“We’re not actually divorced yet. And John still comes to visit us, once a week. When Michael gets older, we’ll share him on the weekends and summers.”

“You let him back into your house? After what he do—”

“Mama,” I interrupted sharply. “It’s his house. He pays the mortgage. He did even when we were married, because he made more money than I did.”

“Well, why did you get married? I tell you why. Because he tricked you, that man. That’s what I always tell Imm Nabeel.”

“What is Lamis saying?”

“She’s mad why Aliyah is moving in with you. It’s not proper, she says. Maybe she think that man, he trick Aliyah too.”

“You know what, Mama?” I said tiredly. “Nobody tricked me. I did what I did because I wanted to.” I stood up and started putting Michael back into his carseat.

“Hanan! Where are you going?”

“Look, I’m not doing so great right now. I know that, but I don’t need to hear it from you. I really don’t.”

“If you hear me before, you don’t get into these problem,” she answered in a wild tone, her hand slamming down hard on the coffee table, rattling the dish of bizir.

Baba implored me to stay, but I left anyway. I kissed him goodbye at the door. His eyes were red and weary, and he said, “Hanan, don’t let this keep you away.” I promised to try, but I didn’t look him in the eyes.

Two days after the yard sale, I returned with Michael to the Cabbages and Kings gift shop on Walnut Street. Anne had a Christmas display set up in the window, fake white snow painted onto the glass, framing a Santa and Mrs. Claus designed out of stuffed, velvet pillows.

“Nice display, Anne,” I said, walking in and seeing her kneeling before a wooden trunk filled with ornaments. She was arranging them inside according to color and shape. Some were painted glass, while others were made of embroidered felt.

“Hi there!” She rose and pinched Michael’s cheek gently. “Christmas in July.”

“Not sure if you remember me, Anne, but I was here …”

“Sure, I do. Hanan, right?” She pronounced my name perfectly, which threw me off for a second.

“Right. You pronounced that very well.”

“I have a friend from Lebanon. I told him I’d met a young Palestinian woman, and I tried to pronounce your name. He basically helped me not to butcher it.”

“Well, it’s nice to hear it pronounced correctly.”

“How’ve you been?” She walked back behind the counter and started arranging some flyers and small knickknacks along its surface.

“OK. I wanted to tell you that I’ve been attending some craft shows lately, selling my baskets.”

“How many have you sold so far?”