“Ummi,” Aaliyah said in the naïve way she had about her, “you didn’t like them either.”
Muhammad resumed rubbing his jaw. Jamila’s face colored. Viviana went in for the kill.
“It sounds to me, Jamila, that you’re accustomed to wielding all the power around here and dislike anyone you think might usurp you.” She splayed her hands. “Well guess what? If your idea of ‘God-fearing’ is ‘Jamila-fearing’ you’re in for a hell of a bad ride.”
The matriarch’s nostrils flared. “Muhammad. You will not permit yourkafirwife to speak to me like this.” When her son said nothing, her face flushed with anger. “Muhammad!”
“He hasn’t gone deaf,” Viviana announced as she heaped food onto her plate. “But I can promise you this,” she continued, not bothering to look at the atrocious woman seated next to her, “This ismyhome now too. I won’t tolerate being belittled in it.”
Jamila gasped. Aaliyah and Muhammad wore surprised expressions.
“I am more than willing to not interfere with how you prefer to do things,” Viviana said, still piling food onto her plate, “so long as you are willing to play nice.”
“I do not need your permission to—”
“Oh, but you do,” Viviana interjected. Finished serving herself, she turned her attention to Jamila. “Your son and I have decided to make our marriage work out.” She realized this was news to Muhammad—a quick glance in his direction confirmed that—but then it was news to Viviana as well. “So when it comes right down to it, do you really want to force your own son to choose between us?”
Jamila’s nostrils flared. “It’s a contest you will lose.”
Viviana’s fake smile grew wider. “Your harping versus my body in his bed. I somehow doubt it.”
Jamila gasped. “You have no class!”
“I have plenty of class when the person I’m speaking to earns it,” Viviana returned. Her turquoise eyes flashed. “I will not be kowtowed by you like Muhammad’s last two wives were.” She picked up her fork. “’Begin as you mean to go on’ my mom always said. And so I do.” When Jamila opened her mouth to speak, Viviana forestalled whatever she was about to say. “If you speak one ill word against my dead mother, I will never forgive you for it. Never.”
Jamila’s face colored, but she wisely held her tongue. Furious, she stood up, shoved away from the dining table, and briskly walked off to wherever in the hell it was escaped Nazis go.
Viviana slammed her fork into the pile of food on her plate. She grunted as she shoved a heaping bite of eggs into her mouth.
Dr. Lincoln was pissed off and she didn’t care if Muhammad was angry about the confrontation or not. There was only so much disrespect a person could take and Jamila had exceeded her limit long ago.
“That was wonderful,” Aaliyah whispered.
Viviana’s eyes rounded. Her head came up as she swallowed the bite of eggs. “I thought you’d be upset that I spoke to your mother in such a way.”
“Not when she makes a habit of behaving as she does,” Aaliyah corrected. “She has scared off every potential husband I’ve ever held an interest in. I feel as though she wishes for me to be stuck with her for life.” She nudged her brother. “I’ve been telling Momo for years that enough is enough already.”
Muhammad frowned. “In Islam, we do not cast the widows, especially our own mothers, aside like trash.” He sighed. “Viviana, please at least try to get along with her.”
Viviana resumed eating without comment. She behaved as if she hadn’t heard him.
“Viviana,” Muhammad ground out. “Do not ignore me.”
“I-I should go,” Aaliyah said uncomfortably. She made to stand. “I hope to spend time with you later, sister. I—“
“There’s no need to leave,” Viviana said with forced cheer. “If he’s choosing good old ummi over me you might as well be present to hear it.”
A tic began to work in his jaw. “I never said that. I am merely disappointed at your rude behav—”
Viviana stood up and shoved away from the table in much the way Jamila-the-Hun had. “She questioned my clothing, said I dress like a whore, and stated I wasn’t good enough for you all before I even sat down,” Viviana said through gritted teeth. “She then called mekafiragain, which by the way you didn’t take her to task for, andIam the one whose behavior disappoints you?” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m quite disappointed in the behavior of my self-proclaimed husband too.”
“Viviana!”
She ignored him and marched back toward her prison cell. So much for working out her marriage to Sheikh Shithead. “I suggest you nail up all the doors to this fucking estate,” she threw out over her shoulder, “because I’m running at the first opportunity.”
* * * * *
Muhammad frowned at his sister who was already frowning at him. “What?” he snapped.
