His Other Wife

by Umm Zakiyyah

  “I don’t give a f—” someone behind them said, and Aliyah winced at the profanity. “She had no business talking to us like that. We weren’t even talking to her.” Overcome with angry annoyance, Aliyah clenched her jaw, but she refused to turn around and give them the satisfaction of her acknowledgement.

  Reem glanced curiously behind her. “What’s their problem?”

  “Who knows?” Aliyah shrugged nonchalantly and rolled her eyes, still facing forward. “You ready to play tennis?”

  “My sister and my cousin are supposed to be coming too,” Reem said as she handed Aliyah a tennis racket then readjusted the strap of her racket case on her shoulder.

  “Are there enough courts?” Aliyah said, adjusting the strap on her shoulder.

  “If there aren’t,” Reem said, “we can just play doubles.”

  Reem did a double take and nodded her head to the right. “Isn’t that Jacob?”

  Aliyah glanced hesitantly in Jacob’s direction and found him still looking toward the court. “Yes. Younus and Thawab are part of the summer basketball league.”

  “MashaAllah,” Reem said. “I saw them waving at you earlier.”

  The distant sound of rhythmic drumming interrupted Aliyah before she could respond, and Reem reached into an abaya pocket and withdrew her mobile phone.

  “Waynak?” Reem said as she put the phone to her ear. “Tayyib.”

  Reem put the phone back in her pocket then gestured toward Aliyah as she walked toward the exit. “They’re at the tennis courts waiting for us.”

  ***

  “Reem!”

  Aliyah looked around to see where the voice was coming from, and two tennis courts down, she saw a woman dressed in shorts and a tank top waving her arm toward them as she held a tennis ball in her fist and a tennis racket in her other hand. Opposite the woman was another woman dressed similarly. Confused, Aliyah glanced toward Reem, who waved in response and started walking in the direction of the two women.

  “Mashael, this is my friend Aliyah,” Reem said once they were at the court and the women stood opposite them. “Aliyah, this is my sister Mashael and my cousin Nora.”

  “As-salaamu’alaikum,” Aliyah said, reaching out her hand to greet the two women one after the other. Each leaned forward to touch cheeks with Aliyah as they shook her hand.

  “Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam,” Mashael and Nora said, both smiling widely. Up close, Aliyah could see the resemblance between Reem and her sister, and their cousin shared a similar olive complexion.

  “My sister says you don’t know how to play tennis,” Mashael said, teasing Aliyah good-naturedly.

  Aliyah laughed self-consciously and nodded. “It’s true,” she said. “But I’m hoping to learn.”

  “Reem’s the tennis champ in our family, mashaAllah,” Mashael said. “But we play okay.”

  “They play well too, mashaAllah,” Reem said.

  “Will you play in your niqaab?” Aliyah hadn’t meant to speak her thoughts aloud, so she was relieved to see Reem smiling with her eyes in response.

  “I know,” Reem said, laughter in her voice. “It’s a bit much, right?”

  “Yes it is,” Nora teased in lighthearted banter. “We’re always telling her she’s going to give people a heart attack dressed like that.”

  “I haven’t had any problems, alhamdulillah,” Reem said honestly. “As long as I have my ID, people are pretty accommodating.”

  Nora and Mashael shook their heads, knowing smiles on their faces. “I don’t know how you do it,” Nora said.

  “You’re American?” Mashael said, looking at Aliyah curiously.

  “Yes,” Aliyah said, finding the question awkward.

  “I mean, originally?” Mashael clarified.

  “Yes,” Aliyah said.

  “MashaAllah, so you converted?”

  “Yes, alhamdulillah.”

  “Wallah,” Mashael said, swearing by Allah, “you guys are much better Muslims than we are.”

  Nora nodded emphatically. “Wallah, it’s true.”

  Aliyah frowned in discomfort. “I don’t think so. We all have our challenges.”

  “Are we going to play tennis or what?” Reem said as she unzipped the racket case and pulled out her racket. “Or are you guys going to stand here chatting the whole time?”

  ***

  Aliyah was tired and a bit agitated by the time Reem dropped off her and Ibrahim to the apartment that afternoon. Upon Reem’s urging, Aliyah had accepted a last-minute invitation to have lunch with Reem’s family. The visit was pleasant enough, so Aliyah knew her agitation wasn’t connected to the visit. Eating lunch at Reem’s house had actually been a blessing because now Aliyah didn’t have to prepare lunch for herself or Ibrahim. And with the extra plates Reem had made for them, Aliyah probably wouldn’t even have to prepare dinner.

  Perhaps her annoyance was due to having been out all day without her car, Aliyah considered. She had agreed to ride with Reem only because she’d assumed she and Ibrahim would come home right after basketball practice.

  “Is everything okay?”

  As Aliyah put the plates of food in the refrigerator, in her mind’s eye, she saw Matt’s concerned expression a moment before he put an arm around Nikki. Aliyah gritted her teeth in offense.

  “Can Younus and Thawab come over?” Ibrahim said, his small voice coming from behind her.

  “No,” Aliyah snapped without turning around.

  A moment later, Aliyah sighed, feeling bad for getting upset with her son. She closed the refrigerator and turned around, forcing a smile as she met Ibrahim’s confused gaze. “I’m sorry, Himy,” she said, using the affectionate abbreviated form of her son’s name. “Now isn’t a good time for Younus and Thawab to come over.”

  “But they asked if they could,” Ibrahim whined.

  “They’re welcome to come over another time,” Aliyah said sincerely. “But not now.”

  “Then can I go over their house?”

  Aliyah drew in a deep breath and exhaled. She wished there was some way to arrange a play date for the boys. “For now, you’ll see them every Saturday for basketball, insha’Allah.”

  Ibrahim pouted. “But we can’t play the Wii there.”

  “I know, Himy, and I’m sorry.” Aliyah’s heart ached as she watched her son walk out of the kitchen, shoulders slumped.

  Nobody cares about you.

  The realization came to Aliyah so suddenly that it was like a knife in her chest. Winded, Aliyah pulled out a chair and sat down, propping her elbows on the table as she held her forehead in her palms.

  That was why she was so agitated. It wasn’t that Matt should have given her salaams or asked if she was okay. It was that his ignoring her highlighted how insignificant—and alone—she actually was.

  To her family, as long as Islam was part of her life, she wasn’t part of theirs. To the Muslims, she simply wasn’t part of their lives. As a single divorced woman, on a practical level, she was no one’s responsibility. But on a theoretical level, she was everyone’s responsibility.

  Men are the maintainers and protectors of women, the Qur’an said.

  But Aliyah was still grappling with what that verse was supposed to mean in her life. Was it in reference to only marriage? Or did it apply to other contexts? And had her belief in the latter incited offense that Matt had completely ignored her?

  Aliyah sat up and folded her arms on the table in front of her as she gazed thoughtfully toward the floral centerpiece.

  Nobody cares about you.

  This time the realization was not as painful. It came to her as more matter-of-fact, more resolute. This was nothing to sulk about. It was merely something to keep in mind. She was in this world alone, and she’d have to learn to survive alone. As difficult as it was to accept, the united, loving ummah that she’d learned about in her Islamic classes was almost mythical in modern reality. There was no Muslim community looking out for her. There was no band of Muslim men (or women) rushing to her a
id or making sure she was okay. They simply didn’t care.

  Well, if you do accept his proposal, just know that you won’t be getting much community support.

  Reem was right to warn Aliyah about the reality in which she lived. Reem herself faced that grim reality in her own life. Reem put her heart into teaching Qur’an to the community only to read Facebook statuses attacking her for doing just that. She dressed in the manner that she believed Allah instructed only to be constantly challenged and criticized because Muslims felt it was extreme. She tried hard to separate her culture from religion only to be accused of teaching an “Arab version” of Islam. How Reem, in the face of all that, kept coming back to the community day after day, Aliyah couldn’t fathom. Aliyah herself was finding it difficult to even enter the masjid these days. Part of Aliyah had died after seeing how eagerly Muslims participated in online discussions tarnishing her name and honor.

  But Reem had a husband and family who cared for her. Aliyah didn’t. And that support system must certainly be a source of strength.

  But who was Aliyah’s source of strength?

  “Girl, you know I love you!”

  Sadness knotted in Aliyah’s chest as she recalled Deanna’s oft-repeated statement of affection.

  God, I miss her sometimes, Aliyah thought sadly. Moments like these, she wondered if she’d made the right decision cutting off Deanna as a friend.

  ***

  Deanna grunted as she pulled her car into the parking lot in front of Cassie Studios Saturday morning. What happened to all that peace and love, and tolerance and reconciliation that Aliyah was always running off at the mouth about from her Islamic studies classes? Deanna thought bitterly. Good Muslims do not refuse to speak to each other for more than three days, so always seek reconciliation and make peace between people. Aliyah was the one constantly mentioning that hadith. Deanna wasn’t sure if she was remembering the wording correctly, but even if the wording of the prophetic statement was off, the principle remained. Aliyah was wrong. It was sinful for her to cut off their friendship and refuse to interact with Deanna.

  Not that Deanna cared if they remained friends.

  “It’s okay if you miss your best friend,” Deanna’s mother had told her. “Losing a friend can make anybody upset.” But Deanna had contorted her face. “Miss her? I’m just mad I didn’t cut her off first.”

  Apparently, all that talk about “love for the sake of Allah” was just a front for Aliyah. It was a ploy to get Deanna to trust her, pamper her, pay her bills, and allow her to get close to Jacob. How could I have been so blind?

  Stop complaining, Deanna thought in self-rebuke, abruptly halting her mental tirade as she brought her car to a stop in a parking space near the studio entrance. I’m the better person in this situation, she told herself. So she needed to act like it. She recalled the inspirational quote that her husband kept on his office wall. Be the change. Stop bickering. Be the bigger person. Stop criticizing. Be the better person. Stop settling for less than the best. Be YOU.

  Empowered by these words, Deanna turned off the car and pulled the keys from the ignition before removing her designer shades and checking her appearance in the rearview mirror. A thin floral scarf hung loosely around her head and adorned the long, soft brown curls that framed her face. There was a flutter of concern as she realized that she hadn’t shown her hair in public in more than ten years, but she quelled the discomfort by reminding herself that this was for a good cause. Besides, she was still wearing hijab, she rationalized, even if it didn’t cover all of her hair. Something was better than nothing. She’d worry later about what to do during the photo shoot because she needed the photographer’s input on that one.

  But first she needed to explain to Cassie her purpose for making the appointment.

  “May I help you?” the receptionist asked after the bells above the entrance chimed as Deanna stepped inside.

  “Yes, you may.” Deanna’s mouth spread into a full-teeth smile as she walked toward the receptionist’s desk. She pulled her large handbag over her shoulder and adjusted the straps. “I’d like to speak to Cassie Thomas-Daniels please.”

  The woman lifted an arched eyebrow as her eyes traced Deanna in a quick once-over. “You have to make a special appointment to speak to the owner.”

  “I have an appointment,” Deanna said, maintaining her wide smile. “Cassie and I spoke on the phone last week.”

  “Your name?”

  “Dr. Deanna Janice Bivens.”

  The woman’s eyebrows rose in recognition. “You’re the author of You Can Have Him All To Yourself?”

  Deanna lifted her head in pride. “Yes, I am.”

  The woman nodded, the shadow of a smile on her face as she typed something into the laptop on the desk in front of her. “One moment please,” she said before standing and walking down a hallway toward the back. “I’ll tell Cassie you’re here.”

  “Dr. D.J. Bivens,” Cassie said once they were in her office. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

  Deanna pursed her lips proudly as she sat down opposite Cassie’s desk. “Thank you.” She couldn’t bring herself to say more than that because she didn’t want to waste too much time on small talk. She reached into her purse and pulled out her smart phone, holding it in the air. “Do you mind if I record our meeting? I don’t want to interrupt our conversation by writing notes.”

  A frown line creased Cassie’s forehead, and in that moment Deanna was reminded of Aliyah. Cassie and her younger sister resembled each other significantly. Cassie had a thicker, fuller figure, but she shared Aliyah’s smooth skin tone and sculpted facial features. Like Aliyah, Cassie kept her kinky curls natural and well kempt though Cassie had dyed hers brown. A flash of anger swept through Deanna as she thought of Jacob admiring this beauty. She had to stop Aliyah’s madness, fast.

  “I prefer not,” Cassie said apologetically. “But I can make an audio file myself and send you the transcript,” she offered.

  “No problem,” Deanna said, forcing a smile to hide her annoyance that even Cassie’s voice intonations were similar to Aliyah’s. She put the phone back into her purse.

  After starting the audio file, Cassie said, “You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to do a special photo shoot for your marriage counseling business?”

  “Yes,” Deanna said tentatively. “But I want something more than that, mainly to counter the ‘crazy Muslim woman’ story.”

  “Well, that story is no longer trending, so I’m not sure if you’ll be able to use your photos for that purpose.”

  “I don’t plan to use them for that,” Deanna said.

  Cassie creased her forehead. “I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood. Tell me what you have in mind again.”

  “I want you to use them,” Deanna said.

  “Me?” Cassie furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

  “Your company provided the photos of Aliyah, right?”

  “Aliyah?”

  “Ally, your sister.”

  “Yes…” she said tentatively, her expression conveying skepticism.

  “Now I want you to provide photos of me.”

  “I’m sorry. I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Cassie said. “Cassie Studios doesn’t work with the media. We do only photography.”

  “But you have contacts, don’t you?” Deanna was on the verge of irritation. She had driven nearly two hours for this meeting.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Don’t you want to make money?”

  Cassie paused thoughtfully. “What do you mean?

  Deanna smirked as she saw that she had Cassie’s attention. “You and I have something in common, Cassie,” Deanna said. “Ally has caused far too many problems in our lives.”

  Cassie glanced cautiously toward the audio recording. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Deanna waved her hand dismissively. “I know you don’t want to admit it, and that’s okay. But I’m here to offer you an opportunity to make money. A lot of money,”
she added. “I want to do a photo essay of the truth behind the ‘crazy Muslim woman’ story.”

  “You mean a visual memoir?”

  “Yes, but one that puts Ally in her place.”

  Cassie shook her head, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Excuse me?”

  “Ally needs a reality check.” Deanna grunted. “And my husband does too.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can do,” Cassie said after a thoughtful pause. “You and I can create the photo essay. Then I’ll share it with some of my media contacts. Depending on the angle we take, we might be able to spark renewed interest in the story.”

  “I already know my angle.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She’s the crazy mistress. I’m the hot wife.”

  Cassie creased her forehead doubtfully. “Was Ally really your husband’s mistress?”

  “No, of course not,” Deanna said, contorting her face. “I’d kill her if she was.”

  Cassie drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “I like your angle, but you don’t want to expose yourself to a possible libel suit.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Deanna said. “But for now, I need your advice on the best way to do the photo shoot.”

  “Visually speaking,” Cassie said, “what is your overall goal for the shoot?”

  “The same one that Ally had.”

  Cassie shook her head, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “To get my husband’s attention,” Deanna said. “And I want to do the same.”

  Chapter 14

  Attractive Women Can’t Be Broken

  “All right,” Aliyah said into the portable microphone as she lifted a hand to get the attention of the thirty youth gathered in the center of the conference room. The other One Plus One mentors stood staggered along the walls, observing Aliyah’s group activity. Each mentor had been assigned the task of planning and facilitating an educational group activity for the “fun session” held every Friday morning for the duration of the internship program, and today the tables and chairs had been removed so that there was maximum range of motion for the activity. “Each of you should be holding a card in your hand,” Aliyah continued. “It will say LAN 1, LAN 2, or LAN 3. Raise your hand if you do not have a card.”