“You have changed since you’ve been gone. I can think of no one here who would be a good match for you now. Maybe in several years, or maybe not. Maybe you are better suited to marry someone who isn’t Arab. I don’t know. I think you should finish—or at least start—the university before you get married.”

He is silent for a moment as the words sink into my skin. The gigantic relief I felt yesterday is even huger today. I feel I have been granted the greatest freedom.

But then the door slams back in my face.

“Did Sharif tell you he is going to be engaged soon?”

My heart skips a beat, but my father is oblivious and returns to his original subject. “I am sure it is best you go back. I will arrange your ticket for next week.”

My father continues talking about Hamdi and how maybe it’s not so bad in America, especially with so many cousins living there too, but I don’t pay attention. All I can think of is Sharif about to enter into a marriage he has never even mentioned to me. I feel as though I will explode from anger at the thought, that I need to escape from the car.

One hundred years later we arrive at my father’s cousin’s house and go in for tea. I do not hear any words as we sit on the red rugs and look out onto the fields, though I am calmer, and more than anything surprised by my reaction to Sharif’s impending engagement. After all, I am not in love with him.

The next day Sharif comes to take us to Ata Ali for ice cream, but for the first time Latifa declines the invitation. Any other day I would be ecstatic. Today I just feel empty and can’t bring myself to say anything in the car. Even when we get there, I feel very far away as I listen to the pop music and watch the university kids chattering around us. I try to imagine myself among them.

“What’s wrong?” Sharif asks me as the ice cream melts and dribbles down between my fingers.

“Nothing.”

“What did you do yesterday?”

“I went with my father to pick up two sheep.”

“Did you carry both of them?”

I don’t laugh. “My father says you are getting married soon.” I look in his eyes, but he doesn’t look away like I expect he will.

“Listen, Hala. I am getting old. If I don’t get married now, I never will.”

“Who are you marrying?”

“I have an old friend who has a daughter. He says that I am the only one he trusts; that I am the only one who would do well by her. I told him I would think about it and I have.”

“You’re going to marry her then?”