls in her hand.
