Love from A to Z(80)
“No.” While picking up my paint-heavy roller from the tray, I searched his face, wondering what he meant. “I mean, that’s not my thing. My favorite color is orange.”
“Really? Because I’ve noticed a lot of blue. And I thought that was cool.”
I aimed my first roll at the middle of the wall in front of me, smiling. He’d noticed. And liked them. My hijabs.
I pssted him, too. “I like hearing you say that, that it’s cool. It’s so the opposite of what I usually hear. About me wearing hijab.” And then I went on to tell him about this morning at the pool.
He paused painting and drew the roller away from the wall. “That sucks, Zayneb. I’m sorry.”
I paused too. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m a magnet for it. That kind of attitude. I don’t know if all Muslim girls get this stuff.”
“I’ve got to be honest—I’ve never asked any of the Muslim girls I’ve known about it. I feel bad about that.” He began rolling again, but slower. “I wish I’d been there this morning, though. At the pool.”
I turned to him. “What do you mean? What would you have done?”
“I would have spoken up. Maybe recorded it with my phone, so there’s evidence.” He reached high with the roller and smiled. “I would have been there for the water, my water, not the pool water, is what I’m trying to say.”
My face tingled at the word “my,” something hot spreading through my cheeks, and I wondered if I was blushing.
It felt weirdly amazing to hear him say “my water” so effortlessly like that.
I tried to continue rolling nonchalantly. Tried to douse my cheeks with practical matters. “Speaking of water, what do you think we should do? I’m returning home in three days.”
He went to the cluster of paint trays and loaded his roller again. When he got back to our wall, he had a smile on his face. A secure one. “So last night I read protocol. The way to roll this out so it’s right. I’m supposed to ask your parents’ permission to get to know you.”
“But they’re in Pakistan and Springdale.” I stopped rolling and thought about it. “Though my mom will be here tomorrow.”
“Should I talk to her?”
I went to reload my roller and returned, thinking hard. “It sounds so official. To talk to my parents. Though I think they might know a bit already, because my sister knows.”
“Well, my dad knows. And he likes you—I think mainly because Hanna likes you. Your aunt knows.” He cleared his throat. “Hanna knows. She thinks it’s weird, because we’re cousins, but other than that she says she’s happy. So now it’s just your parents.”
“Okay, but do it fast, all right? Like a Band-Aid. I don’t want any pain from it.” I imagined Dad lingering on questions and Mom wanting to be around Adam to check him out more.
“I thought they were the cool ocean.” He raised his eyebrows at me from near the corner he was painting. “Completely chill parents.”
“They totally are. But they might also be overly nosy.”
“Concerned is another way to see it.”
“I just knew you were the dutiful-son type. Mama’s boy.”
“Yeah. I actually am.”
I removed my roller from the wall and turned away in horror. I’d forgotten again. About his mom.
Oh God, was this always going to happen?
What was wrong with my mouth?
“Zayneb? Hey?” He was pssting again, and I could tell he was close behind me.
I turned to see him rolling some patches I’d missed on the wall. I swallowed before speaking. “Sorry. To say what I did. Like the mama’s-boy thing. Like alluding to you under your mom’s thumb when she isn’t even . . .”
“That’s why I’m trying to get your attention. It’s all cool. I’ll always be a mama’s boy.” He smiled at me, completely at ease. “Because while I’m not comfortable discussing my mom’s death—that, yeah, hurts me a lot . . .” His smile faltered a bit before he plowed on. “I’m completely fine talking about her life. I already told you that. She was an amazing mom, and she continues to be, because sometimes I bring her up in my head, the things she told me, that we talked about, when I need to figure new things out in my life now. Like my MS and stuff.”
I don’t know why, but I teared up on hearing that and then nodded, and he nodded, teary-eyed too, and we worked quietly side by side for a long while.
And I was so glad he’d be talking to my parents soon, because I just wanted to wrap my arms around him.
? ? ?
Somewhere in the soothing rhythms of painting and attaching the small pieces Adam had made over the years to add to the room, I told him all about Fencer.
At the end of it, he looked like he wanted to wrap his arms around me.
ADAM
THURSDAY, MARCH 21
MARVEL: CONNECTIONS
WE’D WORKED ALL DAY YESTERDAY, Zayneb, Ms. Raymond, and me, breaking for lunch together, and then dinner with Dad and Hanna, who’d returned from an entire day spent at the beach. They’d been there with the one friend of Hanna’s who had remained at our neighborhood compound for spring break.
With the work we’d done, the room was half-alive.