Page 259 - A Woman Is No Man

Isra

Summer 1997

Summer passed slowly. During the days, nothing could be heard in the

house except the whistle of a teakettle. Fareeda hardly spoke, the phone no
longer rang, and Isra completed her chores in silence. Sometimes Khaled
joined her in the kitchen on Fridays to make za’atar. It was a new ritual.
Isra thought the za’atar brought him comfort. She would stand quietly by
his side, the way she had done years ago with Mama, handing him skillets
and spatulas, washing dishes he no longer needed. Neither of them ever
looked at each other. Neither said a word.

Nadine hardly spoke to her, either. Isra remembered how much she had
minded this at first, feeling a bubble of rage burst in her chest whenever
Nadine ignored her. But now their distance was a relief. At least she knew
where she stood with Nadine. They were not friends, they never would be.
She never had to worry about pleasing her, never had to pretend to like her.
Their relationship was so much easier than hers with Adam and Fareeda.

And yet in this silence, Sarah’s absence seemed to reverberate within Isra
all the more. But Isra blamed herself for this hurt—she should’ve learned
many years ago not to hope.

“Why do you always sit by the window?” Deya asked one day after lunch,
walking toward Isra, who was indeed in her favorite spot.
Isra wrapped her arms around her knees. She hesitated, her eyes fixed
on a spot outside the window, before replying, “I like the view.”
“Do you want to play a game?” Deya asked, touching her arm. Isra tried

not to flinch. She looked at her daughter and noticed that she had gotten a
little taller, a little thinner over the summer. She felt a pinch of guilt for not
being more mentally present during their days together.
“Not today,” Isra said, looking back out the window.
“Why not?”

“I don’t feel like playing. Maybe another time.”