Page 36 - A Woman Is No Man

“Fine. But can I tell you something?” She turned back toward him. “I
won’t hurt you. I promise.”
She forced a smile, wishing she could trust him. But she didn’t think she

knew how.

Fareeda hurried into the kitchen as soon as Nasser left, her almond brown
eyes wide and questioning: Did Deya like him? Did she think he’d liked
her? Would she agree to the marriage proposal? Deya had said no to a few
proposals, her answer ripe on the tip of her tongue. But mostly the suitor
was first to withdraw his offer. On these occasions, after the parents had
politely informed them that a match had not been made and Fareeda had
cried and slapped her face, her grandmother had only become more

persistent. A few phone calls, and she had found a new suitor by the end of
the week.
But this time was different. “Looks like you didn’t scare this one away,”
Fareeda said with a grin from the kitchen doorway. She was wearing the
red-and-gold dress she wore when suitors visited, with a cream scarf draped
loosely around her head. She moved closer. “His parents said they’d like to

visit again soon. What do you think? Did you like Nasser? Should I tell
them yes?”
“I don’t know,” Deya said, shoving a wet rag across the kitchen table. “I
need some time to think about it.”
“Think about it? What’s there to think about? You should be thankful
you even have a choice in the matter. Some girls aren’t that lucky—I
certainly never was.”

“This isn’t a choice,” Deya mumbled.
“Why, of course it is!” Fareeda ran her fingers against the kitchen table
to make sure it was clean. “My parents never asked me if I wanted to marry
your grandfather. They just told me what to do, and I did it.”
“Well, I don’t have parents,” Deya said. “Or uncles or aunts, or anyone
besides my sisters for that matter!”

“Nonsense. You have us,” Fareeda said, though she didn’t meet her
eyes.
Deya’s grandparents had raised Deya and her three sisters since she was
seven years old. For years it had just been the six of them, not the large
extended family that was the norm in Arab households. Growing up, Deya
had often felt the sting of loneliness, but it stung the most on Eid