by Umm Zakiyyah
“A year ago, I think?” Salima asked, a half-smile on her face.
“You know that’s too long a time for us to go without seeing you,” her mother scorned good-naturedly. “We worry about you.”
“I’m so swamped with work and taking care of Haroon that I barely have time to think straight,” Salima said, taking a seat across from her mother as her father sat at the head.
“I keep telling Jamil he makes enough to take care of the both of you,” her father said, shaking his head in disapproval as he situated himself in his chair. “A man’s job is to take care of a woman, especially if she’s a widow. And since you don’t want to move in with us, Jamil needs to step up and be a man.”
An uncomfortable smile formed on Salima’s face. “Jamil does a good job mashaAllah,” she said. “But he has his own life to worry about.”
Her father huffed. “We all do. That doesn’t change the fact that we’re men and we still need to take care of our women.”
“I don’t want to be a burden on him though,” Salima said, forcing a smile. “When he remarries, what will I do?”
Hushed silence fell over the table.
“Remarries?” her father said, a concerned expression on his face. “He didn’t mention anything to us about a new young woman.”
“I meant hypothetically,” Salima said quickly. She didn’t want Jamil to think she had traveled to their parents’ house to talk about him. They were less fond of his ex-wife than she was, and the last thing she wanted was to cause a ruckus over something that might not even happen. They were of the opinion that it was not permissible to marry sectarian Muslims, and they would certainly make a fuss if he tried to remarry her. They didn’t even agree with the initial marriage, and that was before her religious views were fully known.
“Is he back in touch with Muslimah?” her mother asked as she held out a hand for Salima to hand over her plate.
“Uh…” Salima averted her gaze as she lifted the plate in front of her and placed it in her mother’s grip. “I’m not sure.”
“I hope you advised him against remarrying her,” her father said.
“We haven’t really talked about it,” Salima said, hoping to change the subject to why she’d come. “I’ve been trying to figure out my own situation.”
An awkward silence permeated the room, and the only sound that could be heard was the clanking of serving spoons as Salima’s mother prepared her plate. Salima noticed her parents exchanging glances, as if there was something they knew but was not saying.
“I never liked hypocrites,” her father said. “You and Jamil know that.” He spoke as if he were scolding Salima, but he kept his voice level. “Wearing one face in front of the people and another behind closed doors.”
“I’m not sure I think Muslimah is a hypocrite…” Salima said, choosing her words carefully. “She’s just confused.”
“Is that right?” her father said, a slight smile on his face, inciting discomfort in Salima.
The plate now full, her mother reached across the table to hand it to Salima. When Salima accepted it, her mother went on to prepare another plate.
“Your sister tells us Muslimah is always involving herself in some mess or another,” her mother said, meeting Salima’s gaze, a concerned expression on her face. “Aren’t you two in communication?”
“Muslimah and I?”
“You and your sister.”
Salima lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “We talk sometimes…”
“She says you and Muslimah are friends.”
Salima pulled her head back in surprise. “Friends?”
“I think she was talking about Facebook, honey,” her father said gently, looking at Salima’s mother.
“Oh,” Salima said. “She’s on my friends list, but I don’t follow her.” The expression on her parents’ faces told Salima that they had no idea what she was talking about. “I mean, we don’t really keep in touch or anything.”
“But you’re friends online?” Her mother’s tone suggested that she was genuinely perplexed.
“And Yasmeen?” her father said, his gaze toward the food his wife had just placed in front of him. He glanced at Salima as he picked up his fork and muttered Bismillaah. “Are you in touch with her? Apparently, she’s a friend of Jamil’s.”
Because the name had no logical context to her family, Salima had no idea whom her father was talking about. “Yasmeen?” she said, drawing her eyebrows together as she picked up her fork in preparation to eat. She pronounced Allah’s name before slicing the salmon with the side of her fork and lifting it to her mouth.
“She says most people know her by her non-Muslim name,” Salima’s mother interjected. “Jasmine.”
Salima suddenly lost her appetite. She had no idea why, but she knew in her gut that no good could come from Jasmine’s name being mentioned at her parents’ table.
***
At the apartment building, Jacob carried Aliyah’s compact luggage bag upstairs then waited in the living room as Aliyah changed clothes in preparation for their meeting with Deanna. Larry had initially agreed to join them, but he’d called to cancel when he found out that Salima was out of town for the day. Before then, Larry had told Jacob that he was sure that Salima would be happy to keep Ibrahim, Younus, and Thawab while he joined them during the meeting. But after learning of Salima’s trip, Larry had said that Jamil would probably be willing to watch the boys since he was already watching Haroon, but neither Jacob nor Larry felt completely comfortable with that arrangement.
Both Jacob and Aliyah had prayed Istikhaarah about the meeting with Deanna today, but Jacob was beginning to wonder if the signs were pointing to not having the meeting instead of going ahead with it. Benjamin had agreed to allow them to meet at his house, but he didn’t sound enthusiastic about it, though Jacob doubted that enthusiasm was even possible given the circumstances. But even Larry had sounded apprehensive when Jacob told him about the meeting.
“You sure you want to do that, man?” Larry had asked. “I’m sure,” Jacob had said. But now he wondered if that were true.
***
Salima took another bite of food so she could avoid looking her parents’ in the eye. “Yes, I know Jasmine,” she said as casually as she could manage.
Her parents’ exchanged glances again.
“Are you aware that she was Larry’s girlfriend before they accepted Islam together?” her mother asked.
Blinking in confusion, Salima set down her fork and shook her head. “She was Larry’s girlfriend, but they didn’t accept Islam together. Larry accepted Islam first.”
“But they both converted to Islam, right?” Her mother’s voice conveyed confusion as to why Salima was being so technical.
“Yes, but—”
“How well do you know this boy?” her father interjected, his fork suspended in the air as he regarded Salima with eyes narrowed in concern.
Salima cringed. Her father referring to Larry as a “this boy” wasn’t a good sign. Anyone he respected he referred to as “the brother” or “young man.”
“I…” she stammered, unsure how to answer the question. “…um, pretty well.”
“How did you meet?”
Salima became flustered. “At the masjid, I think,” she said. “Or maybe it was through Jamil.”
“Jamil introduced this boy to you?” Her mother’s voice conveyed shock and disapproval.
Salima shook her head. “Not for marriage,” she said. “They’re friends.”
“Jamil is friends with this boy?” Her father contorted his face in confusion.
Her parents exchanged a look again, and Salima was at a loss for words. She felt like she was being ambushed, but she had no idea where the attack was coming from and why. “What’s going on?” Salima said finally, concern in her tone as she looked back and forth between her parents.
Her father nodded in her mother’s direction before resuming eating.
“Are you aware that this young
man is facing a potential lawsuit?” her mother asked.
It took a moment for Salima to register what her mother was saying. “A lawsuit?”
“Jasmine came by here a couple of weeks ago,” her mother continued. “And she said—”
“What?”
“—that she’s in the process of seeking damages for some things that happened while they were dating.”
Salima felt herself growing upset. “She came here?”
“Jamil suggested that she come.”
Salima’s stomach knotted in shock and dread. “Jamil?”
“Apparently, he’s representing her in the case against—”
“Representing her…?”
“—this young man.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Salima said, her thoughts racing. “He didn’t mention anything to me about it.”
“You mean Larry or Jamil?” her mother asked.
“Either of them,” Salima said, her face aflame in furious mortification.
“Well, Jamil couldn’t mention it because of attorney-client privilege,” her mother said. “And it sounds like the case is still in the elementary stages, so I’m not sure if Larry has even been served yet.”
Salima coughed laughter, a disbelieving expression on her face. “Please tell me you don’t believe this girl.”
Her mother frowned and exchanged that look with Salima’s father again. “She has no reason to lie,” her mother said finally.
“I doubt that,” Salima said, a sneer in her voice.
They were silent for some time, and Salima sensed her parents’ growing concern. “SubhaanAllah,” Salima said, shaking her head. “I knew she had issues, but this is way over the top.”
“Salima, sweetheart,” her father said, “it’s not a good idea to start off by blaming the victim.”
“The victim?” Salima recoiled. “We don’t even know who the victim is.”
“Fake victims are very rare,” her mother said, as if trying to reason with Salima. “You know that.”
“Trust me,” Salima said bitterly, “Jasmine is definitely rare.” She huffed. “And not in the praiseworthy sense.”
“So you think she’s lying?” Her mother sounded disappointed.
“Don’t you?” Salima said, hurt in her eyes as she met her mother’s gaze.
“But you don’t even know what the charges are,” her mother said, her voice a plea. “So how can you say she’s lying?
“I mean,” Salima said, contorting her face, “what kind of person drives three hours to a stranger’s house to say horrible things about a man she’s trying to marry?”
A pregnant silence followed.
“Excuse me?” her father said, setting down his fork. “Are you saying that you’re trying to marry a man who’s engaged to someone else?”
“No, no, no.” Salima shook her head and gestured a hand in the air, as if to ward off a misunderstanding. “Larry broke up with Jasmine after he became Muslim, but Jasmine is trying everything to get him back.”
“But she’s Muslim now,” her mother said.
“But he doesn’t like her anymore,” Salima said. “He wants to marry me.” As soon as she said it, her face was aflame in embarrassment as she realized how she must sound to her parents. Even in the best-case scenario, with Larry innocent of whatever Jasmine was accusing him of, this whole situation sounded insane.
Her parents ate in silence for some time, and because Salima didn’t know what else to do, she ate too, though she was too shaken up to concentrate on food.
“You’re still grieving Mikaeel, baby.” Her mother’s voice was soft in motherly affection. “I know it’s been four years now, but suffering doesn’t have a timeframe. You don’t have to rush into anything. You have Haroon to think about.”
Salima felt herself getting choked up, and she swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze on the food she was toying with.
“I’m sure this… Larry seems like a good brother,” her mother said. “But I don’t think he’s good enough for you, baby. You need someone like you, a brother who was raised Muslim, who’s memorized Qur’an, and whose heart is attached to Islam. Perhaps, he’ll mature one day and turn out to be a good Muslim,” she said gently. “But right now, it’s obvious he still has one foot in the dunya.”
Salima felt that she should say something in Larry’s defense, but she couldn’t think of anything to counter her mother. Though she felt her mother’s view was a bit overly idealistic, she couldn’t deny that her mother did have a point.
Her mother sighed. “Most of these young converts have no idea what it means to be Muslim,” she said. “They come to this religion full of zeal. They read the books of the past and want to recreate it in the present, and they search for a good woman so they can marry their troubles away.” She frowned, a sad and compassionate expression on her face. “But life doesn’t work like that.”
Salima felt overcome with sadness all of a sudden. At that moment, she felt so distant from Larry that she felt like a complete idiot for even considering him. Her mother was right. What was she thinking? Salima couldn’t marry someone who’d barely been Muslim two years. She would probably have to treat him like a grown son instead of a husband.
“Maybe this young woman is lying,” her mother offered. “Allah knows best. But even if she is, you have to ask yourself what kind of man attracts this type of woman in the first place. Certainly not a righteous one,” she said firmly. “If we’re living right, the people closest to us will reflect that. And this Larry person sounds like one immature, zealous, confused young man.”
***
Aliyah felt the onset of chest pains before she even left her apartment, but she ignored them. From years of suffering anxiety in stressful situations, she had grown familiar with the uncomfortable tightening of her chest and the occasional difficulty breathing. Even at Nikki’s aqeeqah-turned-waleemah, because of the large crowd, Aliyah had felt the constriction in her chest. Upon seeing Deanna there, the uncomfortable sensation had been exacerbated. But Aliyah had been able to push herself through, her interactions and mannerisms betraying nothing of what she felt, as she’d done so many times in life.
But today was different. There was no escalation from discomfort to pain. The chest constriction started out as pain.
“I think you’re jealous of me,” Aliyah heard Deanna’s voice in her head. “No woman in her right mind lets her husband marry another wife.” It was as if Deanna were sneering at her, eager to let Aliyah know how pathetic she was. “The only reason I’m asking your advice is because you represent my ideal client.” As if reliving the humiliation all over again, the pain sliced through her chest. “You’re divorced. You’re depressed. You’re broke. You have no marriage prospects. And you have no idea how to fix your relationship problems on your own. So my workshop idea is to help people like you.”
Before Aliyah was even halfway to her uncle’s house, she was steadying her breaths to prevent a full-fledged anxiety attack. She was grateful that she and Jacob were in separate cars because she didn’t want to incite his concern. For someone unaccustomed to her social anxiety, her symptoms could be mistaken as a medical emergency, and Aliyah didn’t want to create a scene. She’d already mentioned to Jacob her increasingly frequent anxiety attacks, but so far he’d never witnessed one. And Aliyah wanted to keep it that way. The last thing she wanted was to make Jacob feel that Deanna had been correct in saying that Aliyah was burdensome and needy.
Aliyah’s body was trembling by the time she pulled in front of her uncle’s house. In addition to the sharp pain in her chest, she was now battling a migraine. She put the car in park then took a few moments to breathe in and out. She recited a du’aa asking Allah to help her get through this meeting.
Aliyah had been so distracted by her anxiousness that she didn’t notice Deanna’s car in the driveway until she was almost to the front door. Her heart nearly stopped, and Jacob glanced over his shoulder at her, a puzzled and distu
rbed look on his face. They had come an hour early for the expressed purpose of avoiding Deanna seeing them come in together.
Unsure what to do, Aliyah slowed her steps, and Jacob made a motion with his head to indicate he’ll go on inside. Aliyah nodded and hung back until Jacob was let in the house and the door closed behind him. Outside alone, Aliyah felt her chest pains increasing. Not wanting to seem idle in case someone looked out the window, Aliyah reached in her handbag and withdrew her phone. She punched in the code and scrolled down to Salima’s name.
***
The chiming and vibrating of her phone startled Salima. She instinctively reached behind her and pulled her purse onto her lap from where it hung on the dining room chair as she sat with her parents. She’d already looked at the caller ID and accepted the call before she registered why her parents were giving her disapproving looks. It was extremely rude and out of character for Salima to interrupt a family meal to accept a personal call. But even as she realized her error, she pushed her chair back then whispered to her parents, “Sorry, I have to take this.”
She greeted Aliyah with the salaams as she walked quickly up the stairs and closed herself in the hall bathroom.
“Alhamdulillah,” Aliyah said as she breathed a sigh of relief, apparently too distracted to realize she hadn’t returned Salima’s greeting. “I know you’re not in town, so I was afraid you wouldn’t answer.”
“It’s okay,” Salima said, speaking in a low voice though her parents were most likely still downstairs and out of earshot. “I have a few minutes.”
“Deanna’s here.”
“What?” Salima drew her eyebrows together. “At your uncle’s house?”
“Yes,” Aliyah said, sounding panicked. “What do I do?”
Salima shook her head in confusion. “But wasn’t she supposed to be there?”
“Yes, but not now,” Aliyah whined. “We came early to avoid bumping into her.”
