“Thank you, Carla.” Siham rolled the wad of twenties and put them into the pocket of her cardigan. She purposefully didn’t count them, knowing that Carla would pick up on it, her eyes flashing. She had such a temper, this one, so unlike her mother, whose smile was all gentle curves. A patient smile. She had probably learned to develop it over the years.

“Carla, I am making tea. Would you like a cup?” She could also be patient and kind. Why not? She was feeling good.

“Yes,” Carla said, seeming startled, probably because Siham had never invited her to stay unless her mother was also there.

“Please sit.” Siham indicated the large, green sofa in the living room and went to the kitchen. She poured two cups, set them on the tray with the sugarbowl and came out to find Carla standing underneath the wedding picture on the wall.

“Your dress is beautiful,” Carla said. “Very traditional, with that full skirt and the long train. Very … well, bridal.”

Siham gazed up at the portrait. She and Nader stood before the white stone wall that formed the back of her parent’s house in Jerusalem. The Dome of the Rock, with its golden cupola, was visible in the background. Her own face looked pale, washed out by the whiteness of her dress, but Nader’s olive skin blazed like the sun. Black brows that could look fierce when he was tired or irritated, but always masculine. She only had to smooth them with her index finger to reveal their gentleness. They framed large, caramel eyes that were always soft, that had emanated only love for the last three days, when she told him that she was pregnant.

“You know, I almost got married,” Carla said, stirring lemon into her tea and perching on the edge of the sofa. “I had a fiancé years ago. An Irish guy from Northeast Philly.”

Siham noted the way that Carla’s hair curled softly at her neck. How her hands were slender and her fingers long, how her cheekbones sat high up in her face. Yes, a man could have loved her once.

“He worked at a dry cleaning and tailoring shop with his parents. When we got married, his parents said they were gonna retire. They were old, you know. John was their youngest of eight kids. They wanted us to take over the store, because I knew how to sew and handle customers.”

“What happened for him?” Siham asked, making a mental note to look up the word “retire” later.

“He cheated on me. Knocked up another girl from his neighborhood.”

“Knocked up?” Siham imagined him rapping his white knuckles against the forehead of some poor girl.

“Pregnant. He got her pregnant.” Carla drained the last of her tea. “I refused to marry him after that. But I never married anyone else. Obviously.” She smirked, closing the softness that had been subtly creeping into her face. “My mother said I’m just stubborn, that I didn’t want to give anyone else a chance. But that’s my decision, I said, right?”