CHAPTER 5 #2
She asked for forgiveness.
Then she asked for marriage.
Then immediately felt embarrassed by the order.
She opened The Ideal Muslimah after breakfast and read three pages before closing it.
"What?" Solomon asked.
"Nothing."
He gave her the face.
Safiya sighed. "I feel fake."
"Why?"
"Because I'm reading about being a good Muslim woman after we just-"
She stopped.
Solomon understood.
"Repentance ain't fake because you needed it."
Safiya looked at him.
"You got that from somewhere?"
"Probably."
She smiled weakly.
"We should ask somebody knowledgeable about the stuff we don't know," he added.
"There you go with my favorite sentence."
He laughed.
Their struggle did not end that morning.
There were nights they succeeded and nights they did not. Times one person stopped things and the other respected it. Times they made promises while already knowing how strong desire could be.
Faith did not make them flawless.
It made them unable to pretend their choices had no spiritual weight.
Safiya sometimes feared Solomon would see her as less worthy because they struggled.
One night she admitted it.
"You think less of me?"
Solomon looked genuinely confused.
"For what?"
"For not being disciplined."
"Safiya, I am literally the other person involved."
She laughed despite herself.
"I know."
"Then why would I put all of that on you?"
She did not have an answer.
Old experiences had taught her women often carried the shame for things two people chose.
Solomon was imperfect.
But in that moment, he refused to let her carry his portion too.
That was love as well.
? ? ?
One of those private conversations happened in a laundromat, of all places.
One happened in a laundromat because Solomon had waited too long to wash clothes and Safiya refused to let him put everything in one machine.
"Whites separate," she said.
"It's 2026."
"What does the year have to do with your gray socks?"
"They'll survive."
"And this is the man who wants to talk to me about household responsibility."
Solomon looked at her. "We talking about socks or rights and responsibilities now?"
"You opened the door."
He laughed.
They sat beneath fluorescent lights while machines turned behind them. Safiya had The Ideal Muslimah in her bag. Solomon had schoolwork open on his phone.
"What scares you?" he asked suddenly.
She looked at him. "About laundry?"
"Marriage."
Safiya's first instinct was to make a joke. His expression stopped her.
"Losing myself."
Solomon nodded.
"You?"
He looked toward the machines. "Failing people who depend on me."
"That's not the same as marriage."
"It is to me. Wife. Kids. Home. Bills. Deen. Everybody gotta be able to count on me."
Safiya studied him.
"Who do you count on?"
He smiled without humor. "Here you go."
"That's a real question."
"I know."
"Solomon."
"You. Sometimes."
Her heart warmed, but the answer also bothered her.
"Sometimes?"
"Safiya, don't turn vulnerability into a performance review."
She laughed despite herself.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
She rested her head briefly on his shoulder.
"I want to be peace for you."
He looked down at her. "Then don't make peace mean you never have needs."
That sentence would return to both of them later, when neither was living it particularly well.
? ? ?
Solomon's children changed the rhythm of everything.
Safiya had known that intellectually.
Knowing was not the same as living it.
Children did not care that adults had planned a romantic evening.
They got hungry.
They lost shoes.
They remembered school projects at impossible times.
They had feelings that did not wait for convenient scheduling.
The first time Safiya spent a full afternoon with Solomon and the kids after he returned, she watched him become a different version of himself.
Softer in some places.
Stricter in others.
He checked seat belts twice.
He remembered who disliked onions.
He could carry on a conversation with Safiya while simultaneously hearing a child whisper something from the back seat.
"How did you hear that?" Safiya asked.
"Dad ears."
"That's not a thing."
"It is."
One of the children called from the back, "It is!"
Solomon smiled like he'd won a court case.
They went to a park, then a cheap pizza place, then a store because somebody needed poster board.
Safiya thought she was helping by grabbing everything on the school supply list.
Solomon took two things out of the cart.
"We have those."
"Where?"
"At home."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"What if—"
"Safiya."
"What?"
"We don't need backup glue."
"There is no such thing as too much glue during project season."
"Why are you like this?"
She put the glue back when he wasn't looking.
Then added it again when he turned away.
At checkout Solomon found it.
He held it up.
Safiya looked innocent.
"Manipulation," he said.
"Preparedness."
One of the children giggled.
Safiya pointed. "See? Jury agrees."
Solomon shook his head.
Later, while the kids worked on the project, Safiya watched him at the table.
He was tired.
She could tell by the way he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
His phone had gone off several times.
Work.
A friend.
Something about school.
A message he did not answer.
Safiya wanted to fix the tiredness.
That impulse was immediate.
Food?
Money?
Take something off his plate?
Research something?
She had to stop herself.
Peace did not always require intervention.
Sometimes peace was sitting nearby without creating another assignment.
So she made tea.
Put it beside him.
Did not announce it.
Solomon looked at the cup.
Then at her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That ain't nothing."
Safiya smiled. "Drink your tea."
His eyes softened.
"Thank you."
That should have been enough.
It was.
For a while.
But Safiya was learning something difficult about loving a father.
She could be deeply important to Solomon without being first in every moment.
His children had needs that were not competition.
They were responsibility and love.
Safiya understood that.
What became difficult later was when the list expanded.
Children.
Work.
School.
Friends.
Zahra.
Emergencies.
Everybody.
Safiya could make room for children without resentment.
She wanted to.
But when every category began taking a piece, she sometimes could not identify where the relationship was supposed to live.
That afternoon, though, there was room.
After the project was finished, one child fell asleep against Solomon.
Safiya took a picture.
He looked up.
"Don't post that."
"I wasn't."
"Send it to me."
She did.
Then she looked at him with the sleeping child against his chest and felt the future rush at her too fast.
Marriage.
Family.
A house.
Prayer rugs.
Noise.
Responsibility.
Love.
She wanted all of it.
That wanting frightened her.
Solomon looked at her.
"What?"
Safiya shook her head.
"Nothing."
His eyes narrowed.
She smiled.
"Not a lie this time."
He studied her another second.
"Come here."
She sat beside him.
He shifted carefully and put his free arm around her.
For several minutes, nobody needed anything.