A Thousand Splendid Suns

tags along, a mop in one hand, the bean-stuffed doll Mariam had made
for her in the other. Zalmai trails them reluctantly, sulkily, always a few
steps behind.
Laila vacuums, makes the bed, and dusts. Tariq washes the bathroom
sink and tub, scrubs the toilet and mops the linoleum floor. He stocks the
shelves with clean towels, miniature shampoo bottles, and bars of
almond-scented soap. Aziza has laid claim to the task of spraying and
wiping the windows. The doll is never far from where she works.
Laila told Aziza about Tariq a few days after the nikka
It is strange, Laila thinks, almost unsettling, the thing between Aziza
and Tariq. Already, Aziza is finishing his sentences and he hers. She
hands him things before he asks for them. Private smiles shoot between
them across the dinner table as if they are not strangers at all but
companions reunited after a lengthy separation.
Aziza looked down thoughtfully at her hands when Laila told her.
"I like him," she said, after a long pause.
"He loves you."
"He said that?"
"He doesn't have to, Aziza."
"Tell me the rest, Mammy. Tell me so I know."
And Laila did.
"Your father is a good man. He is the best man I've ever known."
"What if he leaves?" Aziza said