Love from A to Z(27)

I nodded, scrolling through posts and stories, liking everything without examining anything.

I was depressed.





MARVEL: ADAM


I can’t believe I wrote that.

Why was he even? A marvel?

I mean, I realize that before I even knew him as Adam, I’d called him a marvel, at the airport in London, just because he was cute.

But at this point in time, I think I mean it in a different way.

Because he’s calm. Peaceful.

Mellow. Like everything I’m trying to be here.

That’s why he’s a marvel. Not just because he’s good-looking.

Anyway, why wasn’t he texting me again?

It felt as if a few words from him arrived on my phone, like Hey, do you want to go to blah blah tomorrow?, this down-in-the-depths feeling I had at the moment would just disappear.

But then I remembered his mouth after his dad dropped me off today. The way it was that straight line, like he was done.

Right.

Adam had probably realized I was faking it at the saluki shelter. He’d found out about my phoniness and was over wanting to get to know me.

Well, if he even wanted to get to know me in the first place.

I stared at the ceiling. And sat up suddenly.

I couldn’t believe it. I was letting myself be what I’d never ever wanted to be: at the mercy of a guy’s whims.

No way.

? ? ?

Dinner was Turkish food. We ate quietly on the couch, watching some house-hunting reality show on TV, Auntie Nandy engrossed, me scrolling through my phone.

Adam posted an Instagram story.

His waterfront with boats, sea, and sky.

I didn’t have to be at his whims, but I could decide whether I wanted to say something to him.

Thanks for today.

I added a puppy emoji.

? ? ?

As of 1:42 a.m. he hadn’t replied.

And, huddled in Binky, I noticed my message continued to be unread.

At Fajr, five a.m., still unread, but he posted another story. Another seascape, a dark one this time.

The twinge was disappearing, being replaced by further dread.





ADAM


TUESDAY, MARCH 12


MARVEL: PLANS


I PRAYED FAJR OUTSIDE THIS morning, prayer mat unrolled by the water, my back to it.

It was dark, with that inkiness in the sky that hints at more colors to come. I contemplated waiting for sunrise—which would be right over the gulf behind me, promising better pictures than the ones I’d just taken—but then I glimpsed Dad through the blinds he opened in his second-story bedroom.

And I remembered my plans for today.

Today was about avoiding Dad, who, at dinner last night, had already shown signs that this year’s anniversary of Mom’s passing was going to be the same, as hard as usual.

He’d chewed his food for so long while eating that I passed him the salad unasked to break his reverie, to get him to swallow. He nodded and set the bowl beside his plate.

Then he kept his eyes lowered, strictly on his food.

He’d also let Hanna get away with screen time at dinner, which is usually a huge no for him. The entire meal, she laughed her way through episodes of some YouTube show, earphones on, her iPad propped up against the two cans of tomato sauce she’d boldly brought to the table from the cupboard.

It was quiet, like Dad wasn’t there, and yet like he was, because I didn’t dare talk to Hanna, either, in case she said something about Mom.

I let him have it, his withdrawal from us. Besides, I was busy making plans.

First order of the day was to avoid Dad, like I’ve said. Second was to hide myself away in the nanny’s room, aka my workshop downstairs.

The only time the room had been used before was when Mom’s personal support worker had lived with us during the last few months of Mom’s life.

Then it had lain unused until three years ago when, in an attempt to get rid of stuff, I’d packed up and given away the furniture inside, leaving it bare and ready for a new start.

Soon after, when I began journaling marvels, I started a project in the room.

It became my making-stuff space.

Today I wanted to pick up on it again, maybe finally finish the installation I’d begun.

Hanna’s wanting to see the house in the jar that Mom had made had given me an idea: Maybe I could bring together the bits I’d been working on over the years.

I also don’t know how much time I have before I can’t do things like this anymore.

I’ve had a faint headache since I woke up this morning, and whenever I’ve had any type of physical symptom since my diagnosis, I start thinking of what lies ahead.

I want to make sure I use my hands, finish making things, before the numbness that I know waits for me begins.

The third order of the day was currently staring at me on my phone.

Unread message: @ZayA_01.

Avoid Zayneb.

Avoid a fourth impression.

? ? ?

In the workshop there were cobwebs here and there on the piles of lumber pieces and boxes with paint cans and toolboxes.

Interestingly, the bits of wood for the cosmos installation I’d prepped were pretty clean. And, interestingly again, the pieces had been rearranged from largest to smallest.

Hanna.

I got to work, pulling the extra materials and tools out of the room, into the hallway, clearing it completely again. I wanted the room itself to be part of the project.