Dawud.

Chapter 41: Awkward Dinner

  بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful  

Jannah's P.O.V

Dawud's parents arrived later that night. He sat next to his mother and I sat across him, next to his father, Muhammad, who was awfully reserved. This angered Dawud. I watched him as he stared at his father wordlessly, eyes filled with angst. Qamara, his mother, went on about how well I cooked dinner. "The chicken is juicy and tender, the rice is chewable but not too soft and the salad is amazing."

I blushed, looking down at my plate. "Thank you." I returned.

There was a silence.

"How is my son?" Qamara asked me. I glanced at Dawud who wore a 'Do not tell my mother about what happened an hour ago' look on his face.

Not too long before Dawud's parents arrived, he had a little situation which involved a wrestling match, his inhaler and the two of us. I learned two things from the situation: the first being that my husband wasn't nice enough to let me win the match, and the second being that you should never wrestle someone with asthma. It usually doesn't end well.

"He's fine. A little crazy, but fine." I replied simply. I felt Dawud's foot tap mine so I playfully kicked his. When I saw his cheeky smile, my heart burst with glee. This was the effect he had on me.

"You two are very cute." Qamara gushed, pulling out her cellphone. "Come on," she gestured for us to take a photo together. Dawud stood up, walked around the table and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Say cheese!" Qamara squealed with utmost happiness.

I looked to my side to see Muhammad, struggling to smile. His eyes showed sadness as his lips were pulled up in a strained smile. "Baba," I addressed him, "Smile!" I encouraged, putting an arm around his shoulder. He chuckled and Qamara snapped the photo.

"Let's see it." I said, jogging around the table. The photo was sweet. We were all smiling. Dawud put a peace sign behind me, making it look like I had antennas popping out of my head. "Dawud!" I groaned. He smiled mischievously. I sat back in my seat and we continued to eat silently.

"Baba, I want to go pray Isha at the mosque downtown. Would you like to come with me?" Dawud asked. Qamara sighed, picking at her salad. Muhammad was silent. After a lengthy and uncomfortable pause, Qamara slammed her fist against the table. The tall glass of water in front of me toppled over, knocking down the Rooibos tea kettle in the process. The two drinks mixed with one another, bleeding through the table cloth profoundly before Dawud and I could grab them.

"Answer the poor boy!" Qamara yelled with a strained voice. I jumped in my seat, shocked at her outburst. Muhammad stood up, gave me a brief thank you for the food, smiled and left the dining table.

Dawud came up from behind me and rubbed my arms. "I'm so sorry, baby. I won't be back until later on in the night so don't wait up for me, okay? Go to bed soon and don't worry about this mess. I'll clean it all up when I get back." He whispered against my cheek. I leaned into him, wearing a small frown on my face. Dawud pecked my cheek tenderly and rushed towards his father. Qamara watched the two of us with a pained smile on her face. She blew a kiss in Dawud's direction as he waved at the two of us. Then, he was gone.

The second he shut the door behind him, Qamara let out a heavy sigh. Her large eyes looked upwards as she mumbled to herself. "Ummi (Mother)?" My voice was shaky.

"Jannah, I have to tell you something." She confessed, rubbing her temples slowly.

I studied her strange behavior. She almost always had a smile plastered across her face. Now, she scanned the room desperately. I had no idea what was going on. "Mom?" I repeated, worriedly.

"Muhammad and I want a divorce." She announced, looking at me with watery eyes. I raised my hand up towards to my mouth, blinking in utter shock. "We've been having trouble at home. It's hard, so hard, to live with a man who wants someone else." She spoke with her eyes cast downwards. A single yet plump tear dropped from her cheek. "A younger woman, from back home." She blurted, lost in thought. "I've always said that I won't be in a polygamous relationship. It was said 30 years ago, with my father and uncle there as witnesses." Her voice shook with a subtle sadness despite her casual composure.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Ummi." I whispered, standing up and walking around the table. I wrapped my arms from behind her and sighed. She raised a hand and rested it against my arm.

"What was it like?" She questioned. "Your parent's divorce, I mean." She added after a while.

I thought for a moment. "I was very young and many of the events that took place have left my mind. It's only the really bad ones I can't seem to forget." I articulated. I hadn't realized how quiet I was until Qamara asked me to repeat myself. I did. "But, I don't think it'll be the same for Dawud. Alhamdullilah, he grew up in a loving home and now he's a stable and responsible husband because of the work you and Muhammad have done." I continued. "Of course, I don't recommend this divorce. There is always an alternative, Ummi, always."

"Let's clean up these dishes." She said after a while. I pulled myself away from her and sighed. We silently gathered the plates and utensils, filling the room with cringe-worthy clatter. I studied Qamara when she wasn't looking my way. She appeared to have heavy bags under her large eyes. Her eyebrows were constantly knitted together as she stayed deep in thought.

Around two hours later, Qamara and I were crawled up on the couch. I rested my head on her lap as she caressed my hair, starting from my temple and working her way down to my back. A thick blanket was placed on the two of us as we watched a film from the 1950's. I fell asleep due to the soothing touches of my mother-in-law and the draining sound of TV.

Dawud's P.O.V

I entered my apartment and wiped my eyes. If my mother saw the state I was in, she would cry as well. My father followed closely behind me and shut the door. It was late. Nearly time for the morning prayer and I prayed that Jannah was asleep. My heart would ache if she had given up her rest to wait up for me. I walked into the dining room to find the table neat and tidy. The sink was empty and spotless as well. I padded over to the living area to find my mother smiling down at her lap. Taking a few steps further I found Jannah cuddled up in a ball, eyes closed. Her chest rose as she inhaled, making her look absolutely precious. Her long hair draped over her body and her thick lips caught my attention. Two of the most important women in my life were sat there together.

"Why didn't you sleep, mom?" I asked in Arabic, lowering myself down on one knee and kissing her hand. I then proceeded to kiss Jannah on her nose. If she was awake, she'd be the color of a tomato.

My mother looked up at me with her tired, exhausted eyes. "My sun and my moon were out late. How can a mother sleep when the two most important people in her life are absent?" She pressed, confused beyond measure. I pressed my lips together and cast my eyes downward in shame. I had caused my mother pain when she had already been wounded. What kind of son am I? "Take Jannah to bed. I'll go home with your father." She ordered.

I nodded solemnly and lifted Jannah from my mother's lap. My wife mumbled to herself, going on about absolutely nothing, causing me to chuckle. My mother smiled as well. "I'll see you, Ummi. Insha'Allah, I'll see you soon." I whispered. My mother took a step forward and kissed my head as I lowered it to her.

"My son." She said, before walking towards the door where my father stood, unable to look her in the eyes.

I watched the two leave stiffly. My heart broke.