Love from A to Z(31)

The fitness attendant stared at me. “Who’s the resident that you signed in with?”

“My aunt,” I said. “But why won’t you answer my question? Is it okay if I show up in huge shorts like his but just a bit longer?”

Bobbing man let his towel drop as he crossed his arms.

Wait. What was I doing?

This was old Zayneb. The one who got in trouble. Who got her friends in trouble. Who may get Auntie Nandy in trouble by making a ruckus at her residence complex.

I wasn’t supposed to do this anymore.

I uncrossed my arms. “Okay, okay. I get it. That’s the way things are here,” I said with a fake smile before forcing out, “Thanks for letting me know the rules!”

I walked away and didn’t look back.

The only way was forward—into the version of Zayneb who let things just be.

? ? ?

Because I was asleep when she got back to the apartment from the gym, Auntie Nandy went to work not knowing a thing about what had happened at the pool.

Which was perfect. Now she didn’t need to worry one bit.

I woke up to the alarm I’d set so that I’d have enough time to get ready to meet the Emmas.

I sort of knew it would take a long time to prep for hanging out with them. It wasn’t so much that I was trying to be a different me as it was that I was trying to make sense to them.

I refuse to call it wanting to fit in with their crowd.

Besides, I liked them. They were multinational, diverse, open-minded (except for Madison), and accepted me without pause. Actually, more than that, they saw me. Which was different from school, where Kavi and I usually passed under the radar of the other, mostly white kids.

I wanted to continue to be seen by the Emmas and their friends.

Which means I need two whole hours to get ready.

It started with a long shower, a better shower than the one I’d had after getting back from the pool cocooned in changing room towels so I wouldn’t drip everywhere. This was the kind of shower that ensured each strand of my hair was washed.

Then I emerged from the bathroom connected to my room to towel and air-dry my hair so that it would fall into its natural curls. People not in the know have no idea why it’s so important to have properly dried, properly done hair when your scarf is going on top of it, but we hijabis know it’s vital.

1. Your hair needs to be dried properly so that it won’t get that soggy, half-dried smell that will seep out of your hijab, hitting everyone in your vicinity.

2. Your hair thoroughly dried gives it the proper volume to let your scarf sit pretty on your head.

3. Your hair needs to be happy, not drippy sad, under your hijab, or it will give you trouble later when the scarf is off at home. Happy hair means good hair.

And, I had to admit, I have good hair. I tossed it a few times and then looked in the mirror as I blew it off my face.

It’s almost model hair. The one vanity of my life.

That only my friends, all girls, get to see. The only guys allowed to see it being members of my family.

Someday, though, I’ll toss this hair in front of the one I end up with. My significant other.

I looked in the mirror at the long, dark, loose curls cascading around my face, long wispy bangs reaching into my eyes, and saw Adam’s face flash in my mind.

A twinge came, unbidden.

I went back to lie down on the bed, to let my hair dry completely. To think about him.

He hasn’t read your message, Zayneb. He knows you’re a faker, Zayneb. He wants the real deal, just like you want the real deal in a guy, Zayneb.

Just like you want him, Zayneb.

I closed my eyes and imagined opening the door to Adam. Like after we were a thing, and everything was legit, with family, with everything.

I imagined opening the door to him without my hijab on, hair tousled, kind of getting in my eyes, but not so much that he couldn’t see how done up those eyes were—with eye shadow, mascara, and all.

He would have been gazing at the floor when the door first opened, wearing that blue shirt I saw him in at the airport, but then his eyes would flip up and light up, and that small, consistent smile he mostly wore (before it trailed off yesterday) would spread and spread and spread, and then he would just swoop in and—

Beep beep beep. The alarm went off again.

Agh. That meant I only had thirty minutes before the Uber arrived.

As I threw on clothes, I tried to unpack my fantasizing about Adam.

I want to kiss him.

That mouth with that smile.

Agh, why was I in such lust? Astaghfirullah, Sadia would caution.

I barely knew the guy.

Well, other than Auntie Nandy telling me his background, her knowing his mom and dad. And him being seemingly a great big brother. And caring about animals. And having tons of friends who he was super quiet around but who obviously liked him a lot. And him becoming Muslim on his own so early.

Okay, that last one was a heavy one. To be that mature when you’re so young.

But I didn’t know him, the guy. What he was like personality-wise.

It was just his looks that were getting to me.

That made me want him to swoop in, from the door I’d opened in my fantasy, and wrap his arms around me as I pushed my hair away from the tight space between us so my lips could find his with urgency, his face, as it became one with mine, getting surrounded and caressed by my curly locks—