His Other Wife

by Umm Zakiyyah

  What is going on with you? she reprimanded herself. She must be more stressed than she realized. For years, the idea of eating processed sugar and high fructose corn syrup repulsed her. Yes, she sometimes had cravings for junk food, but usually her emotional eating amounted to consuming a gyro or a burger from a restaurant or making a halal salami sandwich for herself at home. But even when her cravings were at their worst, she never resorted to eating snack cakes or candy bars. Her guilty pleasure was generally white bread, and even that was usually organic.

  “As-salaamu’alaikum!” At the sound of the cheerful voice, Aliyah turned and found a woman smiling at her, the woman’s hand extended in greeting.

  An uncertain smile creased one side of Aliyah’s mouth at the sight of the woman’s kind face and African-style head wrap and baby hair peeking out beneath. “Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam wa-rahmatullaah,” Aliyah said as she shook the woman’s hand, a question still on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said, laughter in her voice. “I’m Salima. I met you in Sister Reem’s Qur’an class.”

  An apologetic smile lingered at Aliyah’s lips as she squinted her eyes in an effort to recall Salima.

  “It’s okay,” the woman said, chuckling and waving her hand dismissively. “It was about a year ago. You probably don’t remember.”

  Oh, Aliyah realized. That was probably why she didn’t recall meeting the sister. They must have met around the time Aliyah and Matt were getting a divorce. Aliyah barely remembered anything from that period except the suffocating anxiety upon realizing her life was about to fall apart. Salima probably met her right before she dropped out the class.

  “Well, it’s good to see you again,” Aliyah said cordially.

  “You don’t come to the classes anymore,” Salima said.

  Aliyah shrugged, an awkward smile on her face. “I started working full time, you know?”

  “I was kind of sad when you stopped coming.” Salima smirked. “When I met you, I was like, thank God, there’s at least one person I can relate to in this class.” She shook her head. “Those sisters are fierce.”

  Aliyah chuckled in agreement. “Well, at least they’re in the right place.”

  Salima nodded reflectively. “That’s true. Everybody can benefit from Qur’an.”

  Salima squinted as if remembering something just then. “You were Deanna’s best friend, right?”

  Aliyah shook her head, surprised by the instinctive gesture. “Not really,” she said. “But we were friends in college.”

  “They were talking about her on WTH the other day,” Salima said, concern etched in her voice. “Is she okay?”

  Aliyah’s heart dropped, her thoughts going immediately to Younus and Thawab. O Allah. She hoped the media hadn’t learned of Deanna’s arrest. They would have a field day, and Younus and Thawab would suffer the brunt of it and be scarred for life.

  “You’re talking about all that ‘crazy Muslim woman’ stuff from months ago?” Aliyah spoke in as casual a manner as she could muster.

  Salima shook her head. “No, this is recent. She has some photo essay called ‘I’m the Hot Wife.’”

  Aliyah felt as if she were going to be sick. Though Salima didn’t say it outright, Aliyah could read in Salima’s expression that the photo essay had implied something negative about Aliyah. “I didn’t see it,” Aliyah said, finding her voice just then.

  “Oh…” Salima looked embarrassed. “I thought…”

  “I don’t watch TV much anymore,” Aliyah said.

  Salima nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  Aliyah shook her head. “No, it’s not your fault. If it’s on TV, it’s public knowledge. So there’s no need to apologize.” She shrugged, a slight smile on her face. “I was going to find out sooner or later, right?”

  “Well, we’re all making du’aa for you,” Salima said. “This whole thing is really messed up.”

  Aliyah grunted agreement and rolled her eyes.

  “But how are you doing?” Salima said, her eyes conveying genuine concern.

  “I’m good, alhamdulillah,” Aliyah said, surprised by how convincing she sounded to her own ears. “I’m just trying to focus on my son and my job.”

  “That’s good,” Salima said sincerely. “Keeping busy helps.”

  “I’m in the car,” a man said, appearing at Salima’s side, a plastic bag of groceries in his hand.

  Salima turned and smiled at him. “Okay, boo,” she said. “I’m right behind you insha’Allah.”

  “As-salaamu’alaikum, sister,” the man said, placing his right hand on his chest as he nodded a greeting to Aliyah.

  “Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam,” Aliyah said as he turned to go.

  “I don’t want to keep your husband waiting,” Aliyah said as the bell jingled and the door closed behind him. “But it was really nice meeting you.”

  Salima smirked and placed a hand on her hip playfully. “Well, I’m flattered.”

  Aliyah chuckled, a confused expression on her face. “What?”

  “That’s not my husband,” Salima said, her head turning as she smiled toward the parking lot. “That’s Jamil, my little brother.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Aliyah said good-naturedly. “I just assumed…”

  Salima waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. We get that all the time, especially since we live together. But I’m not his type anyway,” she said jokingly. “He has a weakness for women he thinks he can save.”

  “It must be nice to live with family,” Aliyah said reflectively.

  Salima drew her eyebrows together, a playful grin on her face. “Now that’s the first time anyone has said that to me,” she remarked. “Usually people say, ‘Oh mashaAllah, you must be really patient.’”

  “Why?” Aliyah said, a confused grin on her face. “I wish I could live with one of my brothers. I miss them.”

  “Then you obviously have a good relationship with them, mashaAllah,” Salima said. “For most of us grown folks, our relationship with family is polite at best.”

  Aliyah nodded, a sad smile on her face as she wished she could describe her relationship with family as polite. She hadn’t seen her two brothers and two sisters, or her parents, in more than ten years.

  “But let me get out of here before Jamil starts complaining.” Salima pulled her purse in front of her and opened it before rummaging inside. “Come join us some time,” she said as she handed Aliyah a business card. “Some friends and I get together every Friday night. You should join us.”

  “Muslim Marriage Monologues,” Aliyah read aloud. “That sounds interesting.”

  “It is,” Salima said. “It’s like an open-mic poetry session and support group for Muslims in relationship crises.”

  “Oh my God,” Aliyah joked. “Am I that obvious?”

  Salima laughed. “It’s nothing like that,” she said. “It’s for anyone. Married, single, divorced, or…” A shadow of sadness passed over her face as she maintained her smile. “…widowed, like me.”

  The pleasant expression fell from Aliyah’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” Salima said, waving her hand. “I’m not saying it for sympathy. I just want you to know this isn’t some snobbish married-women-only club.”

  Aliyah rolled her eyes knowingly. “That happens to you too?”

  “All the time,” Salima said. “But I get it. When you’re young and insecure, you think the biggest threat to your marriage is out there somewhere.” She shrugged. “I used to think the same until one night I went to sleep as a married woman with three children and woke up as a single mother of one.”

  “SubhaanAllah,” Aliyah said, shaking her head in sadness. “May Allah reunite you in Jannah.”

  “Ameen,” Salima said, her eyes growing distant momentarily.

  “Will we see you Friday insha’Allah?” Salima said as she closed her purse.

  “I usually have my son then, so…” Aliyah s
aid apologetically.

  “How old is he?”

  “Five.”

  “Bring him,” Salima said. “My son is the same age. Maybe they can hang out.”

  “Then I’ll definitely think about it,” Aliyah said sincerely. “It sounds nice.”

  “My number’s on the card,” Salima said. “Give me a missed call, and I’ll save your number.”

  “Okay,” Aliyah said, nodding. “I will insha’Allah.”

  ***

  Deanna dreamt that she was choking on her mother’s heart. As Deanna gagged, groping for life, her mother was reaching out for help, her right hand over the left side of her chest, her left hand waving frantically as she fought to stay alive. Deanna desperately tried to catch a single breath amidst the choking as a voice inside her screamed, “It wasn’t me, Mommy! It was Janice.”

  Deanna woke with a terrible ache in her neck from having fallen asleep sitting up against the wall of the holding cell, her head against the sanded bricks. Still recovering from the delirium of sleep, Deanna brought a hand to her throat and exhaled in relief that she was breathing normally. But she winced as words fell upon her like a crescendo of guillotine blades. She pinched her eyes shut as if that would block the cryptic sonnets from racing like frenzied whispers inside her head. Once upon a time, in another life, she would have considered this lyrical invasion a writer’s inspiration. But she had no laptop or pen and paper, and she had no desire to write. In fact, she had no desire for anything at all.

  Yet the words were stubbornly unrelenting…

  He hit her

  Because

  Her face came too close

  To his

  Hand.

  Janice.

  Or maybe

  His hand came too close

  To her

  Face.

  Janice.

  But it wasn’t a strike of anger

  Or rage.

  It was a desperate groping

  For refuge

  From

  His pain.

  Janice.

  His pain stared at him every day

  Glaring

  But he called it determination

  Strength

  And wit.

  Janice.

  And others called it

  His calling

  To guide the wicked

  And the blind.

  Deanna Janice.

  But that pain.

  Oh that pain.

  He didn’t ask to be a father.

  She didn’t ask to be a wife.

  It was just a burst of desire

  A burning fire

  To do

  What’s right.

  Janice.

  A life kicked inside of her.

  And she too kicked

  Herself.

  He wasn’t the man

  She dreamed of

  When she

  Sang

  To herself.

  But you should be grateful,

  Janice Michaels

  Because they chose

  Life.

  So she sang

  At the altar.

  And the little girl

  Danced and kicked

  To the song

  Even though every note

  Seemed

  Wrong

  But it was a lullaby

  A sweet chorus

  Those adult lies

  So she danced and kicked

  Oblivious

  Beneath her mother’s heart

  But even then

  Like now

  She thought she heard

  Her mother

  Cry

  Why?

  ***

  “As-salaamu’alaikum, Reem,” Aliyah spoke into the small mouthpiece connected to the wire of her mobile earphones. “I was thinking about our conversation the other day, and I just wanted to apologize for saying you were privileged.” Aliyah drew in a deep breath, hoping Reem hadn’t let the call go to voicemail after seeing Aliyah’s name on the display. “I’ve been frustrated about a lot of things lately, and I shouldn’t have taken in out on you. Jazaakillaahukhairan for taking time to teach me Qur’an. That’s the best gift any friend can give, and I shouldn’t have expected any more from you. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Aliyah squeezed the button on the wire, disconnecting the call, and she sat for a moment as her car idled in the driveway of the home that she used to share with Matt. She wondered if now was a bad time to drop by and say salaams to Ibrahim.

  “No,” Aliyah had said in reply to Nikki’s question as to whether she had wanted to marry Matt. “And I never loved him.” It was true that Aliyah hadn’t wanted to marry Matt, but it wasn’t entirely true that she had never loved him. You couldn’t be married to someone for ten years and not develop at least some mutual affection. Maybe she and Matt had never “fallen in love,” but there were parts of Matt that she had grown to love.

  Aliyah turned off the car and drew in a deep breath before getting out and walking to the front door. She hoped Matt wasn’t there. But even if he was, she had to get home soon anyway because she had halal meat in the trunk that needed refrigeration.

  Aliyah hesitated only momentarily before lifting a forefinger and pushing the doorbell to the tri-level brick house that she used to call home. For the past year, Nikki had been the one to come to Aliyah’s apartment to drop off Ibrahim, so this was the first time that Aliyah had returned to her home since the divorce. It felt odd standing on the opposite side of the door. It was like she had been relegated to outcast in her own life.

  The door opened so quickly that Aliyah’s shoulders jerked in surprise. Matt’s expression was one of confusion, but only briefly. Matt was dressed in a business suit, and Aliyah knew immediately that he had been expecting the airport taxi. For a fleeting moment, she felt the urgency to make sure he had packed everything necessary for his trip.

  “As-salaamu’alaikum,” Aliyah said quickly, averting her gaze in embarrassment. “Nikki told me I could drop by to see Ibrahim… I didn’t know you were home.”

  “Wa’alaiku mus-salaam wa rahmatullaahi wa barakaatuh,” Matt said, surprising Aliyah with the genuine smile that spread on his lips. “Come in.” He took a step back and opened the door wide. “Ibrahim is right here.”

  “Mommy!” Ibrahim called out as Aliyah stepped into the foyer.

  Aliyah laughed and kneeled as Ibrahim wrapped his arms around her neck. After a few seconds, she started to release him, but he locked his arms more tightly. “Now’s not a good time for me to carry you,” she whispered.

  “Mmmm,” Ibrahim murmured in protest, nestling his head closer.

  Aliyah felt torn between wanting to comfort her son and worrying that Matt was watching. When they were married, Matt had often expressed concern that Aliyah was spoiling their son.

  “It’s okay,” she heard Matt’s voice above her head. “You can hold him if you want. He misses you. It’ll be good for him.”

  Aliyah didn’t know whether to feel relieved or mortified. But she decided that Ibrahim’s needs took precedence over the awkwardness of the moment. As she stood, Ibrahim wrapped his legs around her.

  “Actually…” Matt said as if something was on his mind. He glanced behind him cautiously. “I wanted to—” The chime of Matt’s cell phone interrupted him mid-sentence, and Aliyah immediately knew it was the courtesy alert message informing Matt that his taxi was outside. Matt reached into a pant pocket and pulled out his mobile, his gaze on the screen. He frowned. “I have to go,” he said, apology in his tone. “But,” he said, lowering his voice, “we need to talk whenever you get a free moment.”

  Aliyah drew her eyebrows together, one hand on the back of Ibrahim’s head. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, yes,” Matt said, his voice still low as he adjusted the strap of his laptop bag over his shoulder then pulled out the handle to his carry-on luggage. “It’s about Ibrahim.”

  “Will Mommy live with us
again?” Ibrahim said, his voice rising in hopefulness as he spoke into Aliyah’s neck.

  “No, buddy,” Matt said apologetically then leaned forward and brushed Ibrahim’s forehead with a kiss. “But maybe Mommy can come over more if you want.”

  “Yes,” Ibrahim said in excitement, his head still leaning on his mother.

  “Can I give you a call some time?” Matt whispered as he started out the door.

  “Sure,” Aliyah said, probably too quickly. But it was all she could do to conceal her shock that Matt was asking to speak to her at all. She was under the impression that he and Nikki felt it was an Islamic requirement that Aliyah and Matt never communicate directly.

  “You leaving now?” Aliyah heard a tired voice call from upstairs. She imagined that Nikki must have seen the airport taxi from the bedroom window.

  “Yes,” Matt called out. “The car’s outside.”

  “Have a good trip,” Nikki said.

  Aliyah was unable to temper the offense she felt right then. Matt divorced her for this woman? What kind of wife doesn’t come downstairs to see her husband off before a trip? Pregnant or not, this was inexcusable.

  “Thanks,” Matt called out. He looked as if he were about to say something else but decided against it. Aliyah figured that he was debating on whether or not to tell Nikki that she was there.

  “As-salaamu’alaikum,” Matt said to Aliyah, his voice low as he walked out the door.

  “Wa’alaiku mus-salaam,” Aliyah said, her anger subsiding as she watched him go. She sensed that life was not easy for him, and at that moment she found herself feeling compassion for him.

  “Is that you, Aliyah?” Nikki called out after the airport taxi had driven away.

  Of course Nikki had seen her car when she looked out the window. “Yes,” Aliyah called back.

  “I’m not feeling well,” Nikki said, “so just… Well, you know your way around.”

  Aliyah closed the front door and wondered if she should bring the meat inside and put it in Nikki’s refrigerator.

  Can I give you a call some time?

  At the reminder of Matt’s question, Aliyah’s curiosity was piqued, so she decided she would stay only a few more minutes and give Matt a call herself when she got in the car.