“I hope I didn’t startle you, Imm Nabeel,” she said, setting her basket down on the chair and moving over to the coffee pot. “I was hoping it was Nader. He’s late coming home from work. I guess he went to the coffee shop.”

“I don’t think so. Abu Nabeel has been home for over two hours. If they had all planned a game, surely he wouldn’t miss it.” She looked confused, so I quickly added, “God bring him home safely. I’m not staying long, so don’t make any coffee for me.”

“Why not?” she protested politely, filling the pot halfway with water. “I’m finished with most of my work. I even have dinner ready, so you can eat with us when Nader gets home.”

“No, no. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Why did you come? Is everything OK?” she asked then, peering at me curiously as she dumped the water out and started folding her laundry, piling the clothes on the chair beside her.

Blushing, I struggled to think of an answer. “Because I wanted to tell you what a fancy queen you may think you are,” I wanted to say, but now I did not feel nearly as powerful as I had while walking over here. Instead, I felt satiated, strangely triumphant. And a bit silly. What was wrong with me? Had I actually planned to put her in her place by coming over here? What had I been thinking?

Her kitchen clock chimed softly then. “Eight o’clock?” Her voice rose worriedly. “Where is he?”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” I headed for the front door. “Maybe he stopped somewhere else.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit with me?” she asked, and it was the desperate tone in her voice that made me turn to look at her. Her lips were pressed tightly together and her dark eyes flitted between the clock and the door nervously. I would have stayed—I honestly would have—but just then her hand reached up and clutched the heavy gold chain around her neck. She looped her index finger around it and distractedly slid her finger up and down the chain.

“I really have to go.”

I rebuked myself all the way home, thinking shamefully of the curse I had uttered. Why did I resent her? Because she liked to show off? And I … I was no better than Samira and her mother, the way I still thought of Layla and even Reema, both of whom had grown up in the camps. Somewhere between leaving Palestine and having children, I had developed a class conscience. College education had apparently had no effect on me! Here I was, putting the Evil Eye on people who bought fancy machines, when I had never even believed in such nonsense.

I shook my head vigorously as I walked, shaking away the silliness I had succumbed to. As I fumbled with the key to my front door, I mumbled, “God forgive me. And help me.” It was logic, really, a corrective measure: I had invoked God’s name for negative reasons, and now I did so for positive ones.