“What if Nadia was not able to carry your children?” When he didn’t reply, Reema felt herself panic. She started to get up, but George suddenly gave her an awful look, as if he had just awakened from a daze.

“Don’t go.” His voice was clipped, sharp. It was a command, not a request.

When he spoke again, his voice was forced, belabored with patience. “Reema, there is more than one way to become a father.”

She didn’t respond, but she watched his expression change carefully from shock to anger.

“Are you actually saying,” he asked her, his voice rising, “that we have wasted one year?”

He walked her back to the subway station. “Should I call her?”

“I’d better call her first. She’ll be furious with me, but at least I’ll prepare her.”

“Reema.”

His tone was urgent. She stopped walking and looked up at him.

“I’m not a shallow man. If I have Nadia, that is everything. I want you to make her understand that. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“I will.” She pointed up, behind him. “Look at it now.”

He turned and viewed the Clothespin from the front. Its slim, tall halves were transformed into two lovers, the metal spring metamorphosed into arms, holding one another close. Their faces were nearly touching, almost kissing.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Yes, I see it now.”

The Scent of Oranges

The Scent of Oranges

I don’t understand why it’s important, but I’ll do this as you wish, Reema. I have an hour before the grape leaves finish cooking. Do you have to record? I wish you wouldn’t. I’m not good at choosing my words—I have to think for hours to find the right one, but y’allah.

When the alarm sounded, its shrill wail threw me back, far back in my mind to the classroom in the UNRWA school at the east end of the camp. I shared a desk with Huda, and we used to hold each other tightly under it when the air raid sirens rang and the planes soared above. If they dropped their loads, we were sent home early, running home to our frantic mothers. If they just passed quietly overhead, we went back to our schoolwork, figuring out what x and y were in the algebraic equations, or practicing our English conversational skills: “May I have some milk in my tea? Thank you kindly.” Goddamn British.

Sorry, habibti. Be sure to erase that part later. Promise? I know you said you need accurate stories for the project—the “thesis,” yes I know—but I don’t want that word on there.