Love from A to Z(42)

He pushed his chair back and stood, glancing at me before searching for Auntie Nandy’s face behind me. “I thought we spoke about proper swimwear yesterday.”

Auntie Nandy took a step to the side and then forward, until she was at the counter herself, a big smile on her face. “Hi, Marc.”

“Hi, Natasha.”

“Is something the matter?”

“As I told you yesterday, your niece needs to have proper swimwear to use the pool here.”

“Yes, of course!” She continued smiling. “And voila, today she is not wearing cotton leggings or a T-shirt. Instead, it’s spandex, same as my swimsuit, same as yours when you swim, Marc.”

“We have rules, Natasha.” He put his hands on his hips. “This is a condominium complex catering to expats who like certain standards.”

“Oh, no, no.” Auntie Nandy said. “Don’t use that on me. I’m an expat from two backgrounds and both of those backgrounds, the American and the Caribbean one, are okay with Zayneb’s swimsuit. Tell me then—exactly which expats are you catering to?”

Marc stared at her.

“This is proper swimwear, Marc. It doesn’t breach protocol in any way.” Auntie Nandy picked up the pen and signed her own name into the binder. “Come on, Zayneb. Let’s go swimming.”

“I’ll get complaints,” Marc said, stepping out from behind the front desk. “We have some members who are more vocal than others.”

“You mean you have some members who are more prejudiced than others.” Auntie Nandy stopped walking and turned to Marc. “You can tell those members I’m very vocal too. And I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t want me to take this matter out of our condo complex, would they?”

Her smile unfaltering, she waited a moment for him to answer. He went back to his chair behind the desk, shaking his head.

When we were down the hall, I turned to Auntie Nandy and high-fived her. “That, Auntie Nandy, was a work of art. You were flawless.”

“Never, ever quake in the face of hate, Zayneb.”

“And I can’t believe you were smiling the whole time!” I felt like skipping to the pool in my sad clamshell burkini.

“Well, if you’re speaking up for someone, why be sad about it? Or upset? Be proud of doing the right thing. Something I teach each and every student I’ve ever had. Celebrate!” She held the door to the pool for me.

It was empty, the water as still as a sheet of turquoise glass.

We walked to the welcoming sight.

“I love you, Auntie Nandy!” I hugged her and then pushed her in. But, as she fell laughing, she was quick enough to grab me, pull me in with her.

We swam the entire time with no one around—to bother us or question us or alert us to rules about our female bodies—and, when Auntie Nandy left to get ready for work, I floated by myself in the water, thinking.

Auntie Nandy had just been in control of the whole situation when she challenged Marc. She made it look so easy.

But then I thought about the hard parts of speaking up. About why it’s so difficult to do the right thing in front of those with the power to affect your life. Say, to affect your future, your grades at school, your experience learning.

Your experience living.

I didn’t want to think about it, but an image of Mr. Fencer just sitting on an empty desk, in an empty classroom, swinging his legs, grinning while he waited for me to come back to school—while he waited to pounce on me—appeared in my mind.

I floated and floated until the image floated away too.

I refused to be the sad clamshell on my burkini.

Today was a day for victories.

? ? ?

Since Auntie Nandy was going to be late again, I decided to organize myself.

After swimming, while she was at school, I’d gone to Souq Waqif, the outdoor bazaar, on my own to shop for gifts for everyone back home.

Now all of my purchases were at the entrance of my room, in a huddle of bags that the concierge had helped me carry up.

I shoved the clean laundry I’d done after returning from the pool on top of my pillows and made my bed. Then I dumped the gifts I’d bought on the white duvet.

As I was sorting them, my phone buzzed.

Emma Domingo.

Emma P. wants you to come with us to the dunes on Sunday. For her party.

Another message from her popped up as I thought about this. It’s fun and fast. Dune bashing.

Mom was arriving on Sunday. It would be kind of weird if I wasn’t home. But maybe it was only a part of the day?

Sounds fun. What time is it? Morning?

All day. Emma P.’s dad does this whole thing where he gets a company to set up tents in the desert with a bbq. Everyone’s coming.

Maybe I can come for part of it? Because I can’t go for the day. My mom’s coming to Doha on Sunday.

Too bad! It’s far from Doha so it’ll be hard to get back.

I imagined the Emmas and the guys having fun on the dunes, doing whatever it is that people do when they’re dune bashing.

I saw Adam standing a bit apart.

Then I imagined Emma P. breaking away from the rest of them to join him. They smiled at each other and then walked off into the dunes, holding hands, a sunset ahead of them.

Agh, I guess I’ll have to miss it. Thanks so much for asking!