His Other Wife

by Umm Zakiyyah

  Aliyah wasn’t sure she agreed with that, but she didn’t speak her thoughts aloud.

  “So yeah,” Salima said. “Racism definitely makes sense.”

  “That’s a difficult position to be in though,” Aliyah said, maneuvering the steering wheel as she guided her car into a parking space in front of the masjid. “In America, you do have to worry about legal and social backlash. No community wants a reputation for supporting people who are doing wrong.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what Kalimah said when I argued the same thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Then why not start programs to support people who are doing it right?” Salima responded.

  Aliyah didn’t know what to say to that.

  “And counsel the people who are doing it wrong,” Salima added. “Just like we do with monogamy.”

  The shadow of a smile formed on Aliyah’s face. “Well, she has a point there.”

  “Kalimah was saying, that way, we can build more positive polygyny marriages that Muslims can look to as an example,” Salima explained.

  Aliyah opened her mouth to respond then stopped when she heard the sound of the adhaan through the earpiece. “Salima?” Aliyah said, flustered momentarily. “Are you at work?”

  “No,” Salima said. “I left early to come to the masjid. The imam asked to meet me insha’Allah.”

  A knowing smile formed on Aliyah’s face. “Is it about you and Larry?” Aliyah teased.

  Aliyah heard Salima laugh. “No…” Salima said. “They asked Reem if—” She stopped midsentence at the sound of someone else talking, the adhaan still reverberating in the background.

  “I have to go,” Salima said quickly then gave salaams before disconnecting the call.

  When Aliyah entered the masjid and opened the door to the prayer area and quietly stepped inside, Ibrahim was still sitting in the musallaa in front of the Qur’an teacher, who was giving him instruction though most of the other children had gone home. Several men and women were standing, bowing, or prostrating in Sunnah prayers, scattered about the musallaa in their respective sections.

  Aliyah slipped off her shoes and kneeled to place them on the rack. When she stood again and walked toward a place in the back of the musallaa where there weren’t many women, she was overcome with a feeling of gratefulness for being Muslim. Perhaps it was the spiritual tranquility of the masjid at the moment or seeing her son studying Qur’an, but her heart swelled with a happiness that was difficult to contain. And the smile on her face was only close-lipped and restrained because she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself.

  Amidst all the pain and confusion in the last year, Aliyah had forgotten that being guided to Islam was a gift from Allah. That He’d given His gift to her while so many others were misguided was something for which she could never be properly thankful. It hurt that she’d lost her birth family in the process, but after the jarring encounter with her mother, she was beginning to realize that not being in direct contact with them was not necessarily a bad thing.

  After praying the congregational prayer, Aliyah walked over to Ibrahim and greeted him, and he enthusiastically told her how his day had gone. Apparently, he was advancing well in his Qur’anic studies.

  In the lobby of the masjid, Aliyah heard someone call her name. She turned to see a familiar face framed by the floral cloth of a hijab. It took a second for her to realize who it was.

  “Salima?” she said, a confused but pleased grin spreading on her face.

  “Does it suit me?” Salima said when they were face-to-face.

  “Anything would suit you mashaAllah,” Aliyah said sincerely, unsure how much she should compliment Salima’s khimaar since she knew the head-wrap was what Salima favored. “But you look really good in hijab.”

  Salima raised an eyebrow. “In hijab?” she said good-naturedly.

  “I mean this hijab,” Aliyah said quickly, embarrassed laughter in her voice.

  Salima flipped her hand dismissively, a hesitant smirk on her face. “It’s okay,” she said. “I get it. Everyone’s proud of me for dressing like they do.”

  Aliyah couldn’t tell if Salima was being sarcastic, so she just maintained a friendly expression.

  “But I think I can get used to it,” Salima said, nodding thoughtfully. “I don’t look half bad.”

  “What made you wear it today?” Aliyah said, feeling that was safe to ask.

  Salima lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I thought it was the respectful thing to do,” she said honestly. “Reem told the board about me when they asked for a replacement Qur’an teacher, and I wanted to look fully Muslim when I met with them.”

  Aliyah’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “MashaAllah. You’re going to start teaching Qur’an here?”

  “That’s what it looks like…”

  “What days will you be teaching?”

  “We haven’t worked out all the details,” Salima said. “But for now they want me at least once a week, either in the evenings or on weekends.”

  “So you might teach more than that?” Aliyah said, a smile in her voice.

  Salima coughed laughter. “When they found out I have an ijaazah, they wanted me here every day,” she said. “They said it’s hard to find a qualified female Qur’an instructor who can teach on that level.”

  “That’s really good, mashaAllah,” Aliyah said sincerely.

  She drew her eyebrows together after a moment’s pause. “But you work fulltime…”

  “Exactly,” Salima agreed with a knowing smirk. “So now I have to decide what to do.”

  “You’re willing to quit your job?” Aliyah asked, unrestrained surprise in her voice. She hoped she didn’t sound like she disagreed.

  Salima shrugged, uncertainty in her expression. “I’m willing to do a lot of things these days,” she said, humor in her tone. “Thanks to you and Larry.”

  Aliyah pulled her head back in surprise, a confused smile creasing the sides of her mouth. “Me and Larry?”

  “I keep hearing your voice in my head,” Salima said. “So I’m trying not to be one of those anti-hijab activists that we were talking about.”

  Aliyah shook her head in genuine confusion. “Anti-hijab activists?”

  “You know…” Salima said. “Judging people because I feel they’re judging me.”

  The confused expression remained on Aliyah’s face a moment longer before she recalled the conversation that Salima was most likely talking about. “Judging someone and sincerely caring about their soul are two different things,” Salima had said in defense of her reasons for not getting into conversations with people about why she wore the head-wrap instead of the khimaar. “But how would you know whether or not someone sincerely cares?” Aliyah had said. “I don’t mean any disrespect to you. But isn’t that the very definition of judging to claim to know someone’s intentions? If it’s wrong to judge someone for how they dress, isn’t it just as wrong to judge someone for trying to help?”

  Aliyah nodded, chuckling. “I don’t think I mentioned anything about anti-hijab activism though.”

  “I know,” Salima said, a smile in her voice. “Those are my words.” She shrugged. “But the same difference.”

  “If you say so…” Aliyah said good-naturedly.

  “Well, if I’m fighting for the right to not wear hijab while insisting that anyone advising me to obey Allah is judgmental, then I’m an anti-hijab activist.”

  Aliyah maintained a polite expression, unsure what to say to that. “And Larry?” she said. “What does he have to do with any of this hijab talk?”

  The way Salima’s face softened at Aliyah’s mention of Larry made Aliyah see just how much Salima really liked him. Salima averted her gaze momentarily. “We were talking the other day,” she said, “and he asked if there was any religious significance to the different way I wear my hijab.”

  Aliyah nodded, but she didn’t understand fully where Salima was coming from. Why hadn’t she just explained t
o Larry what she had to Aliyah months ago? Larry would probably understand.

  Salima coughed laughter. “I think that was the first time I was tongue-tied about the subject,” she said, embarrassment in her tone. “In my head, I’d always rationalized the way I dress, saying ‘At least I’m covered.’ But when he asked that question, expecting me to have this deep, Islamic answer, I felt so stupid. I had no idea what to say to him.”

  Aliyah nodded again, this time understanding Salima’s reasoning.

  “And all I kept thinking about was ayah thirty-one in An-Noor where Allah instructs women to take their khimaar and draw it over their bosom area,” Salima said, embarrassed humor still in her tone. “And I couldn’t think of one good reason that I did the exact opposite with my headscarf.”

  “Is Haroon here?” Ibrahim’s small voice said from next to Aliyah as he looked at Salima. Aliyah had almost forgotten that her son was standing there.

  “No, sweetie,” Salima said softly to him, switching subjects seamlessly. “He’s with Uncle Larry.”

  “Ooooh,” Ibrahim said, his voice full of excitement as he turned to look at Aliyah. “Can I go with Uncle Larry too?”

  Aliyah smiled down at him and rubbed his head. “Not today,” Aliyah said.

  ***

  Salima fought the twinge of envy that stabbed her as she witnessed the mutual compassion between mother and son. It wasn’t that she resented the connection that Aliyah had with Ibrahim, but it reminded her of how Mikaeel had been with his children. There wasn’t a day that went by except that a piece of Salima grieved for what both she and Haroon had lost when Mikaeel and their eldest son and only daughter died in a car accident one night.

  “Let me go and speak to the imam again real quick,” Salima said, polite apology in her voice. “I forgot to ask him something.”

  “Okay. Insha’Allah, we’ll talk later,” Aliyah said. “Let me know how it goes.” She offered Salima a smile. “It’ll be nice to have you here. I might re-enroll in Qur’an myself if you’re the teacher.”

  Salima shook her head and squeezed Aliyah’s arm affectionately. “Don’t say that, ukhti. You should enroll in Qur’an because it’s offered, not because I’m the teacher.”

  Aliyah brought a hand to her mouth, a humored expression on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s okay,” Salima said, releasing Aliyah’s arm. “Reem will be missed, and I doubt I’ll be able to do her precedent justice, mashaAllah, barakAllaahufeehaa.”

  Aliyah nodded in humble acknowledgement. “She was a good teacher, mashaAllah.”

  “She’s the one who suggested to the imam that I take her place,” Salima said, feeling obligated to give credit where credit was due.

  “MashaAllah,” Aliyah said. “You mentioned that.”

  There was a brief silence before Aliyah offered Salima the salaams and turned to go, lifting her hand in a wave as she gripped Ibrahim’s hand with her other.

  “Aliyah?” Salima said. When Aliyah glanced back, Salima leaned into her, clipping her on the shoulder, and whispered so that Ibrahim wouldn’t hear, “Don’t be too hard on Reem, okay? She’s not a bad person. She’s just going through a lot. You two should keep in touch.”

  Ignoring the puzzled expression on Aliyah’s face, Salima returned Aliyah’s salaams then walked away.

  ***

  “I’d rather be single than share my husband!”

  Salima winced at the memory, dropping her head momentarily to gather her composure before walking into the imam’s office. It was probably the most irrational thought in the world, but that single utterance in a moment of anger was what had come rushing back to her after she’d learned the news of her husband’s death.

  “Don’t say that,” Kalimah had said so many years ago following Salima’s outburst. Kalimah’s voice was low in warning though she had been as hotheaded as Salima only moments before. “Say, ‘Astaghfirullah,’” she said, her voice teetering between sternness and trepidation.

  “So it’s a sin to prefer the Sunnah of monogamy now?” Salima had retorted, indignant.

  “No,” Kalimah had said. “You just shouldn’t utter du’aa in vain.”

  “First of all, it’s not a du’aa,” Salima had said. “And it’s not in vain. It’s what I truly feel.”

  “Just be careful what you wish for…”

  “It’s not a wish. It’s a fact.”

  Feet from her, a smile spread on the imam’s face at the sight of Salima at his door. “As-salaamu’alaikum, sister,” he said, waving her inside. “Come on in.”

  “Wa’alaiku mus-salaam,” she muttered in reply, thoughts still distracted as she walked into the office.

  Was she overdoing it? Salima wondered, doubt gripping her. Her atonement for that careless statement? Had she become so fearful of Allah’s punishment that she was going to the opposite extreme? Were her strong views in support of Kalimah and other women who chose polygyny making her callous and insensitive to those who held other views?

  She hoped not.

  Astaghfirullah, she mouthed inaudibly, heeding Kalimah’s advice from so long ago, as she did so many times a day since her life was turned upside down.

  Chapter 28

  The Marriage Story

  “You can contest it, of course,” Attorney Bryan Schmidt told Deanna as she sat across from him at his office Thursday morning, less than seven days from the thirty-day deadline to respond to Jacob’s divorce petition. “But if saving money is your goal, the best route is reaching a mutual agreement about the terms of divorce as opposed to contesting it altogether,” he said. “And the best route for that is to avoid court completely.”

  Deanna grimaced and leaned back in her chair. “So if he wants a divorce, he just gets it?” Her voice was still a bit raspy, but she was getting used to the sound of it though she doubted she’d ever find it palatable.

  “Not necessarily,” Bryan said. “A judge can refuse to grant a divorce, but divorces are usually refused without prejudice. So a person can keep seeking a divorce until he or she fulfills the requirements of the court.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Deanna muttered in aggravation. “So what am I paying you for?”

  Bryan frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a question only you can answer,” he said. “My retainer is twenty-five hundred dollars, and I charge five hundred dollars an hour after that. I occasionally grant discounts for potentially lucrative cases, but—”

  “Potentially lucrative cases?” Deanna sneered.

  “—I make exceptions to even that every now and then.”

  “So basically you just make money off of everyone else’s problems and misery?” Deanna said.

  The hint of a smile appeared at the corners of Bryan’s mouth. “That’s definitely one way to look at it,” Bryan said. “So I suppose you and I have something in common.”

  Deanna contorted her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re a marriage counselor, right?”

  Refusing the bait, she remained quiet, face still contorted as she looked at him.

  “Without other people’s problems or misery, neither you nor I could make a living, could we?”

  She grunted. “Just tell me what I need to do to get this over with as fast as possible.” She added for emphasis, “Without going broke.”

  The smile continued to play at Bryan’s lips, and Deanna sensed he was enjoying a private joke. “Like I said, that’s mostly your decision. With the exception of this meeting that I offered free of cost because of your recent representation in the aggravated assault case, every meeting, phone call, or work done for your divorce will be billed at the price I mentioned.”

  “Okay, fine,” Deanna said. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

  “As I said, that’s your decision. I can only help you with the most legally sensible approach to what you want.”

  “Can you stop speaking in riddles?” she said, feeling herself growing annoyed. “I don’t
know what to do. I don’t even want a divorce, for God’s sake.”

  “Well, the fastest and cheapest route is to just sign the paper and agree to all his terms.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Deanna said. “I’m not giving him a penny.”

  Bryan leaned forward and typed something into his MacBook. “What about custody of your sons?”

  Deanna felt the fire of rage building inside her. “I refuse to live as a single mother. So if he wants a divorce, then he loses his right to free childcare.”

  “Well, that wouldn’t be free. He’d have to pay child support.”

  She huffed. “No,” she said, her voice tight in fury. “He can have custody, but I get visitation rights, and I don’t pay a single cent to him for anything.”

  “So you aren’t willing to pay child support?”

  “Of course not,” she said, glaring at Bryan as if he’d lost his mind. “He’s the one who wants the divorce, so he should be paying me.”

  “Okay…” The tapping on his keyboard filled the silence between them momentarily. “But I have to warn you, if you demand any money from him, it’ll most likely be contested, which means the divorce could end up being a back-and-forth case, which can get really expensive.”

  “You asked what I wanted,” Deanna said, aggravated, “so I’m telling you. But I’m not willing to pay a lot of money for this.”

  “Then I suggest making demands he’s most likely to fulfill.”

  Deanna glanced at her watch, wondering if this free hour was almost up. She still had just under twenty minutes.

  “Like what?”

  “Give him everything he asked for—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “—except you pay nothing to him, and he pays nothing to you. Any accounts or assets that are in both of your names are split fifty-fifty, and neither of you seeks alimony. He gets custody of your sons, and you get weekend visitation rights.” Bryan was typing as he talked, glancing from his MacBook to Deanna then from Deanna to his MacBook. “How does that sound?”