Page 155 - A Woman Is No Man

willed herself to stop talking, but the words spilled out. “Sometimes I think
I’m so scared because of my parents, but then I wonder if it’s my memories
of them that make me sad, or if I’ve been sad all along, before my brain

could even make memories. And then there are days when I’m certain I’ve
remembered everything wrong, and there’s this horrible feeling inside me,
and I think maybe if I remember something good, I’ll be cured. But it never
works.”
Sarah reached out and squeezed Deya’s knee. “Why do your memories
of your parents make you so sad? What could you possibly remember to
make you feel like that?”

“I don’t know. . . . I don’t even know if my memories are real. All I
know is that my mother was sad all the time. She hated marriage, and she
hated being a mother.”
“But you’re wrong,” Sarah said. “Isra didn’t hate being a mother.”
“That’s how it seemed to me.”
“Just because she was sad, that doesn’t mean she hated being a mother.”

“Then why—”
But Sarah cut her off. “You have to understand, Isra was only seventeen
when she married Adam, and she had no one here besides him. She was
exhausted—cooking, cleaning, raising children, trying to please Adam and
my mom. She struggled more than any woman I’ve ever met, but she loved
you dearly. It hurts me that you don’t remember that.”
“I’m sure she struggled,” Deya said, “but it was her choice to have all

those children. She never stood up for herself, much less for us.”
A small smile returned to Sarah’s face. “Interesting you should say that.
For a minute there, I thought you didn’t believe women like us had a choice
at all.”
“Well, yes, but—”
Sarah shook her head. “You can’t take it back now. You’ve just admitted

you have choices. You’ve done worse than that, really.”
Deya frowned.
“If you believe Isra—a Palestinian immigrant, with no job or education
and four children to look after, and who didn’t even speak English well—if
you believe she had a choice, then that speaks volumes about the amount of
choice a bright, educated Arab American girl like yourself has.” Sarah shot
Deya a playful smile. “Don’t you think?”