Page 45 of Sheltering You

“Your sister broke her heart, and that led to her death? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, no. It is that Leila is full of life and joy and energy. Mama loved her so much, and when she was gone, Mama was only left with me. And Baba, of course, but…” She wasn’t sure how to say what she meant. “I do not believe she was very much in love with Baba. I believe he had let her down. And I was not worth fighting for.”

Derrick’s back straightened. “You were her daughter. Why would you say that?”

“It is only that I was always just ‘the other one.’ You know?”

“No. I have no idea what you mean.”

She sighed. How could he not understand? He knew Leila. He knew her. How did he not see what was so obvious? “Once, when we were little, Leila lost her temper and broke a vase. Baba was furious. He slapped her and locked her in her room.”

Derrick’s mouth opened, then pressed closed. Finally, he said, “Okay.”

“I was cleaning up the mess, and I was thinking that she was a troublemaker, but I was the good daughter. I was feeling proud of myself for this, you see? And then, in the other room, I heard my parents talking. Baba said, ‘Nawra’—that is Leila. You know this?”

He nodded.

“‘Nawra is a holy terror,’ Baba said, ‘and the other one is barely a shadow.’”

“‘The other one.’” Derrick repeated her words in a whisper.

“You see?” Jasmine waved her hand toward him to make her point. “I am only ‘the other one…a shadow.’ Irrelevant.”

The confusion on his face gave way to kindness. Tenderness.

He reached for her, but she popped up from the chair. “You do not understand.”

“I understand your father was an idiot. I think we’ve established that. But your mother⁠—”

“My mother said, ‘At least she can clean up the mess.’ This is me—I am the one who cleans up the mess. I am the servant.”

“I stand corrected.” As if to punctuate his point, Derrick pushed to his feet and faced her, so close that if it were any other man, she would have shrunken away in fear.

“Apparently,” he said, “your mom was also an idiot. Sorry to speak ill of the dead, but….” He shoved his fingers through his hair and took a breath. “Sorry. I don’t mean…” He took a step back, giving her space. “Your mother should have defended you, but would she have, really? Your dad doesn’t sound like the nicest guy in the world. Would she have disagreed with him? Or are you saying… Do you really think your mother didn’t love you?”

Jasmine went into the kitchen and filled their glasses with water. Her hands were shaking, not with fear but with the terrible truth she didn’t want to discuss. Or face.

Had her mother loved her? Perhaps. But not like she’d loved Leila. Leila had brought her joy. Jasmine had brought her tea.

Leila represented freedom.

Jasmine represented slavery.

Leila was Isaac, the child of promise.

Jasmine had always been Ishmael, the child of sin and slavery.

Ironic, considering Jasmine had become Khalid’s Hagar.

When she returned to the living room, Derrick had settled on the sofa again. She handed him a glass.

“Thanks.” He didn’t sip it, just turned it between his hands.

“She did not love me like she loved Leila.” Jasmine perched on the chair and sipped the water. “This is all I’m saying. I am a different kind of person.”

Derrick stared at the wall, and though his head moved up and down, she didn’t take that for agreement.

He set the glass on the coffee table and shifted toward her. He took her hand, enveloping it with warmth and gentleness. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but since I’m pretty sure you already know, I’m going to say it anyway.”