Two days of peace passed, and the air in the apartment seemed lighter. Jabr and Jomana found a rhythm together. Jomana, with gentle guidance from Janiah, began to take on more of the cooking. Janiah, with her hands worn from years of tending fires and preparing meals in simpler ways, watched as Jomana embraced her role as wife and mother. The new kitchen appliances puzzled Janiah; she missed the old implements from their former home, and the ease with which she could build a fire or heat the kitchen. Now, those skills felt like relics of another time. She moved through the kitchen like a plant pulled up by its roots—her hands still steady, but her heart a little less sure of its place.
Janiah wiped the counter for the third time, even though it was spotless. She had grown patient with the changes, but the differences gnawed at her as Jomana settled into her new responsibilities. Still, Janiah said nothing. It wasn’t her way to complain. She simply adjusted, as she always had.
Mary was out of the apartment most of the time, which suited Janiah fine. But Jabr worried. He could never tell where Mary was or what she was doing, though he was certain it wasn’t anything that would bring peace to their home. He hesitated to press the matter. Things had been going too well between them, and he didn’t want to stir up old tensions.
That evening, Mary came back, laughing and giddy, her presence filling the small space like a storm. Jabr tensed immediately. He knew that kind of joy from her—it rarely ended well for him.
“You must see what I’ve got now!” she announced, her voice high with excitement. “A wonderful new home for us. We won’t have to live in this wretched apartment anymore. We’ll have our own rooms, our own space! You won’t even hear each other, let alone those Hindus making all that racket.” She waved her hand as if dismissing the thought altogether. “And Jomana, there will be rooms for servants. They’ll do the cooking, cleaning, caring for the baby, everything.”
Jabr was speechless, caught between a whirlwind of memories. Mary’s words painted an image too familiar—of her old life in Cairo, the house with its towering columns, grand wooden doors, and the intricate brass knocker that gleamed in the sunlight. He remembered the mansion, its endless rooms lined with Persian carpets, and he shuddered. He wasn’t ready to relive that.
Jomana hugged her mother, smiling, but Jabr saw the confusion flicker in her eyes, mirroring his own. Janiah stayed in the kitchen, cleaning the same counter as before, her silence loud in the small room.
“Mom, we’re just so… surprised,” Jomana finally said, her voice careful. “We can’t believe it.”
Jbar was grateful she said ‘we’. At least they were united, for now.
“I’ll take you all to see it tomorrow,” Mary said with a flourish, her energy unwavering.
Janiah’s silence persisted, though her eyes spoke volumes. Jomana’s response was torn—one part to keep the peace with Jabr, the other to avoid upsetting her mother. What choice did she have?
The next morning, Mary roused them all early, her excitement palpable. Janiah and Jomana worked together in the kitchen, preparing breakfast in a wordless but coordinated dance. Jabr wondered whether he’d need to step in, to pull them from this growing tension wrapped in forced joy. But for now, he waited.
They all piled into the Cadillac, Mary at the wheel, gushing about their new life as she sped out of the apartment complex and toward Gulf Road. Jabr clenched the armrest as she made a sharp turn, speeding past the mission hospital and toward the affluent part of town, where sprawling villas stood along the sea coast like silent witnesses to old or new money. After a few more turns, they stopped in front of one of the largest mansions on the road. The fountain in the front garden erupted into sprays of multicolored water, framed by tall date palms. A guard opened the gate, and Mary drove straight in, parking right in front of the grand entrance.
Jbar’s heart sank. The house was even grander than the one in Cairo—spiraling staircases, high ceilings, and a view of the Gulf that seemed to stretch endlessly. Mary was almost bouncing as she led them inside, her voice echoing through the massive halls.
“This is it!” she exclaimed, twirling in the middle of the foyer. “There’s plenty of room for all of us! Take your pick. We’re finally free from that horrible apartment.”
Jabr stayed quiet, hoping Jomana would speak first. She did.
“It’s… wonderful, Mother,” she said, her smile thin, her words careful. “There’s just… a lot for us to process.”
“I’ll call the painters today,” Mary went on, her joy unchecked. “We need to change this wall color. But no rush—you’ll have time to choose your spaces and colors. Our days of poverty are over!”
Politeness reigned for the remainder of the visit.
A cab arrived to take Janiah, Jabr, Jomana, and the baby back to the apartment. The ride was silent, with each passenger lost in their thoughts. Janiah retreated to her bed as soon as they got home, murmuring something about not feeling well, a first for her. Jabr watched her go, concern tightening in his chest.
Jomana opened the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients for sandwiches. She moved quietly, methodically, as if the routine might anchor her in some way. Jabr felt the weight of the situation press down on him, and after a long moment, he spoke, his voice low.
“I wonder what this all means.”
He knew exactly what it meant. Mary was neck-deep in the currency exchange market, and with each new deal, the stakes rose.
Jomana didn’t look up as Jabr said. “The villa’s not as big as Akeem’s, but it’s close.” Jabr let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “There’s no way I can compete with either of them.”
“This isn’t a competition,” Jomana said, finally turning to face him. “Would I like to live there? Yes. But at what cost? The cost of our marriage? No, thank you.”
Her words surprised him, and for a moment, he considered bringing up Akeem, reminding her that if she’d married him, she’d be the third wife by now. But he swallowed the thought. He didn’t need to go there.
“You know how this will go,” Jomana continued, her voice steady. “We must reject her offer. There’s no other choice.”
Jabr nodded slowly, feeling the weight lift slightly. The Lord had stepped in again, just in time.
