Love from A to Z(48)

Zayneb walked in.

She didn’t see me at first.

She appeared exactly as she had the first time I’d seen her, at Heathrow Airport, completely absorbed by her phone. When she let go of the door and it swung shut behind her, she even used both her thumbs to tap nonstop into her device, like before.

Like when I got my first impression of her: busy, beautiful, brilliantly blue.

After briefly waiting, staring at her phone, she slid a hand under the front of her hijab, under her chin, and began sliding it off.

As it moved up, and a small slit lay across her eyes, she saw me.

She yanked her scarf back down, a look of shock on the face that remerged from in between the folds of fabric. “Oh my God!”

A dark curl of hair dropped in front of her face. I looked away.

“Hello,” Annabelle said from the couch. “You are related to Ms. Raymond?”

“I’m her niece.”

When I lifted my gaze back, she was looking directly at Annabelle.

“Hello,” Annabelle said again. “I’m Annabelle.”

“Hi?” She glanced at me and then looked away again, blowing up at her curl and then flushing when she tried to stuff it back up and it wouldn’t cooperate.

I shifted my gaze again.

She’s got curly hair?

How long is it?

Ugh. I switched off my stupid brain and whispered to Annabelle, “The remote?”

She passed it to me, still staring at Zayneb.

When I turned the TV on, Cardi B’s “I Like It” blasted out, making us jump.

I flicked it off. Silence showed up again.

“Your aunt told you that your cousin Adam was coming here, yeah?” Annabelle pressed gently. “To get his treatments?”

“No, actually. No.” She stopped fighting the curl and looked down the hall to her right. “I’m just going to drop my stuff in my room and come back, okay?”

? ? ?

She didn’t come back out of her room.

And I was okay with it.

Her showing up like this, then completely getting blindsided by me sitting here IVed, with Annabelle casually on the sofa, two strangers in her aunt’s living room, must have been awkward. Maybe even scary.

I couldn’t wait for the treatment to be over. To get out of here, go back home and rest, see Hanna.

See Dad.

I groaned and let my head sink into the headrest of the chair. Dad.

Zayneb walked back, her scarf securely fastened now, and I straightened up again.

Her head scarf was blue with white polka dots.

Her standard smile was back on her face.

“So, hi again.” She beamed at Annabelle.

I closed my eyes. God, she was . . . cute.

“Um, Adam?” It was Zayneb’s voice, soft. “Are you okay?”

I opened my eyes to find her seated on the two-seater couch across from me, her phone on the arm beside her. “Yeah. I mean, other than the steroids dripping into my blood to stop my body from attacking itself, yeah, I’m fine.”

“What happened?” She leaned forward. “What do you mean your body’s attacking itself?”

Annabelle looked from me to Zayneb, confusion on her face.

“I have multiple sclerosis.”

Zayneb pulled back, her eyes large. “MS? Isn’t that what your . . .”

She wouldn’t go on.

“My mom had it too, yes.” I tried to smile and then added gently, “Remember my mom is an okay topic?”

And here we were talking about the real taboo topic: my diagnosis.

“I remember.” She lifted her legs up and tucked them under her and then pulled at the hem of the shirt she was wearing. “Isn’t this supposed to be happening at a hospital?”

Her head now swiveling between Zayneb and me, Annabelle looked even more confused. She thought we were cousins, having been told that Ms. Raymond was my aunt, so she was probably wondering why we were so out of touch.

Well, even cousins can keep secrets from each other.

“IV treatments for MS attacks can take place at home if the patient prefers,” Annabelle explained carefully, in a voice clearly communicating she was unsure of what was going on with us.

“Or at aunts’ houses,” I added, raising my eyebrows at Zayneb, the moment Annabelle’s gaze left my face.

Zayneb nodded, bestowing me with a thumbs-up as soon as Annabelle looked away from her. “Even at cousins’ houses.”

Annabelle settled back and nodded. Maybe more satisfied with the state of things now, she picked up a mango slice with one hand and her book with the other.

“I thought you were going to the souk? With the DIS bunch?” I asked Zayneb, genuinely curious. What made her come back home?

She picked at her hem before answering. “I kinda had a late night.”

I waited.

“So when I got to the souk, I was just exhausted. And when the others were getting their henna done, I came back home.” She looked at me, at the IV pump. “I actually didn’t like the way one of them was treating the henna artist, kind of bossing her around. So I guess I got angry and left?”

I didn’t say anything, because a smile was growing on Zayneb’s face, and I wanted to let it grow without stop.

“Like, I had exactly two hours of sleep last night, because I was working on a project, so I felt kind of unpredictable. I was afraid I’d scream a lecture about Cultural Appropriation While Hating on People from the Culture You’re Pretending to Be.” She laughed. “I’m messy like that.”