Love from A to Z(49)
I smiled. And picked up my phone.
MARVEL: HER AND ME
She was here, across from me, almost the exact distance as we were in the airport waiting area when I first saw her.
At that moment, a week ago, I had a secret I couldn’t share.
And now here it was, out in full view of the girl in the brilliant blue hijab.
I was sitting in her aunt’s living room, and Zayneb knew my diagnosis, and she was sharing her day and laughing like everything was okay.
Thanks. For being chill. About me being here and just in general.
She picked up her phone from the arm of the sofa. Of course. But I don’t get it? Why are we pretending to be cousins?
Hey do you want to come with me and Hanna and my Dad to the Museum of Islamic Art on Sunday? If I’m up to it?
Is that that beautiful building sticking out into the water? That structure made of cubes?
Yup. Designed by the one and only I. M. Pei.
But isn’t Sunday the dune-bashing thing? That you’re going to? With Emma P.?
I looked at her, searched for a sly smile, a laugh, something. But she didn’t lift her gaze from her phone, just closed her eyes and shook her head, her smile frozen.
Wait, did Emma P. tell her something too? Like she’d told Connor and Madison?
No. Hanna wants to go to an exhibit at MIA.
Pausing, I thought for a minute.
If Emma P. had said something about me and her, I had to set it right with Zayneb.
I couldn’t let her think—
Emma P. does her own stuff. Nothing to do with me. Nothing.
Was that clear enough?
I’m not into that. I mean I am, but not with Emma P. Not with anyone.
Wait, now she’s going to think—
I mean I COULD be into someone. Someone I liked.
Oh yeah, Adam, way to go. Full steam ahead, instead of pushing pause.
I didn’t dare glance up to see what effect my textual diarrhea was having on her. It must be the medication, my extreme impulsiveness. A side effect. Or maybe the remains of the euphoria from this morning.
Okay, I’ll come with you guys to the museum.
Then we both looked up from our phones at that same moment, and, you know what?
Marvelously what?
Fifth impressions are the absolute best.
Her eyes were as wide as her smile.
? ? ?
I don’t remember what Ms. Raymond said to me when she got back to the apartment. Or the particulars of how I got home after.
The only thing I remember is the trail of questions Zayneb and I texted each other back and forth—her mostly about how I was feeling, about my diagnosis, about MS; me about how she liked her Doha visit so far.
The clearest feeling I remember is this: the way that it felt like the space between us folded and folded, and kept folding until the distance shrank, until we made sense to each other.
ZAYNEB
FRIDAY, MARCH 15
MARVEL: TURNS
EXHIBIT A: A SUPER PHILOSOPHICAL song.
I woke up to Auntie Nandy singing loudly from the kitchen, a song about joy and fun and seasons in the sun. But even though it had such happy words in it, it was an unbelievably mournful-sounding thing.
Oh yeah, it was the weekend.
Adam is coming over again.
It was to get his treatment, yeah, but he was going to be here, in my vicinity, again.
And then on Sunday, we’re going to the museum.
Not dune-bashing with Emma P.
I turned onto my back and smiled at the ceiling.
A curl of hair fell into my eyes.
I flipped on my side again, snuggled into the pillow, more hair covering my face, and, as Auntie Nandy sang on about skinned hearts and knees, saying good-bye, and more seasons in the sun, I thought about him.
? ? ?
I couldn’t imagine carrying what he’d carried with him all the way here from London, from last fall.
I marveled at his sense of calm and quietness. That he held something so hard inside for so long without bursting.
A small part of my heart hurt so much just thinking of what that must have felt like.
Did he ever feel the need for someone to share some of it, some of the heaviness of knowing he had the same disease that his mom had? Did he ever wish someone would reach out and hold the weight with him?
That small, hurting part of my heart spoke up inside, wanting to offer itself to share the heaviness with him.
“Ridiculous,” I whispered, quelling it. You’re going back home; he’s going back to school. You’re both leaving Doha.
And then my arms began a disturbance.
They wanted to be that part of me that reached out to him. To envelop him. To say he’ll be okay.
I turned on my back again and wrapped those arms around myself, tucking my hands tight against me to hold the ache inside, closing my eyes as Auntie Nandy kept singing of good-byes.
I have eight more days in Doha, so the only thing I can do is help Adam in the ways I’m able to. The halal ways.
I untucked my hands to clear the hair off my face and sat up.
As I got out of bed, I blew that one lone curl off my forehead. Begone, sexy-hair fantasies.
? ? ?
“Sylvia loved the song I was just singing. ‘Seasons in the Sun,’?” Auntie Nandy said, her big breakfast spread out in front of her. She raised a fork. “Adam’s mom.”