Rola folded her arms across her chest, her face white and impenetrable, mummy-like. “He had stopped talking to me by then … he ignored me, my calls … and then I just got embarrassed because his mother was always the one who answered and I knew that he didn’t want to talk to me.” She sighed, and said in English, “I felt like such a slut.” She pronounced the word more harshly than necessary, hitting the “t” emphatically. “That’s what our culture does to you. It makes you feel like a slut for making a mistake.”

“American culture does the same thing, believe me. You should hear what some people here still think about single mothers.”

“Well, I went back to Ramallah, and all its eyes and ears. And I knew I had to get away, fast, to do this. Hanan,” she said, turning to look at her cousin, “it will become apparent in a month or so.”

“I know.”

“Your mother will tell my mother and my father will never allow me home again. They’ll say I disgraced them.” She pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her slim arms around them. “You’re so lucky to live here, Hanan. You don’t have to worry about stuff like this. Everything is OK in this country.”

“In theory,” Hanan said.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, really.” But she thought of John’s little sister, Katrina, who got pregnant in high school. A senior had basically forced it on her. She was expelled, because the school was one of the best private schools in the city and had a reputation to maintain, but the boy wasn’t even approached. And she knew that when she eventually took Rola to the clinic, there would be a mob of people there, as there always were, carrying signs and yelling violent slogans. A few of them were quiet, and maintained a sort of dignified vigil, handing out leaflets with options for women, but their voices were drowned out by the others. Hanan passed them every once in a while on her way to work—and it was frightening, perhaps almost as frightening as Rola thought confessing to her parents would be.

Rola dutifully sent an email every few weeks. Stanford was wonderful, she reported, and she was settling in well. She had trouble at first with the language, but thanks to long conversations into the night with John and Hanan during the two months that she remained in Philly before her semester began, she was able to pick up the idioms and nuances more quickly than she thought. Hanan smiled when she first saw her cousin’s email signed, “LOL.” Lots of love to you too, she thought.

“How’s your mother?” she asked Hanan in one email. “Please give her a hug for me.”