His Other Wife

by Umm Zakiyyah

  Salima halted the slicing and slammed the handle of the knife against the wooden cutting board before turning around and facing Jamil with her arms folded. “Oh, is that what that was about?” she said. “Your selfless brotherly concern? Then why didn’t you drive up there yourself? Sending Jasmine to our parents’ house was the worst thing you could’ve possibly done.”

  “I didn’t send her there, Salima,” Jamil said, his tone exhausted. “It was the only way to let you know about Larry without violating—”

  “Attorney-client privilege,” Salima said in unison with him, mockery in her tone as she nodded knowingly. “I know. I get it. Respect for your professional principles is the highest priority here,” she said sarcastically. “But respect for family principles? That’s negotiable.”

  “Well, apparently, I did something right,” Jamil said. “You finally realized that Larry isn’t good for you.”

  The fury that the statement ignited in Salima was so intense that she clenched her jaw and slowly turned back around toward the counter. She picked up the knife, and continued preparing the dinner salad in silence. For several minutes, the only sound that could be heard was the slow, steady chopping against the cutting board.

  “Look, Salima,” Jamil said, his tone softer and kinder this time. “I’m sorry if…”

  Jamil’s voice faded into the background of Salima’s thoughts because she couldn’t stand to listen anymore. Why did everyone keep saying that Larry wasn’t good for her? Why did she believe it herself? And if he truly wasn’t good for her, why couldn’t her heart let go of him? Why was it so difficult to move on?

  “I don’t know, Salima…” Carletta had said doubtfully when Salima had asked her advice. “I definitely think your parents have a point about the importance of marrying someone who was raised like you. But I don’t know if I agree with the misogyny label for Larry’s views. I could be wrong about this, but I’m getting to the point where I hate these labels. I used to call myself a feminist until I realized what it was doing to me. You get into this mental space where you find fault in almost everything and everyone, and for the stupidest things. Then you wake up one day and find you’ve destroyed your life, and maybe other people’s too, and you have no idea how you got there. But the worst part is what it does to you spiritually. I don’t care what anybody says. In my opinion, if you really believe in these labels, you’ll eventually find fault with religion and then God Himself, even if you never admit it out loud. So if you don’t marry Larry, make sure it’s because you truly believe he’s not good for you or because he can’t benefit your life or soul in a significant way. Not because his views fit into some feminist definition of sexist.”

  Fear. The word settled upon Salima in accusation, and right away she recognized it as what was gripping her heart. It wasn’t Larry or Jamil or her parents to blame for her apprehension. It was Salima herself. But she refused to absolve them completely. Larry could be more cognizant of the effects of his words. Jamil could be more concerned with more than his job. And Salima’s parents could be less judgmental.

  “You should have sent her to me,” Salima said, cutting off Jamil midsentence as he was saying something she didn’t even bother to process. She set down the knife and turned to face him again, this time with her hands on her hips. “If you really thought Jasmine had something important to say, you should’ve sent her to me,” she said. “I’m right here in the city, and I’m the one you’re trying to save. Why didn’t you ask her to talk to me?”

  “I did, but she—”

  “Let me guess,” Salima said with disinterest, putting up a hand. “She didn’t want to. She said she wasn’t, quote, comfortable talking to me.”

  “Well…”

  “And you fell for that?” Salima coughed laughter.

  An expression of frustration distorted Jamil’s face. “Why do you do that?” he said. “Why do you always think any woman you don’t like has some ulterior motive? First it was Muslimah. Now it’s Jasmine. Maybe it’s not just Larry who has a problem with women. Maybe you do too.”

  The defensive tone of Jamil’s voice, the mention of Muslimah and Jasmine together, and the way his expression changed to distaste at the mention of Larry gave Salima the odd sensation that there was something her brother wasn’t saying. “Wait a minute,” she said as everything began to make sense. “You like Jasmine, don’t you?”

  His eyes slid to the side guiltily, but he managed to look defiant. “No,” he said, but his tone was unconvincing. “But even if I did, why is that so horrible?”

  “What about Muslimah?” Salima was asking out of pure curiosity and surprise, as she felt Muslimah was no better than Jasmine.

  “What about her?” Jamil said with a defensive shrug.

  “I thought you two were talking again.”

  “Who said we ever stopped?”

  Salima nodded in sudden understanding, but it was more for herself than Jamil. She quietly turned back around and finished preparing dinner, knowing she would need to start as soon as possible looking for another place to stay. The signs had always been there, but it was only today that she saw them for what they were. Yes, there was that inkling of doubt, saying she could be wrong. Maybe Jamil was just being overly protective by encouraging Jasmine to talk to their parents. But her gut told her it was more complicated than that. He wasn’t interested in saving Salima from a bad relationship. He was trying to destroy the good one she had.

  But Jamil was right about one thing, Salima conceded. She did have a problem with women. It was why the vices of people like Deanna and Jasmine were so obvious to her, while she’d been completely blind to the vices of her own brother whom she lived with. But her blindness wasn’t because she was sexist, misogynistic, or any other nonsense like that. It was because women were the only people she’d formed close, meaningful relationships with, such that she could have significant problems with them in the first place. With men she’d formed only one meaningful relationship, with Mikaeel, and he had been one of the good ones.

  No, Jamil wasn’t a bad person, Salima told herself. But he wasn’t a good person either. He struggled with jealousy and resentment toward anyone who had what he felt he deserved. From childhood, he was extremely competitive and never liked being second best. There could be a thousand people behind him in a race, and he’d see only the solitary one who crossed the finish line ahead of him. But his gentle personality was the perfect mask—even if unintentional—for the frustrated disappointment that consumed him each day. And like so many people often did, Salima had interpreted her brother’s unassuming personality as genuine humility and good character.

  And she’d confused Larry’s smug personality with arrogance and bad character.

  Not many people knew Jamil was a lawyer, and it wasn’t because he was humble about it. It was because he was ashamed about it. He wasn’t a partner in the firm, and his name wasn’t on the company plaque or stationery; so to him, that meant he wasn’t a “real” lawyer.

  “All I do is assist the name partners,” he’d say whenever Salima asked him why he rarely mentioned his work. “When I become a real lawyer, I’ll talk about it.” He had a good salary and excellent benefits and was greatly valued at the firm, but that wasn’t good enough.

  Salima had always assumed Jamil’s frustration was due to feeling he could do better for himself. But now she realized it was due to feeling others could do better for him.

  “You’re not perfect, you know,” he’d often say to Salima. Usually, she’d laugh it off or say something lighthearted in return. Perhaps it was because he was her younger brother, but Salima rarely took his verbal jabs seriously.

  “Can I ask you something?” Salima said, genuine curiosity in her tone. Her back was still to Jamil as she opened a cabinet and began removing dinner dishes.

  “What?” There was an edge of impatience in Jamil’s voice. But she sensed he didn’t want to leave the conversation as they had. Even when he was a child, Jamil hated people
thinking badly of him. So in order to avoid the possibility, either he’d say nothing and thus remain a mystery, or he’d over explain himself if he sensed someone’s disapproval of him.

  “Was the lawsuit inquiry the first time you and Jasmine talked?”

  Several seconds passed in silence.

  “No.”

  Salima nodded. In light of her recent realizations, she was not the least bit surprised by his answer. But she couldn’t deny that she was deeply disappointed in her brother. “Did you contact her first, or did she contact you?”

  There was a hesitant pause. “I don’t remember,” he said, but Salima sensed in his tone that he recalled more than he was willing to say.

  “So you’ve been in touch for a while then, huh?” she said as she walked past him and set the stack of plates on the kitchen table.

  Jamil shrugged. “We’ve been friends for a while.”

  “How’d you meet?”

  “Through Larry.”

  Of course. She already knew that bit of information. That was how she herself had met Jasmine, the girlfriend of Jacob’s brother. “After he became Muslim?”

  Another hesitant pause. “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you teach her about Islam?”

  He shrugged again. “A bit…”

  “Whose idea was it to discuss a lawsuit?”

  Jamil walked over to the silverware drawer and removed the utensils they would need for dinner. “It’s not what you think,” he said in a low voice, an edge of defensiveness in his tone. “I didn’t think she’d go through with it.”

  Salima’s eyebrows rose. “So you suggested it?”

  Jamil shook his head. “We were talking one day, and I told her that people sue for less than what she’s been through.” He carried the utensils to the kitchen table, avoiding her eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting she actually take Larry to court.”

  Salima bit her lower lip as she arranged the plates on the table, trying not to reveal how upset she was at this revelation. “Is she going to go through with it?”

  He shook his head again. “I don’t think so.”

  They moved about the kitchen in silence for some time. “You wanted her to meet our parents,” Salima said as she opened the refrigerator and peered inside. It wasn’t a question, but she let the silence that followed suggest that it were. But Jamil didn’t respond.

  “And since you didn’t want to say outright that it was because you liked her and wanted to marry her yourself,” Salima continued, “you convinced her that it was because you were concerned about me.”

  Jamil still didn’t respond.

  Salima reached for a jug of homemade lemonade on the top shelf of the refrigerator and carefully lifted it with both hands. “Jasmine didn’t want to make that drive. But you convinced her that it was the only way to keep me and Larry from getting married,” she said. “But really, you just wanted her to meet Mom and Dad so they could bond somehow.” She closed the refrigerator with her hip. “And what better way to do it than showing concern for their widowed daughter?”

  Jamil said nothing as he now leaned against the counter next to the sink. But his expression suggested that he did not disagree.

  Salima decided against mentioning that Jasmine’s visit would also achieve the goal of making Salima look less admirable to their parents so that both she and Jamil could share the same parental scorn.

  No, Jamil no longer cared about people thinking badly of him as much as he cared about people pitying him and thinking him weak. He’d always had somewhat of a savior complex when it came to women, but now he needed his sister and parents to think of him as a savior as well. He despised the sweet, helpless “little brother” image they had of him, so he was wedging a reputation for himself as a man.

  “You can’t save her,” Salima said as she set the pitcher of lemonade on the table.

  Jamil creased his forehead in confusion. “I can’t save who?”

  “Jasmine,” Salima said. “She has to want to save herself.”

  Jamil coughed laughter, haughtiness in that sound. “I thought you didn’t think she needed saving.”

  “I’m not talking about from Larry,” Salima said. “I’m talking about from herself.”

  Jamil groaned and shook his head. “And you can’t save me, Salima,” he barked back. “Because I don’t want to be saved.”

  He huffed. “You think you know why Muslimah and I got divorced, don’t you?” he said, humored disappointment in his voice. “You think she got wrapped up in some crazy cult and some stupid sheikh said I wasn’t good enough for her.”

  Salima furrowed her brows, taken aback by his words. “Wasn’t it?”

  Jamil chuckled and shook his head. “I was the one who introduced her to the sheikh in the first place.”

  Salima didn’t know what to say. “But I thought…”

  “I know what you thought.” Jamil flipped his hand at her, impatience in his tone. “You and Mom and Dad have this fairytale view of Islam, like there are only two groups of Muslims. Us, and the rest of the people trying to lead us astray.”

  Stunned, Salima stared at her brother.

  “I never believed we were right in the first place,” he said. “How likely is it that we’re the only ones on the right path?”

  “I never said th—”

  “You didn’t have to,” Jamil interjected. “You call people groupies and sectarian Muslims,” he said bitterly. “As if you aren’t part of a group or sect yourself.”

  “I’m not,” Salima said defensively.

  “You’re part of the ‘I have no madh-hab or group’ sect.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, miffed.

  Jamil grinned as he brought a hand to his mouth. “Do you think any group claims to be breaking off into a sect?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “And you’re very naïve if you believe every Muslim group is really trying to follow the Qur’an and Sunnah.”

  “What?” The amused expression on Jamil’s face infuriated Salima.

  She and her brother had had their share of arguments. But today felt different. There was a thick air of condescension in his tone, and she sensed that he was just getting started. It was as if he’d been waiting years for this moment, when he could tell her about herself.

  “But I never said we’re the only ones who are right,” Salima said. “There are maybe millions of Muslims who believe we shouldn’t be breaking up into sects.”

  “There you go again,” Jamil said, extending his arm and pointing a finger at her, a smug grin still on his face. “You talk about other Muslims like they’re the only ones with a problem.”

  “I never said that,” Salima said. “But actions are by intention, and—”

  “And you think other Muslims don’t intend to do good?”

  “—if you follow any teachings that you know aren’t from the Prophet, sallallaahu’alayhi wa sallam, then you’re intending to follow something other than the Sunnah.”

  “Well, I can assure you,” Jamil said, mockery in his voice, “Muslimah and I were intending to follow the Sunnah.”

  Salima regarded Jamil, a curious expression on her face. “Why did you introduce her to the sheikh?”

  Jamil shook his head, a smirk on his face. “The same reason anyone would introduce someone to a sheikh,” he said. “Because he has a lot of knowledge.”

  “And because he’s a saint?” Salima said, folding her arms as if in a challenge.

  “Wali, saint, whatever,” Jamil said. “It doesn’t matter what you call him, but he sure has way more knowledge than you.” He grunted before adding, “And Mom and Dad.”

  “Is it time to eat yet?”

  The small voice sounded so out of place that for a moment Salima had no idea where it had come from. It wasn’t until Haroon pulled out a chair and sat down that she even remembered that he’d been upstairs the whole time.

  “Yes, it is,” Salima said softly, smiling down at him.

  “I’ll e
at later,” Jamil said gruffly then walked roughly past her.

  Salima frowned after him, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Is Uncle Jamil sick?” Haroon asked, his innocent voice a sharp contrast to the argument moments before.

  Salima was tempted to say, “Yes he is.” But she knew that would be taking her anger too far. “I’m not sure, honey,” she said finally. “But we can go ahead and eat.”

  ***

  Jacob leaned over and kissed Aliyah on the cheek then put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. It was late Saturday night and they sat on the couch of his living room, the boys having gone to bed a couple of hours before. Aliyah and Jacob were supposed to be watching a movie, but the sounds had quickly become background noise as they cuddled and chatted, reveling in each other’s presence.

  “I love you,” Jacob murmured in her ear then playfully tugged at some of the two-strand twists at the back of her head.

  “I love you too,” Aliyah murmured back, unable to keep from grinning from how content she felt right then. Contentment permeated every part of her, even when she was not in Jacob’s presence. She’d stayed married to Matt for more than ten years and had had one serious relationship as a teenager, but with neither of them did she feel internal contentment.

  Before Jacob, Aliyah had always assumed that happiness was a fleeting, even if frequent, emotion in a good relationship, not part of the fabric of it. As a teenager, she had been giddy in her boyfriend’s presence and, due to her low self-esteem, was happy to be desired at all. But after she and her boyfriend graduated from high school and went their separate ways, Aliyah realized that she’d been more in love with the idea of being in love than she’d been actually in love.

  “You do?” Jacob teased, tickling Aliyah’s side.

  “Ye-es,” she said, between bursts of giggles as she squirmed but was unable to wriggle free of him.

  “Prove it,” he said as he abruptly stopped tickling her and slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him.