Love from a to Z

Survive!

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I got out of bed, grabbed my glasses—it being crazy early for my contact
lenses—and opened the guest room door.
“ ‘Oh no, not I! I will survive!’ ” she sang, advancing from the kitchen
with a plate of scrambled eggs. She spotted disheveled, just-woke me. “Hi,
Zoodles! You still love eggs, right? Because I made them three ways.”
I nodded and emerged into the combination living-dining room. The
center of the dining table was covered with small plates of food. “Thanks.
Do you always sing in the morning, Auntie Nandy?”
“Only after nine a.m. on weekends. And only the best seventies hits.
Grandpa’s fault, sorry.” She pulled a chair out for me and patted it. “Eggs:
French toasted, scrambled, or omeleted? Also, mall or souk?”
“I haven’t gotten up yet. I’m jet-lagged.” I sat in front of the French toast,
which promptly called on me to take a bite. It was strangely cold. “I thought
you didn’t cook. Mom even warned me not to ask you for anything. She
told me to just fix my own stuff. What happened?”
“I’m glad you’re bringing this topic up early on. Okay, time for
operational details of your stay in Doha. I only cook breakfast, and it’s
usually a lot of choices, like so,” she said, indicating the plates of charred
tomatoes; boiled potatoes; yogurt with muesli flecks on top; cheese cubes
and slices; several types of shelled nuts; chopped cucumber, celery, and
green peppers; oranges, figs, and grapes; and the aforementioned eggs.
“And then it’s nothing until I order dinner in or we go out. This is like a
nibble-whenever-you’re-hungry table, like a buffet.”
“So no lunch?” My stomach rumbled in anticipatory upset. “I’m into
lunch.”
“Worry not! I stuck a sheet on the fridge with the names of local
restaurants that deliver here, plus my ordering info. Just go online and
choose your lunch when I’m at work.” She punched my arm. “I am not
going to starve you. I’ve heard teens are ravenous creatures.”
“Good, because I like to sleep in, eat a lot, and go out at night during
vacations.” I ripped French toast with my teeth to emphasize my wild
nature.
“Then you’ll love Doha. It comes alive at night, especially the souk.”
“I remember from last time. Remember I shopped so much, Mom had to
buy more luggage?” Last time I visited was when I was ten, but it was one
of my favorite trips, so I’ve held on to the memories. Auntie Nandy had

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worked in Dubai and other places in the Arabian Gulf, but she’d stayed in
Doha the longest. She said she found it a “less hectic but happening” city.
“Which brings me to operational details, part two. When I’m at work,
you can move around on your own using my Uber account.”
“What about the bus?”
“The bus system here is not the best, kiddo, but, woo-hoo, a subway is on
its way!” Auntie Nandy grinned wide suddenly, and now she looked more
like Mom—their lips thin out the same way, almost turning inward, so you
see two rows of neat teeth. “I’m so happy you’re here, Zoodles! Earlier than
your mom, I mean! We can LIVE IT UP, GIRL.”
She leaned over, punched my arm again, and then drew her hand away
for a high five.
I paused nibbling the corner of a cheese cube and fived her. “Can we go
out tonight? To the souk? Shopping?”
“Ah, no. Sorry darling. Tonight is a no. We’re going to a party.” She
fixed herself a plate with a bit of everything, but she did it in a circular way,
so that in the end it looked like a strange flower with part of an omelet as
the center. “I’m on a clean-eating regime. I want to be toxin free by the end
of summer.”
I reached for the serving plate and tore a piece off the omelet to try. Also
cold.
Auntie Nandy took her plate to the black leather sofa in the living room
adjacent to the dining area. Tucking her legs under her on the couch, she
picked up a remote and looked at me while turning on the TV. “If you want,
we can go to the souk now and then come home in time to get ready for the
party?”
“That’s okay—I’m going back to bed. It’s the middle of the night back
home. Thanks for the breakfast. I’ll heat it up and eat some more when I’m
really awake.” I stood up. “About the party . . . do I have to go? Isn’t the