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Back The Inheritance of Exile Save as PDF
Chapters (22)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. Nadia
  6. Back to the Surface
  7. The New World
  8. Survivor
  9. Aliyah
  10. Aliyah’s Fan
  11. Reading Coffee Cups
  12. An Afternoon in Jerusalem
  13. Hanan
  14. Preparing a Face
  15. Sufficing
  16. Costumes
  17. The Journey Home
  18. Reema
  19. Chasing Valentino
  20. Intervention
  21. The Scent of Oranges
  22. About the Author

I curled up on the large chair next to Baba’s bed. “It’s not so bad,” I said. “I’m just closing my eyes for a few minutes, OK.”

“OK. You sleep, habibti. I’m here now.”

Reema

REEMA

Chasing Valentino

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Chasing Valentino

It wasn’t until Alex started asking about polygamy that Reema got worried. He asked with a hesitant, desperately curious expression on his face: the slight arching of the left brow, the slightly audible intake of breath as he leaned forward. She’d known it would eventually come, but did not expect it at Marian’s Café on Market Street on a Saturday that had started so beautifully.

“Isn’t it true that Arabian men can marry four women? That Islam permits men to have harems … and seraglios?” She intuitively knew that he added that last word to polish off the question with an intellectual coat of wax. At least he had the grace to look modest.

“Well,” Reema began, lowering her voice so that the other clientele in the café wouldn’t hear, “Muslim men can technically marry four women, according to the Koran, but they don’t really do that anymore. And harems are a thing of the past.” She suddenly wished she hadn’t been available when he called that morning. How innocent he had sounded a mere four hours ago.

“But doesn’t that affect you—or bother you—as a feminist?”

“There are a lot of historical reasons for it. It’s not reducible to sexism.” She hoped her tone sounded final. But his narrowed eyes told her the truth: He thought she was apologizing for her culture the way that you apologize to your party guests for the burned roast and a flopped soufflé.

Alex didn’t speak, which suited her mood just fine. They paid the bill and strolled through the dusky Philadelphia streets, arm in arm. A show was just letting out of the Walnut Street Theatre, and she made a mental note to check their showbill for the upcoming week. She hadn’t been to a show in ages.

She’d met him six weeks ago through Aliyah’s brother Nabeel. Nabeel and Alex worked together at an antiques gallery on Market Street, and since she lived only one block from there, Nabeel invited her to meet them for lunch one day.