Sufficing

Today is Parent’s Day at my daughter’s school, but I’m not attending. She asked me, last night before she fell asleep, if I could please not go with her. If she could just lie and say that I was sick. She didn’t even ask if my feelings would be hurt, but she’s only eight and they don’t think of these things at this age.

“Why you don’t want me to go with you, albi?” I asked her, drilling the blanket around her small form, outlining her as a moat does a castle in fairy tales. It makes her feel cozy and sleepy, especially in autumn, when it gets chilly at night. “What’s the problem?”

“Because you’ll talk differently from the other parents and that’ll get me teased for at least a month,” she answered casually, then yawned. “OK?”

“OK.”

I watch her from the kitchen window now, strolling to the bus stop. Her purple vinyl backpack bumps against the small of her back with each bouncing step she takes. There will be no other children there to wait with her today, because they will all have rides with their parents in their cars. The bus will be empty. Miss Haddon will ask her, “Hanan, where is your mother?” And Hanan will answer in her best grown-up voice, “She is sick today, unfortunately. She could not even get out of bed this morning.” She would sit alone at lunchtime and swing by herself during recess, but only to gain the sympathy of the other teachers. The truth is that my daughter usually likes time alone. “I need to think, Mama,” she says when I find her sitting on the sofa, with the TV off, just calmly staring at the carpet and swinging her leg back and forth.

I warm the breakfast tea for Michel and me. His employee opened the food cart this morning, so he plans to go in late, in time for the lunch rush. While I keep watch over the kettle, I decide not to tell him about Hanan. He sits at the table, casually reading the newspaper. He likes to read the Ann Landers column, saves it for last, after he’s finished with the national and international news. It’s like a reward for him. He has been trying to get me to put a television in the kitchen, but I know that he will end up watching it all morning and I only have so much time with him before he leaves.

“Listen to this, albi,” he says in Arabic, leaning in closer to the page. “This woman’s brother-in-law always brings these loose women to their holiday get-togethers, and it doesn’t bother anyone else in the family except for her. She wants to tell him to stop bringing these types, but she doesn’t want to upset her husband and her in-laws.” He chuckles and turns to catch my reaction. “Can you imagine someone back home doing that? It would keep the gossip lines in the village active for years! We’d even hear about it here, across the ocean.”