Love from a to Z

parts.” Which I have done this trip, so it isn’t completely a lie.
Connor nodded. “Oh, you mean that store with the stuff to make things?
Like paint and stuff? Kind of like a hardware store?”
“Yeah, I’m trying to finish it up over spring break. The room . . . it’s
going to be amazing.”
“But what about us? Your friends, man? When’re we gonna see you?”
“Well, not this weekend, for sure.”
“What? We’re going dune bashing this weekend. You can’t miss that!”
“Oh, wait. Let me check something.” I looked back at the screen. I could
see the entirety of Hanna’s eyes now, atop Stillwater’s head. “Hey, Hanna,
are we going to the museum on Sunday? You, me, and Dad?”
She nodded. I smiled. “Nope, sorry, Connor. I’ve got plans on Sunday.
The Special Empire Rocks exhibit to see.”

---

At this affront, Hanna’s entire face emerged until her chin rested on
Stillwater, squishing his brow fur into his eyes so much, he looked like an
angry panda. “It’s not called Special Empire Rocks. It’s the Rare Jewels of
an Empire exhibit!”
“Yeah, Adam, the Rare Jewels of an Empire exhibit!” Connor stood up,
swallowing a laugh.
He disappeared into the bathroom.
He was pretty cool.
• • •
I spent the rest of the morning sitting by Connor as he gamed, answering his
questions about my diagnosis in between the intense rounds of battle
onscreen.
After the phone call with Hanna, I’d made it to his room with pretty
steady steps.
With this and Hanna’s sadness being diffused, the euphoria had returned.
I knew the doctor had said it would take a few days for the symptoms of
my attack to potentially clear, and that one or two would continue
reoccurring, even after the rounds of steroids, but I felt better.
Mostly because there was a way to deal with it.
And maybe because more people, people who weren’t strangers, knew
about it.
• • •
The nurse asked if I was comfortable before she inserted the needle for the
IV drip.
I answered yes truthfully.
Ms. Raymond has been in the same apartment for as long as she’s been in
Doha, and I’d been over to visit it with Mom many times.
Sitting in the black leather club chair, the one that was always diagonally
placed—in between the sofa and the sliding door to the balcony—was
comfortable.
On our visits, while Mom and Ms. Raymond chatted at the dining table
adjacent to the living room, I’d sit in this chair and draw in my sketchbook
or play on my PSP or read comics.
Always from this exact chair.

---

Now I relaxed into the soft leather as the needle went in.
I was grateful that Ms. Raymond had left me alone to it. I think she was
in the kitchen.
She’d said that she would be going to the gym. “I’ll give you your space.
But I’ll be back before you leave. And I promise I won’t fuss over you.”
I couldn’t believe I’d been upset to see her when I first landed in Doha.
I mean, I knew why I was.
She was completely connected to Mom, completely connected to her
disease, to her last days of life.
Seeing her had been like seeing Mom’s casket again.
“Okay, so I’m going down.” Ms. Raymond came over to the living room,
carrying plates. “I cut some fruit for you, Adam, for after, and for you, too,
Annabelle.”
The nurse nodded her thanks as Ms. Raymond set the two plates of
mangoes and strawberries on the coffee table.
After Ms. Raymond left, Annabelle settled into the corner of the sofa and
opened a paperback book. “You okay?”
“Yes, thanks.” I nodded to reassure her.
“You want to watch TV?”
“No. But thanks.” I was actually sketching. Without a sketchbook.
In my mind, I was working out the rest of the transformation of the room
I was fixing up at home. The world within a room.
The room holding the marvels and oddities of life.
When I got to the part of conjuring slices of wood to evoke blades of
grass, the front door opened.
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.