Love from A to Z(54)

Exhibit B: My sister, a part of my power pack.

Sadia is the closest one to Daadi’s personality in our family, so as soon as she picked up and said, “My Zu-zu!” just like Daadi used to call me (except Daadi said “meri Zu-zu”), I teared up.

Because Sadia was at her fiancé’s parents’ place and said she couldn’t talk long, I asked her point-blank, “Why did Dad suddenly leave for Pakistan?”

“I don’t know. Really.” She looked earnestly at me, her eyes wide and free of all secrets.

But she’s always like that. Pure Hufflepuff.

So I tried again. “Did you find out any other information?”

“No, I’m in the dark too. Mom said that Dad got a call that they wanted him to fill some paperwork now that new information had come up about Daadi’s death.” Sadia peered at me, her usually smiley, long mouth turned down. She shook her head and exclaimed, “Zu-Zu, take a deep breath. Please. It will be okay.”

“Okay.” I actually did do as she asked, taking a breath and letting it out slowly. I mean, what else can it be? It’s already horrendous, her dying like that. In a car accident.

I closed my eyes.

“Tell me about Doha,” Sadia instructed. “I talked to Auntie Nandy the other day when I called for you, but I want to hear from you.”

“It’s good.” I opened my eyes and looked at the calm beauty of my sister’s face. She was back to smiling—encouragingly now, so I burst out with it. “I met a guy. A Muslim guy. Who I really like. Don’t laugh, okay?”

“Why would I laugh?”

“I don’t know.” It felt different to talk to Sadia about Adam than it had talking to Kavi. It felt like talking to my parents about it. Like it was making it serious.

When nothing had even happened.

“But I really like him. I mean, from what I know of him so far.” I didn’t look into the phone, at her eyes, pretending instead to clean my glasses.

“Is he cute?”

“Yeah, of course.” I put my glasses back on, sure she’d understand that part. Because, masha’Allah, he was very cute.

“Ha-ha, of course, she says.”

“I’ll send you a picture.”

“I’m going to play Mom and Dad for a sec, okay?” Sadia stroked her chin like Dad stroked his beard, and I laughed at how oddly like Dad she did look. “Does he appear to have the same values as you do? Same commitment to the deen?”

“Yes, actually maybe more than I do.” While Adam and I both did our prayers (he’d told me that when he got his IV done yesterday, it was the first Friday prayers at the mosque, the first jumah, he’d missed in a long time), he’d also attended Islamic classes every week when he was in London. I didn’t, only going to Muslim conferences and camps sometimes.

“Now I’m Mom.” Sadia tilted her head and looked at me carefully like Mom did when she wanted to know stuff. “Does he treat his family well? Is he family minded?”

“Oh for sure.” I nodded my head vigorously. “Like, his sister is special to him. And his mom, though she passed away.”

“By the way, you are going to tell Mom and Dad, right?”

“Yeah, I mean soon.” I made a face, imagining telling them. “How would I even do it?”

“Can I? You know I’m good at that stuff.” She laughed. “Remember when I told them about Yasin?”

“Oh God. This guy is the opposite of Yasin.” I perked up. She had actually done a good job of breaking the Yasin news. “Can you tell them, then? His mom was one of Auntie Nandy’s best friends, if they want to know more. But only say I met Adam—not that there’s anything major going on.”

“Okay, I will. My love is calling me now.” She turned and laughed at Jamil, her fiancé, offscreen. Then she leaned in and whispered, “Take it from me—you want someone who’s good to his family like Jamil is. And here’s one more thing I want to leave you with. From Mom, Dad, and me: Make sure that you make the beginning of whatever you begin beautiful. Make it right by Mom and Dad. Make it right according to our deen. The beginning of something can determine the beauty of the entire thing, okay? So no alone times or coming closer than you should be, okay? That’s how Jamil and I did it, and, alhamdulillah, it’s been good for us. You know that.”

I nodded my head at the same advice I’d heard tons of times—from everywhere: my family, the Muslim community, the mosque.

It was easy to nod to, but I wondered if it was such an easy thing to do.





ADAM


SUNDAY, MARCH 17


MARVEL: ZAYNEB AT THE PERFECT PLACE


“WE CAN’T GO TO THE gift shop until the end,” Hanna announced as soon as we stepped into the museum’s hushed, light-filled foyer. “That’s my rule.”

“Okay, what about my phone, Mr. Mellon? Can I keep that on me to take pictures?” I joked, walking slowly, setting each foot down deliberately to keep myself balanced, glad Dad had opted to not come with us.

He’d apologized profusely for having to prep for a last-minute interview committee meeting to replace his deputy head of school. Hanna had crossed her arms, upset at first, but then succumbed to patting Dad’s head, saying, “It’s okay,” when she saw the stack of files he had to look through, his eyes already tired-seeming.