I ignored his assumption, though I bristled at the suggestion that I could not work. I also wanted to be able to say to him, “Keep your money,” but I could not financially do that. Suddenly I felt miserable about the fact that I really did need him.

“Hanan,” he continued, “I was just offered the job. An assistant professor’s position at Drexel University.”

I turned to face him. He was smiling. It took me a few seconds, but I finally said, “Congratulations.”

“The salary is pretty good, enough to get me a small apartment near campus, plus help me pay the mortgage here. Plus an allowance for you and Michael.”

“Please don’t call it an allowance.”

He paused, then said, “OK, sorry. You’re right.”

“I’m glad all your dreams have come true and everything, but mine haven’t exactly worked out.”

“I just want to be part of Michael’s life, Hanan. He is mine too.”

“I am not going to keep you away from your son, John. I’m a better person than you give me credit for.”

“I never meant it that way—”

“Of course you did,” I interrupted him, struggling to keep my voice down. “You clearly told me once, while I was still pregnant, that because I cannot reconcile with my own mother I would make a pretty lousy mother. Don’t you remember that?”

“Hanan—”

“So guess what, John? I didn’t grow up in a perfect family like you. My mom was a tyrant and I know she loved me but she never understood me. She refused to come to the wedding, for God’s sake, when she found out I wasn’t a fucking virgin. OK?”

“OK.”

“So would you please stop treating me like a failure?”

“OK.” He sounded conciliatory, but I knew he just wanted to leave. And I wanted him to leave too, so I could sit down and cry without an audience.

The sun blazed in the sky, unprotected by even a wisp of a cloud. I could have cursed myself for forgetting to pack my sunblock. The thin skin at the bridge of my nose was already starting to tingle and stretch. By tonight I would have a ridiculous tan line across my face, but I didn’t want to remove my sunglasses. It was just too bright—too hot. Thank God I’d left Michael at home with Aliyah.

“I have to do what to your breasts?” she’d asked me this morning, as I packed my car with boxes of junk I hoped would sell at the community flea market. I had also taken along some of my basket designs, since the sale was advertised as a craft show as well as a flea market.