by Umm Zakiyyah
“You’re just saying that because she’s Black,” Abdur-Rahman said.
Faith shook her head and reached again for her teacup because she didn’t want to face her son. She drank the hot liquid in slow sips, letting her thoughts settle as the tea slipped down her throat and settled in her stomach, creating a warm nest there. She loved her son’s philanthropy, his wide-open heart, but she feared for his naïveté that still permeated him at twenty-nine years old. At one time she thought it was his skipping grades that made him so unaware of the cruel reality of the world in which he lived, and she blamed herself. But she now knew it was simply an attribute of Teddy, a necessary part of the wrapping on the extraordinary gift God had given her in him.
Faith wanted to tell her son it had nothing to do with Alika being Black, and yet it had everything to do with her being Black. And even more to do with him being White. The races’ shared history made it difficult, and for some impossible, for Black and White to overcome the melanin or lack thereof in the other’s skin. As a relationship counselor, Faith knew that even intimacy, or marriage, did not guarantee color blindness, and at times precluded it in the perverse irony of fate. Often inter-racial relations themselves stirred a persistent color awareness in the partners that did not allow one to heal. There were always those invisible yet visceral wounds the world had inflicted on those who were both innocent and guilty at once. There was really no one to blame, yet there was everyone to blame. But how to explain that to Teddy, her son?
“What about Sarah’s daughter Aminah?” Faith’s question was a peace offering, a surrender, and her selfish proof that this wasn’t about race. A couple of months before, Sarah had mentioned that she thought Abdur-Rahman would be good for Aminah, so the question was not completely irrelevant.
Abdur-Rahman’s face contorted slightly though he tried to conceal his disapproval. “Aminah?” He shook his head, glancing momentarily at his birds. “She’s too uptight.”
Faith nodded, relieved that they could change the subject. “I can see that. But still, she seems nice.”
He huffed, and Faith noticed his eyes in deep thought, as if something was hurting him that he didn’t want to express. “She can’t see past my pets. Why would I waste my time with someone like that?”
“Because she’s Muslim. She’s beautiful. And she has a big heart.” She paused and smiled. “Just like you.”
He shook his head. “And thinks I’m a walking nutcase with only birds and hamsters as friends.”
Faith laughed. She started to say something but heard Alika coming up the stairs.
“Sorry about that,” Alika said with an embarrassed laugh as she took her place on the couch with Faith. “I drank so much water this morning, I felt like I was going to explode.”
“At least you drink a lot of water,” Faith said. “Most of us don’t.”
Alika shook her head. “I’m usually pretty bad, but exercising in this heat dehydrates me so much, I can’t afford to go without.”
“You exercise regularly? That’s fantastic.”
She smiled. “I wouldn’t say regularly, but I can’t last too long without my morning run. I’m just not myself.”
“I used to exercise all the time, especially after the children. But I guess I just got lazy.”
Alika picked up her notebook and reopened to where they had stopped. “That’s what I’m afraid of. But I learned to take it one day at a time.”
“Yes, for sure. Just keep it up when you have children, inshaAllaah. It’s a good example to set.”
Alika laughed. “That’s something to consider.”
“Having children or setting an example for them?” Faith asked, seeing her son pick up his hamster cage and set it on his lap. It was his way of dealing with the discomfort of knowing what his mother was doing and being too ashamed to openly display his eagerness to hear Alika’s response.
“All of it, I guess. It just seems like too much to digest right now.”
“I suppose it is,” Faith said with a nod. “Marriage must be the farthest thing from your mind right now.”
Alika’s eyes widened slightly, a grin still on her face as she shook her head. “No, it’s not that.”
“Is it closer than you’re saying?” Faith teased. Abdur-Rahman reached into the cage and stroked the hamster.
Alika lifted her shoulders in a shrug as she toyed with her pen, a smile tugging at her lips. “I have no idea.”
“No idea? What does that mean?”
“Let’s just say, there is someone, but the whole thing is so complicated, I have no idea if anything will come of it except headaches and stress.”
They both laughed.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Faith said, “even if something does come of it, there will only be more headaches and stress.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“I counsel people in crises, especially in their relationships. And part of my job is to let them know they’re all a pain.”
“Men or relationships?” Alika joked.
Faith laughed. “Both.” She noticed Teddy’s half smirk as he played with his hamster, a sign that he didn’t like the joke.
“Well,” Alika said with a sigh and grin, “thank God my mother taught me the adage, No pain, no gain.”
“Yes, thank God for that.”
Sarah hesitated at the entrance of the living room, the wall that connected it and the foyer concealing her from view as she listened to the sound of laughter, from Ismael and the brother, and Aminah. For a moment, she considered going back upstairs. She didn’t belong in this gathering, she could sense it. Then again, the meeting would lose meaning, lose purpose, if she did not participate. Ismael could have had the meeting somewhere else. He could have continued to hide this from her. His and Aminah’s secret. But he didn’t. Inviting Zaid into their home was not her husband’s way of opening his arms to the brother. But to her.
She emerged and stood at the beginning of the carpet, smiling politely. Zaid sat on the loveseat and Ismael and Aminah on the couch. He was short, Sarah noticed, no more than two inches taller than Aminah’s 5 feet 2 inches, if he did not share her same height. This she could tell by the height of his shoulders and the way his feet barely grazed the carpet. His tan complexion held a hint of auburn that was characteristic of people of his region. His face was that of a boy, his smooth cheeks offering no indication, or chance, of facial hair. At least not yet. His dark hair hung a few inches below his ears and ironically gave him the appearance of a man despite his youthful countenance. Sarah wondered at his age and was inclined to ask, except she remembered that she hadn’t yet introduced herself.
“As-salaamu’alaikum,” Ismael said, standing to greet his wife. “This is Aminah’s mother,” he said after Sarah’s reply.
Sarah noticed the way Zaid turned his head in her direction and gave a slight nod without ever lifting his head, or his gaze, to her. It was a gesture of respect, of honor, and she felt her heart soften toward him. He had been brought up well, from a family of strong character, and the power and pull of his customs pulsated in his veins. It could not be helped. If Aminah married him, she would soon learn the bittersweet reality of what that meant.
“The food is on the dining room table,” Sarah said, pointing in the direction of the room. “Feel free.”
“Thank you,” Zaid said, his eyes still lowered.
“Join us,” Ismael said. “Aminah and Zaid were just exchanging questions with each other.”
Sarah sat down and watched the exchange, hardly recognizing the shy, giggly girl Aminah had become. Perhaps it was natural. Aminah had not seen what her mother had, did not know what her mother had known at her age. How could she? She never dated, and she did not talk on the phone to men. It was not an act, a face for the moment, put on to impress the young man. In the face of obvious attention, and flattery (by his mere presence), Aminah really didn’t know what to do with herself. She was not used to being the center of attention if
it was not academic or Islamic in nature.
Sarah noticed how Zaid could not keep from gazing at Aminah, a smile of awe and admiration on his face, and how Aminah could not lift her eyes to meet his, even as she spoke. Sarah felt a tinge of envy as she watched them. She wished she had had this innocence, this bashfulness before marriage. It was so beautiful to witness, to actually see, even if only a hint of what it meant to follow the Sunnah. Her heart ached with happiness for her daughter, for the purity Aminah had been able to preserve. The public school, four years of college, America itself, none of it had tainted her chastity, and for that Sarah was grateful, and proud.
“No,” Zaid said in response to an inquiry by Ismael about his family knowing about the meeting, “they don’t know. But they know I want to marry Aminah.”
“How will you handle the pressures of your family if you marry?”
“I know it will be difficult, but I don’t know what else to do but trust in Allah.”
“Is there someone else they want you to marry?”
“Yes, she’s a cousin.”
“Why don’t you want to marry her?”
“She’s not as religious as I prefer. She doesn’t cover, and she listens to music.”
Sarah was not impressed by his answers. They were superficial judgments, and she could only imagine that the same superficiality was in place when he chose her daughter instead. Certainly, hijab was important, but given his culture, even Sarah knew that covering in Islamic garb, especially as the girl still lived with parents, was a lot to ask. And although Sarah didn’t listen to music herself, she would not consider its shunning a prerequisite for marriage. Did the sister understand the obligation of hijab in Islam? Did she ask Allah’s strength to one day be able to cover? Did she have a strong love for Qur’an? Was prayer the foundation of her life, her day? The answers to these questions would be a better indication of her religious commitment.
“What made you see the importance of these things in your life?” Ismael asked.
“My family doesn’t really practice, and I felt like my life was empty. I started to pray and read more and—”
“When was this?”
Zaid squinted his eyes. “About three years ago, shortly before I graduated from university.”
“What do you mean by empty?”
He drew in a deep breath and shook his head in thought. “I guess it was like someone had closed the lights, and I realized it after all this time.”
“So how did you know it was a spiritual emptiness?”
“I just had this feeling, like I was wasting my time. And I remember seeing some of the MSA members praying after an event, and that’s when I knew what was missing.”
“And did you pray with them that night?”
Zaid shook his head. “No, I wasn’t in wudhoo’. But I wanted to.”
“When did you start praying?”
“The next day.”
Sarah watched as her husband leaned forward with his bent arms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped. It was as if he were awestruck by the story. “How did it feel?”
Zaid smiled. “Like someone had opened the lights.”
“I don’t like him,” Sarah said that night. She stood brushing her hair in front of the mirror of the bathroom in her room. The door stood open to where Ismael sat with his back propped against his pillow at the headboard. Their room door was closed.
Ismael folded his arms and chuckled. “That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think?”
“Okay,” she said with a sigh, pulling hair strands from the brush, “maybe don’t like is too strong an expression. He’s just so—.” She shook her head and exhaled audibly. “I don’t know, Ismael, he just seems so simple-minded.”
“He’s young, Sarah,” Ismael said, raising his voice slightly to carry over the distance between them. “Don’t forget that. And so is Aminah. I know what you saw, and I know what you’re thinking. I saw the same.”
“Then you can see why this can’t work.” She balled the strands in a fist and tossed them into a wastebasket near the sink. She opened the medicine cabinet and took out a large cloth ponytail holder.
“No, I can see what we have to do to make it work.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually considering this.” She brought her hair back behind her head and pulled at the elasticity of the cloth to secure her hair in a bun.
“I don’t see how I have any other choice.”
“You can say no.”
“On what grounds?”
“That he’s too immature for marriage.”
Ismael laughed and shook his head. “Do you hear yourself? Too immature for marriage? He’s twenty-four years old, sweetheart. He’s immature, yes, but not for marriage. It’s his age.”
“You can make that argument about anyone, Ismael, and rationalize them for Aminah.”
“No, I can’t, actually.”
“Then what would be your grounds to refuse?” She now held a small container of face cream open in her hands and stood at the bathroom doorway, facing him.
“Sarah, please just—”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s a fair question, Ismael. Why not answer it?”
“Sweetheart, you know—”
“Don’t change the subject, Ismael. You just don’t want to admit that this isn’t about anything except you wanting to please Aminah.”
“What?” Ismael furrowed his brows and stared at his wife with a look of shock and confusion.
“Yes, isn’t that what this is about?”
“No, it is not.”
“Or maybe you and Aminah have already said yes and hid that from me too.”
Ismael started to laugh but could not. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t act like you have no idea. All this time I’ve been planning this walimah, for our family, for our son, and you take the opportunity to marry off our daughter, my only daughter, the same one—”
“Sarah—”
“—you said would come to me and leave you out when she wanted to get married.”
“What?” Ismael threw the covers from his legs and got out of bed. “What are you talking about?” His voice was full of concern and hurt as he met his wife at the doorway of the bathroom.
“I sat and watched as you and Sulayman talked and talked and talked,” Sarah said as her eyes became glassy, “and you said, you promised, it would be different with Aminah. You said it was because he was a man and needed to talk to a man. But I’m a woman, Ismael, I’m a woman. So why doesn’t Aminah talk to me?”
Ismael grasped his wife’s arms to calm her. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
Sarah shook her head, feeling her eyes well but she willed herself not to cry.
“Sweetheart, the brother called me, not Aminah,” he said, now holding her hands even as she tried to pull away. “I was the one who made a decision to delay talking to you, not Aminah. I’m sure Aminah would’ve come to you if it wasn’t for the walimah.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve wanted to be there for her.”
“Sarah, you know you were too distracted for that. If she asked you for anything, you shooed her away.”
“If I would’ve known—”
“And had you known it was marriage being considered,” Ismael finished for her, “it would’ve been worse. You couldn’t take that right then. Perhaps if it were Faith’s son, but not Zaid.”
“Why do you keep bringing up Abdur-Rahman? This has nothing to do with him.”
“Sarah,” he said, letting her hands go as she pushed past him to sit on the edge of the bed, “I only mention him because I know you like him and wanted him for Aminah.”
“I didn’t want him for Aminah. I just mentioned him as maybe being good for her.”
“But this wasn’t Abdur-Rahman. This was Zaid, a Pakistani-American. And I knew how you’d feel about that.”
“Don’t paint me as a bigot. I have no problem with a Pakistani in my family, you know
that.”
“Yes, I do know that.” Ismael walked over to the bed and sat next to her. “What I meant is that because the marriage would be cross-cultural,” he said, leaning his head forward slightly as he emphasized the word, “and because you already knew Faith’s son, the situation itself would be too complicated to address in the middle of preparing Sulayman and Tamika’s walimah.”
“And what was so wrong with considering Faith’s son? Why do you keep mentioning him as if the mere idea of Aminah marrying him is some wild, crazy idea swimming around in my head?” She looked at him with her eyes narrowed.
Ismael chuckled and rubbed a hand over his face in mental exhaustion. “Sarah, no one’s thinking the idea is wild and crazy.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“I’m laughing because you’re talking nonsense.”
“I am? Because I’m mentioning Abdur-Rahman again?”
“No, because you can’t see the impossibility of your own words.”
“Then help me,” she challenged sarcastically. “Help me reach into the depths of my mind to connect with my impossible, irrational self.”
“Please, Sarah. Stop being so dramatic and making this about us against you.”
“I’m not the one who put us on opposite sides.”
“But you did.”
“How? How could I possibly be to blame because I casually mentioned a good young man for my daughter?”
Ismael forced laughter and shook his head. “You don’t want me to answer that.”
“No, no, I do. Please.”
“Because there’s one major point regarding Abdur-Rahman you’re overlooking.” He looked at her directly. “Or maybe you’re just refusing to see.”
“What’s that?” She folded her arms in defiance, waiting impatiently for his answer.
Ismael met his wife’s gaze with a smile tugging at a corner of his mouth, and in that look Sarah sensed the compassion they felt for each other even as they often disagreed.
“He never proposed.”
Chapter Five
