Page 108 - A Woman Is No Man

“Help her?” Fareeda met Isra’s eyes briefly and then turned away,
hoping she didn’t expect the same from her. “Shouldn’t she be helping
you?”

“Fareeda is right,” a woman on the opposite sofa added. “What’s the
point of marrying off our sons if we are going to help their wives? The
point is to lessen our burdens, not add to them.”
Umm Ahmed laughed quietly, tugging on the rim of her blouse. “Now,
ladies,” she said. “You all remember how it felt coming to America? We
came without a mother or a father. Just a husband and a handful of kids. Do
you remember how it felt when our husbands went off to work in the

morning, leaving us alone to raise our children, in a place where we didn’t
even speak the language? Do you remember how awful those years were?”
Fareeda said nothing. The women sipped their chai, peering at Umm
Ahmed behind their cups.
“My daughter-in-law is here alone,” Umm Ahmed said. “The same way
I once was. The least I can do is help her.”

Fareeda wished Umm Ahmed hadn’t said that. The last thing she
wanted was for Isra to start expecting the same treatment from her. That’s
one thing she always hated about women: how quick they were to compare
themselves to others when it suited them. God forbid she remind Isra that at
least Umm Ahmed’s daughter-in-law had given them a son. Not another
girl. As if Fareeda needed another girl. A splotch of memory came to her,
but she pushed it away. She hated thinking of it. Hated thinking of them.

Trembling, she unwrapped a piece of chocolate, the crisp sound of the foil
wrapping like white noise in her ears. She swallowed.