The momentary solitude soothes Tahera. There’s the cleaning up to do, and then she should plead exhaustion and retire for the night. Sleep, such a haven, like namaz. Before Seema returns, Tahera slides the chicken on her plate back into the serving dish. She hears low voices coming from the bedroom, and she strains to make out what’s being said.

Seema returns with an audible sigh. “She shouldn’t have exerted herself so much today. She gets tired very easily.” She hesitates, stirring the chicken dish with the spoon. “I told her you wouldn’t eat the chicken if it wasn’t halal. But she wanted to cook your favorite dish. She thought you wouldn’t mind this once.”

“Are you saying I upset her?” A mixture of remorse and anger surges through Tahera. If her mother had indeed made the chicken for her, why hadn’t she at least tried to persuade Tahera to eat some?

“You didn’t even touch it.”

“Am I to blame? You knew, and yet you tried to serve me more.”

“Tahera, Ammi just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Did she say she wanted me to eat this? Do you want me to eat this?” Tahera heaps a spoonful of the chicken back onto her plate. “Will it make both of you happy? Tell me, I’ll do it.” Even to her own ears, she sounds strident.

Seema backs down. “Let’s not fight, Tahera. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let her use the chicken.”

It’s too easy a victory for satisfaction. Tahera stalks to the sink, scrapes the remains of her plate into the garbage can beneath it, and starts soaping the dirty dishes. “I’ll wash up, just bring the dishes over.” She doesn’t wait for an answer; she attacks the sink with vigor.

5

“Do you want some tea?” Seema says.

Chamomile for Seema, black for Tahera. Caffeine no longer affects Tahera—the many long nights in Irvine have taken care of that. Tahera’s night starts after her children go to bed—the dishes, the laundry, the tidying up, the next day’s meals, everything she can do so she’ll have more time with her family during the day. The previous week has been particularly exhausting. She cooked enough meals to last her family two weeks, labeling packets by day, week, and person; gave the house a thorough dusting and cleaning; typed up and stuck lists, reminders, and phone numbers to the fridge door. All this, apart from squeezing as many patients as she could into her calendar at her clinic.