Love from a to Z

ZAYNEB
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20
MARVEL:
ADAM . . . I MEAN, WATER
A
UNTIE
N
ANDY AND
I 
WENT
for a swim first thing today. We swam laps together and
took turns rating each other’s dives, and then Auntie Nandy left for the
changing room so she could go up to the apartment and put together her
essential breakfast spread.
I flipped onto my back and relaxed for a bit.
My eyes were closed as I relived the moments on the beach yesterday, a
goofy smile on my face—Adam and I feel the exact same about each other,
and we admitted it!—when I got touched on the arm.
I opened my eyes and lifted my head to a déjà vu. It was the woman in
the white swim cap and swimsuit from my first time in the pool, trying to
get my attention again. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you again. But my
husband is trying to talk to you.”
Pulling myself up in order to see and clear my ears properly, I turned to
where she was pointing. It was the same bobbing man who’d tattled on me
before to the gym attendant, Marc. He was standing by the pool stairs,
hands hanging by his sides, shorts again hitched under his stomach.
Her husband?
I looked at her. “Your husband?”
“Yeah.” She nodded sheepishly then yelled at him. “Now what is it? I got
her attention.”
“Excuse me, but I thought Marc told you the rules of swimming here.”
The man’s arms raised into I’m-the-boss wings as he placed both hands on
his hips. He looked like an angry bird.
“We realize you may be a guest here, but there are rules at this complex,
dear,” the woman beside me said sympathetically, like a granny. Like an

---

I’m-the-boss granny.
I almost lost it.
But I thought again about being on the beach yesterday.
Of sitting there in the night and the hot karak and coolness of the breeze
off the water. Of Adam, when he said he liked the water a lot.
It made me remember something: I liked me too.
And I liked the things I liked to do, like swimming.
“I’m not breaking any rules.” I spoke loudly so the man could hear. “To
wear extra swim fabric is not breaking any rules.”
“As we told you before, it’s not proper swimwear,” the man insisted, a
scowl starting. He crossed his arms for emphasis, like a terrible cartoon.
Because I’m the boss, and I say so!
His wife patted my shoulder. “My husband just likes things the way
they’ve been. We’ve lived here for four years. No one’s dressed like you
before.”
I drew myself away from her pretend niceness. “Excuse me, but I’d like
to swim in peace now.”
The man turned and headed toward the door.
“Oh no, he’s going for Marc again.” The woman tut-tutted, watching him
leave. “I’m so worried what this does to his heart. Getting upset like that.
He’s so sensitive; I don’t want him to get sick.”
I stared at her. “Excuse me, but did you ever think what it does to our
hearts? To be continuously told that how we choose to be is wrong? Like,
why can’t I just swim here in peace? Why do the clothes I have on my body
hurt your husband’s heart?”
She didn’t say anything, but I could see from her eyes enlarging that the
wheels were working up there in her brain.
From a distance, I went on. Not to get her to see it my way, but to help
her brain out. “I’m sick of running into this so much. I’m the one heartsick,
okay? Me and my sisters, my people.”
She pursed her lips, so I ended with my last offer for her brain’s
expansion. “And you know what? I’m not going to let your prejudice, your
outrage, or fake kindness, either, change one bit of me, of how I look, of
who I am. Your resistance to my existence is futile, okay?”
I floated away from her.
I floated and floated, with my eyes closed, thinking of the water lapping
the beach yesterday, the twinkling boat lights, and Adam.

---

When I decided I was done chilling, I left the empty pool.
• • •
After showering, as I sat with one white towel round my body and another
round my head, drying in the changing room, I sent Adam the MS forum
links I’d found.
He replied with thanks and see you soon followed by two wave emojis.
I smiled to myself.
To check whether the links I’d passed him worked right, I clicked on the
first one. It led me to the MS chat subforum of a group chat site.
It was a site I hadn’t heard of until I’d done the search for Adam: Nest. I
clicked around and saw that it was neatly organized into closed or open
forums. I entered an open forum called CollegeDirt and scrolled the
postings discussing the merits of different colleges.
I entered U of Chicago in the search and read the comments a bit until I
stopped at a post by someone named SugarWraith.
Which reminded me of Fencer.
Fencer had used the online alias @StoneWraith14.
I searched this name in the forum and came up empty.
I methodically clicked each of the forum sites I’d sent Adam, skipping
the obviously medical ones, looking for evidence of @StoneWraith14.
Nothing turned up.
But I wasn’t done checking.
• • •
I pulled a black abaya on, wrapped a scarf loosely on my head, and swung
my gym sackpack over both my arms before exiting the changing room,
planning on getting properly and thoroughly and amazingly dressed upstairs
in the apartment.
Because today was special.
On the way home yesterday from Katara, while we walked to the parking
lot, Adam had told Auntie Nandy and me about the room he’d been fixing
downstairs at his house. He wanted it to be done in time for Hanna’s
birthday as a surprise for her.
“But I haven’t been able to go down there and really work on it. I was in
the middle of painting it when I got the attack.” He nodded at Auntie

---

Nandy. “And, as you know, I lost a few days from that.”
“I’ll come over and help you paint,” Auntie Nandy said. “I’m quite a pro
at it.”
Adam had considered for a few seconds then looked over at me. “If
Zayneb comes too, then I’m in.”
I watched Hanna, who’d skipped ahead with her dad and was now
“tightrope” walking on the concrete bumpers edging the parking lot. “I will,
but on the condition that Hanna doesn’t know we’re there, and she doesn’t
see it until we’re done. So that she can be completely surprised.”
“Deal. I’ll just get my dad involved.”
Then we’d smiled to seal it, and so today Auntie Nandy and I were going
over there right after breakfast.
Right now, as I walked out of the gym, I was in la-la land, thinking of
that smile between us.
Marc stood up when I reached the gym reception area. “Hi. Just to tell
you, we’ve had another complaint about your swimwear.”
“You mean the same complaint.” I didn’t stop to look at him but only
turned when I got to the doors, only to show him I wasn’t fazed by him.
“I’d appreciate it if there weren’t any disruptions here.”
“And I’d appreciate it if you’d make sure I get to swim in peace like
everyone else. Ciao.”
I went out into the courtyard but paused right outside the glass double
doors.
Then I lifted my arms to let the air blow through the billowy sleeves of
the abaya.
To let Marc see that I was free of him and his interference in my freedom.
• • •
Adam had everything prepped for us: three paint trays housing paint and
rollers, small brushes lying on top of closed paint cans ready for edge work,
and a ladder, its legs split apart, at attention.
Even though I knew I’d be painting, I’d dressed well.
I had on jeans and a white-and-navy-blue-striped button-down shirt with
a navy-blue hijab worn trim around my face.
As soon as Adam had seen me at the front door, his eyes had lit up.

---

As Auntie Nandy climbed the ladder to finish the ceiling edges, her
wireless headphones on, and he and I began loading our rollers to finish the
walls, he said, “Psst, a question in the series I Need to Know Everything
About You, Volume One: Do you always wear blue hijabs? Like a shade of
blue?”
“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