by Umm Zakiyyah
A confused smile formed at Aliyah’s lips. “What?”
Nikki chewed and swallowed before reaching for the bag of chips and removing the clip. “It’s something one of my fashion design instructors used to say in college,” Nikki explained, the strength coming back to her voice. “She struggled with alcoholism, so we’d get really worried whenever she got stressed, which was usually right before a show.” A reflective smile lingered on Nikki’s face. “But she’d joke and say, ‘Don’t worry about me. Attractive women can’t be broken.’”
Aliyah’s eyebrows rose in understanding, a hesitant smile on her face. “Oh my God. That’s sad.”
“Isn’t it?” Nikki shook her head reflectively as she ate a handful of chips in silence.
“She was my favorite professor though,” Nikki said. “She was so open and honest about her flaws, I was almost jealous. I couldn’t understand how a professional, accomplished woman felt comfortable telling her students she was a recovering alcoholic. And it wasn’t like she waited until we got to know her. She told us the first day of class.”
“I can’t imagine telling my students anything like that,” Aliyah said. “I was mortified when all that ‘hot Muslim mistress’ crap was in the media.”
“I can’t either,” Nikki said. “But she didn’t just come out and say she’s an alcoholic. She was telling us what inspired her to go into fashion. And she told us that her mother had taught her that her entire worth was based on how she looked and what she wore.”
Aliyah wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “How is that inspiring?”
“I think she was saying that fashion and looking good was all she knew about,” Nikki said, “so it was what she decided to go into for herself.”
Aliyah nodded in understanding, but she still found the story bothersome.
“Anyway,” Nikki said, exhaustion in her tone, “she said her mother would always say, ‘Attractive women can’t be broken.’ Meaning, if you’re good-looking and accomplished, nobody cares about you. So if you’re hurt or having a bad day, you better just suck it up because you won’t be getting any sympathy.”
“SubhaanAllah,” Aliyah said, a look of distaste on her face. “That’s a terrible thing to say to your daughter.”
Nikki shook her head. “But from what I understand, her mother wasn’t trying to be cruel. She just wanted her to understand the reality of the world. So she was trying to toughen her up for when she wouldn’t be around to take care of her anymore.”
Aliyah’s gaze grew distant. “That’s still sad.”
“Perhaps,” Nikki said with a shrug. “But it’s not too far from the truth.”
“You think so?”
“Look at what happened to you.”
“To me?” Aliyah said, her forehead creased.
“The only reason people felt comfortable tearing you down was because they felt you deserved it.”
Aliyah stared at Nikki in confusion, unsure how to form the question in her mind.
“Whenever a woman is attractive and intelligent,” Nikki said, “people are jealous. So they’re eager to tear her down, especially if they see something in her that they don’t see in themselves.”
Aliyah was reminded of her experiences growing up. She wrinkled her nose. “But that’s so high school.”
“No,” Nikki said. “That’s so life school. Women hate women they can’t find anything wrong with, and men resent women they can’t have for themselves.”
“You really believe that?” Aliyah said, a troubled expression on her face. “I thought that whole saga was about people thinking I was trying to be a second wife.”
A smirk formed on Nikki’s face as she shook her head. “Girl, you are so naïve.”
Aliyah felt a twinge of offence at Nikki’s words, but she didn’t respond.
“Even if they thought you were trying to be a second wife,” Nikki said, “it wasn’t about that. Girl, these are Muslims we’re talking about. They know their deen, so they know you can marry a married man. If you were obviously broken in some way, they wouldn’t have reacted like that. Because of our pride and insecurity, we approve of polygamy only if we can pity the woman somehow. That’s why Muslim sisters are always talking about helping widows and divorced women instead of about marrying the person who’s right for you.”
“But I am a divorced woman,” Aliyah said.
“No you’re not.” Nikki shook her head, still smirking. “You’re a woman who happens to be divorced. There’s a difference.”
Aliyah narrowed her eyes, a question on her face.
“Look,” Nikki said as if leveling with Aliyah, “I haven’t been Muslim long, so I don’t know a lot about Islam. But I’m just keeping it real. People are people. Women can put on hijab and pray five times a day, but beneath it all, they’re still women. And women can stomach the thought of another woman only if we can be sure we’re number one at the end of the day. In the dunya, that’s how so many of us stay with men who cheat.”
Aliyah nodded thoughtfully. “I see what you mean.”
“So if you throw Islam into the mix,” Nikki said, “the only thing that changes is the context. And the way I see it, those sisters were pissed off at you because, in their minds, polygamy is only acceptable if they can guarantee the man will be unjust.”
Aliyah laughed out loud. “You can’t be serious. Forced to be unjust? Men being unjust is the reason it’s not acceptable to us.”
“I’m not saying it’s a deliberate thought,” Nikki said. “But that’s what it boils down to. If you were really unattractive or crippled, or even a bit up there in years, then Jacob would be the hero. And you would be the poor Muslim woman in need of a husband.”
“That’s possible,” Aliyah said, laughter in her voice.
“But don’t you get it?” Nikki said, a grin on her face. “We have to pity you before we accept you.”
“I can see that,” Aliyah said. “But what does that have to do with the man being unjust?”
“Everything,” Nikki said, humor in her tone. “In the hero scenario, Jacob can only marry a woman we think he doesn’t want to marry. That way, women can feel he’s doing her a favor instead of actually loving and caring for her like he does his first wife.”
Aliyah nodded as she began to understand Nikki’s point. “That’s true.”
“But if he does marry a woman he’s not attracted to, then it’s almost guaranteed he’ll be unjust. Because, obviously, he’ll prefer the first wife over her. And that’s exactly what we want.” Nikki grinned and shook her head. “But when he chooses someone he can be just with because he’s actually attracted to her, we cry foul.”
“Oh my God,” Aliyah said, laughter in her voice. “You’re so right.”
“The worst part though,” Nikki said, “is how disrespectful our polygamy requirements are to the women we think of as broken. They have feelings and needs just like we do, and they have the right to feel valued and desired as a wife. But we’ll only accept them as co-wives if our husband and the women themselves understand they’re a charity case with no real wifely value.”
“SubhaanAllah,” Aliyah said, shaking her head. “I never thought of it like that.”
“That’s why no one thinks of you as a divorced woman. You don’t look broken,” Nikki said. “Because the minute a widow or divorced woman doesn’t look widowed or divorced, then we don’t care if she ever gets remarried. We start talking about how in the past, they didn’t have a welfare system set up to help them out, and that’s why polygamy was necessary. But now we have programs to help them, so they can just go apply for government housing and food stamps.” Nikki grunted, the shadow of a grin on her face. “As if the only reason people get married is to eat dinner and have a place to sleep.”
“As pathetic as that is,” Aliyah said, humor in her tone, “it is how we think. May Allah forgive us.”
Nikki nodded as a smile lingered. For a few minutes, the only sound between them was Nikki crunching on potato
chips as her thoughts appeared to grow distant. Aliyah wondered if she should ask Nikki to stay for dinner.
“I owe you an apology,” Nikki said, leaning back on the couch after she closed the bag of chips and put it back on the table.
Aliyah furrowed her brows as she looked at Nikki. “For what?”
“I was jealous of you,” Nikki said.
Aliyah averted her gaze, uncomfortable with the sudden honesty. She didn’t want to talk about this right now.
“When we first met,” Nikki said, “I knew I could never accept Matt being with someone like you.”
Offense stabbed Aliyah. When she was married to Matt, she’d felt like the soulless “good Muslim” tasked with keeping Matt’s body warm at night. Aliyah wondered if she could ever forgive the imam and her friends for making her feel that it was her Islamic duty to marry “a good Muslim brother” just because he happened to be available.
“I asked Matt to divorce you.”
It took a moment for Aliyah to register Nikki’s words. When she did, her eyes widened as she met Nikki’s apologetic gaze. “What?”
“I told him I couldn’t handle it.”
Aliyah’s heart pounded in anger, and she had trouble finding her voice.
“At the time,” Nikki said regretfully, “you were just the woman who stole my man. I was furious at him for falling in love with someone else.”
Aliyah grunted, finding bitter humor in the term falling in love. It made sense for Nikki to believe that Aliyah and Matt had actually fallen in love. Why else would they have gotten married?
“I was happy to be with him again,” Nikki said. “But I just couldn’t accept being a counterfeit wife.”
Aliyah focused her gaze on the wall near the front door where the inspirational quote hung. Try empathy.
“At the time, I really believed that all is fair in love,’” Nikki said reflectively. “It’s practically the golden rule of relationships in the dunya.”
“But you were Muslim,” Aliyah muttered, her voice clipped.
“I know,” Nikki said. “But I didn’t know what being a Muslim meant. I was just learning about Allah and how to pray.”
Aliyah moved her head in the beginning of a nod, but she was only half listening. It was infuriating how the people closest to her seemed to constantly use and abuse her whenever it suited them. Her own family had tossed her out of their lives when her presence was no longer convenient. When she had been only the quiet, starry-eyed girl who admired everything about her family, she was loved and welcomed. But as soon as she carved for herself a single part of her life as her own—her heart and soul— she was treated as if she had unleashed upon them some horrible, unforgivable affront.
“But this past year,” Nikki said, her voice contemplative, “I’ve been reading a lot and going to a lot of classes and learning Qur’an with Reem. It’s made me rethink a lot of things. I think I’m just now beginning to understand what it means to put Allah first and love for your sister what you love for yourself.”
“That’s good.” Aliyah’s tone was flat and emotionless. It was all she could do to keep from throwing Nikki out of her home and asking her to never come back.
“I know this is a lot to digest,” Nikki said. “But I wanted to say I’m really sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
Eyes still on the inspirational quote, Aliyah tried to calm the storm of fury in her chest. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I understand,” Nikki said, her voice subdued.
“No, I don’t think you do,” Aliyah said, surprised that she was speaking her feelings aloud. “If you would’ve spoken to me six months ago, I probably would have rushed to forgive you. Or at least I probably would have rushed to say I forgive you. Because I was taught that’s what good Muslims do.” She clenched her jaw and shook her head. “But I’m tired of saying and doing things just because everyone says I should. That’s how I ended up marrying Matt.” She grunted. “Which was probably the biggest mistake of my life.”
“You didn’t want to marry him?” Nikki sounded shocked.
“No,” Aliyah said, unable to temper the gloating pride she felt at knowing Nikki would find this revelation offensive. “And I never loved him,” she added for emphasis.
Aliyah turned and met Nikki’s gaze, her expression stoic. “But if you were willing to wrong me and your soul to get him, and if he was willing to wrong me and his soul to have you, then I think you two deserve each other.”
Nikki’s mouth fell open in shock. It took several seconds for her to regain her composure. “How could you say something like that?”
“Because it’s what I believe.”
“But Allah is forgiving and merciful,” Nikki said. “That’s what I believe.”
“That’s what all Muslims believe,” Aliyah said, her heart beat quickening as she spoke freely. “So don’t think you’ve uncovered some esoteric mystery there. Humans are pretty open-minded to things that favor them. It’s when it’s time to think about others that things get a little confused,” she said. “As you yourself pointed out when you mentioned women preferring injustice so long as it’s in their favor.”
Nikki contorted her face and stood. “I should’ve never opened up to you.”
Aliyah shrugged as she too stood. “Maybe, maybe not. I can’t speak on that. But if you’re sincere in wanting my forgiveness, then you have to accept that I’m not going to be overjoyed to hear that you set out to destroy my marriage while I welcomed you into it.”
Nikki shook her head as she walked toward the front door, her face pinched in distaste.
“I apologize that I’m not more excited to hear your confession,” Aliyah said as she followed Nikki to the door. “But this fiasco with Deanna has made me determined to make some serious changes in my life.”
“I just expected you to be more understanding,” Nikki said as she slipped on her shoes. “I thought you were different from people like Juwayriah and Deanna.”
Aliyah laughed, but it was apparent that she was not happy. “So because I’m upset about what you did, I’m like them?”
“To me you are,” Nikki said haughtily. “Cruel and self-centered, just like them.”
“That’s what you think of me?” Aliyah couldn’t conceal her shock and offense.
“It’s how you’re acting.”
“You have a right to your opinion,” Aliyah said as Nikki yanked open the front door. “But know this. I definitely don’t forgive you if you’re saying I’m a bad person if I don’t. That’s just not how seeking forgiveness works.”
Nikki lifted her nose, sniffing in offense as she straightened the strap of her purse and stepped into the apartment hall.
“I have feelings too, Nikki,” Aliyah said as she stood in the doorway. “And all I’m saying is I need time to work through them. I want to forgive you because I think that’s best for all of us. But you have no right to say I don’t have a choice.”
Nikki threw up a hand as she walked down the hall, her back to Aliyah. “Do whatever you want. I’m through. I’m just sorry I thought you were a good person.”
Aliyah groaned and shook her head as she stepped backwards into the foyer. “As-salaamu’alaikum, Nikki,” she muttered as she closed the door.
***
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
Deanna’s palm was moist in sweat as she pressed the cordless phone against her ear and stood near the sliding glass patio door adjacent to the balcony. Her heart thumped so forcefully that she felt it in her throat. “My mother,” she said, breathless. “She’s not moving. I think I...” Her voice caught as she realized the enormity of her predicament. “We were arguing. I didn’t do it on purpose. But, I, she…” Deanna’s legs folded beneath her, and she fell to the floor on bent knees. “Can you send somebody, please?” she moaned. “Can you please send somebody to help my mommy?”
“Ma’am,” the dispatcher said firmly and calmly. “What happened? Is she alive?”
“Ma’am, please, I need you to tell us where she is.”
“She’s at the bottom of the stairs. She, I think… I… She fell.”
“What stairs? Where are the stairs?”
“In the backyard,” Deanna said, breathless, tears stinging her eyes. “Can you please just send help!” she yelled, growing impatient and annoyed.
“Ma’am, we are sending help,” the dispatch operator said. “We just need to confirm your mother’s location. Is she at the address of the phone you’re using?”
“Yes! Yes!” Deanna shouted frantically. “Don’t you have the location in your computer?”
“We have seven eight four Fr—”
“Yes, that’s us!” Deanna shouted irritably. “Now send someone. Now!” She pressed the end call button and threw the phone on the floor before rushing back outside to her mother.
Chapter 15
Peace of Mind
Aliyah woke early Saturday morning with a sense of peace in her heart. “Alhamdu lillaahil-lathee ahyaana ba’da maa amaatanaa wa ilahin-nushoor,” she muttered into the darkness of her room. All praise is for Allah who has given us life after taking it from us, and unto Him is the resurrection.
After reciting the supplication for waking, Aliyah lay beneath the softness of her comforter, her thoughts on her plans for the day. It was an hour before dawn, but she wasn’t inclined to go back to sleep. She had to take Ibrahim to basketball later that morning, and while she waited for him to finish, she would be taking tennis lessons with Reem, Mashael, and Nora.
Aliyah sat up and folded the comforter away from her body as she turned until she was sitting on the edge of her bed.
You are the author of your life story. In the dim light that glowed outside her window, she could make out the wooden frame of the quote that she’d hung on her room wall. It was too dark to see the words, but she knew them by heart. Like many people, she’d often heard the saying throughout her life. And like many people, she’d thought she knew what it meant.
