Page 30 - A Woman Is No Man

though the more she looked at her face, the less of herself she saw reflected
back. It hadn’t always been this way. When Fareeda had first spoken to her
of marriage as a child, Deya had believed it was an ordinary matter. Just

another part of growing up and becoming a woman. She had not yet
understood what it meant to become a woman. She hadn’t realized it meant
marrying a man she barely knew, nor that marriage was the beginning and
end of her life’s purpose. It was only as she grew older that Deya had truly
understood her place in her community. She had learned that there was a
certain way she had to live, certain rules she had to follow, and that, as a
woman, she would never have a legitimate claim over her own life.

She put on a smile and entered the sala. The room was dim, every
window covered with thick, red curtains, which Fareeda had woven to
match the burgundy sofa set. Her grandparents sat on one sofa, the guests
on the other, and Deya set a bowl of sugar on the coffee table between
them. Her eyes fell to the ground, to the red Turkish rug her grandparents
had owned since they emigrated to America. There was a pattern embossed

across the edges: gold coils with no beginnings or ends, all woven together
in ceaseless loops. Deya wasn’t sure if the pattern had gotten bigger or if
she had gotten smaller. She followed it with her eyes, and her head spun.
The suitor looked up when she neared him, peering at her through the
peppermint steam. She served the chai without looking his way, all the
while aware of his lingering gaze. His parents and her grandparents stared
at her, too. Five sets of eyes digging into her. What did they see? The

shadow of a person circling the room? Maybe not even that. Maybe they
saw nothing at all, a serving tray floating on its own, drifting from one
person to the next until the teakettle was empty.
She thought of her parents. How would they feel if they were here with
her now? Would they smile at the thought of her in a white veil? Would
they urge her, as her grandparents did, to follow their path? She closed her

eyes and searched for them, but she found nothing.
Her grandfather turned to her sharply and cleared his throat. “Why don’t
you two go sit in the kitchen?” Khaled said. “That way you can get to know
each other.” Beside him, Fareeda eyed Deya anxiously, her face revealing
its own message: Smile. Act normal. Don’t scare this man away, too.
Deya recalled the last suitor who had withdrawn his marriage proposal.
He had told her grandparents that she was too insolent, too questioning.

That she wasn’t Arab enough. But what had her grandparents expected