Page 245 - A Woman Is No Man

“What?”
“It’s true. Me and my friends went out to celebrate the last week of
school. We watched this movie in the theaters. Anna Karenina. You must

have seen the commercials, no? It was the most romantic love story I’ve
ever seen, and you know me—I don’t even like love stories. But you know
what I was thinking the whole time we were watching the movie?”
Isra shook her head.
“All I kept thinking was that I would never have a love like that. I will
never fall in love, Isra. Not if I stay in this house.”
“Of course you will,” Isra lied. “Of course.”

“Yeah, sure.”
Isra knew her voice had betrayed her. “Don’t be foolish, Sarah. Books
and movies, that’s not how the real world works.”
Sarah crossed her arms. “Then why do you spend all day reading?”
Isra felt a lump in her throat she could not swallow. Why was it so hard
for her to admit the truth, not only to Sarah, but to herself? She knew she

had to stop pretending things were okay. She was seized to confess, at last,
the fear that circled her brain in endless loops: that she would do the same
thing to her daughters that Mama had done to her. That she would force
them to repeat her life.
“I’m sorry for what’s happening to you,” she said.
Sarah gave a harsh laugh. “No, you’re not. If you were really sorry, then
you’d admit that this isn’t a life.”

“I know that.”
“Do you? Then why do you think it’s okay, living the way you do? Is
this the life you want for yourself? For your daughters?”
“Of course not, but I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“So many things.” Isra’s eyes watered. “Adam, Fareeda . . . myself.”

“Yourself? Why?”
“I can’t pinpoint it exactly. Maybe I’ve been reading too much. But
sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me.”
“In what way?” Sarah stared, concern etched on her face.
Isra had to look away, or she knew she wouldn’t be able to continue.
“It’s hard to put in words without sounding crazy,” she said. “I lie in bed
every morning, and I feel so desperate. I don’t want to wake up, I don’t

want to see anyone, I don’t want to look at my daughters, and I don’t want