Love from a to Z

Do they not look at the sky above them, how we have built it and adorned
it, and there are no rifts in it?
• • •
I brought down French fries, Mom’s French fries, for Hanna and Dad, and
we puffed up the beanbag chair as much as we could in order to use it as a
backrest for the three of us, and then we sat on the floor and leaned on it
and ate while I told them about when and how I’d made each item in the
room.
“This has been a three-year project?” Dad sounded surprised.
“Well, I didn’t know they were going to end up in the room. I just kept
making things.” I pointed at the Canada-geese mobile. “Like that I started
making last summer before I left for London.”
“And I have one of them. That’s why there’s only four geese,” Hanna
announced proudly. “I got the leader.”
“Canada geese choose one partner for life. And they show extraordinary
commitment to their mate,” Dad said, staring at the mobile. “Sometimes
they mourn their partner forever.”
“They also are super protective,” I added.
“Of their entire community,” Dad finished, maintaining his gaze on the
dangling geese.
“These fries are good but kind of soggy, too.” Hanna reached for another
ketchup pack.
“They’re exactly the way Mom used to make them,” Dad said, his voice
tinged with pride. He glanced at me quickly before glancing away just as
quickly.

---

But I didn’t let it distract me.
From telling Hanna the French fries story. Telling Dad, too.
Both of them.
Both stories: the time I thought I’d made Mom go into premature labor
by asking for fries and the time we made them together for the first time.
I shared them because I felt strong enough to bring us all together—me,
Hanna, Dad, and Mom.
• • •
Hanna brought down my guitar, and while we waited for her friend to arrive
to eat cake, I played whatever she asked me to.
It was fun, but the best was when Dad requested “Seasons in the Sun.”
I smiled at him when I finished, and he smiled back.
• • •
Dad was in on me meeting up with Zayneb, her mom, and Ms. Raymond,
so he gave me a ride to the Malaysian restaurant where they were waiting.
Hanna came along for the ride but refused to get out of the car because
the restaurant was at Souq Waqif.
She’d been on an active boycott of the market since the conditions of the
pet section had begun bothering her more than her desire to take in the
wonder of the colorful stalls.
I waved good-bye to them before following the cobblestoned main road
through the souk to the restaurant with its polished black tables spilling
onto the street.
Zayneb waved at me from a table just inside, on the restaurant’s porch,
and I smiled back at her and nodded at Ms. Raymond and the woman sitting
beside her, who sort of looked like a smaller version of Ms. Raymond, but
with a head scarf on. She wasn’t smiling much, and I felt the beginnings of
fear gnawing at me—did she already not like me? Or had she heard about
my MS?
But then I remembered that she’d just come back from dealing with
Zayneb’s grandmother’s death. She had a reason for that solemn face.
When I got to the table, she stood up, and I was immediately reminded of
Dad.

---

It’s just something he does when a guest or someone he’s been waiting
for arrives. Stand up and hold his hand to his heart before and after shaking
their hand.
Zayneb looked over at her mom saying salaam to me and slowly stood up
too.
I put my hand to my heart instinctively after greeting them.
And her mom smiled the gentlest smile, and everything in me that had
begun to tighten as I’d walked to the table—nerves, fears, worries—just
dispersed, and I sat down as my calm self.
• • •
Zayneb didn’t talk much, but as the evening wore on and her face beamed
more and more, I knew things were going to be okay.
When dessert was being served—we’d each chosen types of ice kacang,
mounds of shaved ice drizzled with various flavors and toppings—her mom
asked the dreaded question. “What are your plans for the future, Adam?”
“I’m planning on visiting family and working on a few projects before
reassessing what to focus on for my education.” I moved the ice drenched
with bean paste in my bowl, not looking up. “I may study industrial design
or even carpentry.”
“Like our father,” Zayneb’s mom said. “Back home.”
“He’s good, too, like Daddy. Did you finish the room you’ve been
working on, Adam? For Hanna’s birthday?” Ms. Raymond asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, you’re welcome to come by to see it, if you’re up to it.”
“Let’s?” Zayneb put a hand on her mom’s arm. “It’s so amazing!”
“Do you mind if I call a friend to join us?” Ms. Raymond hadn’t finished
her dessert, but she stood up, her phone in her hand, awaiting my answer.
I said sure, but I was unsure of why she was so intense all of a sudden.
“If Dad would be okay with it.”
“He’s a friend of your father’s, too, actually,” she said before walking
away from the table to use the phone.
Zayneb’s mom, Ms. Malik, smiled at me. “I can’t wait to see your work.”
• • •
I took a picture of Zayneb when she saw the room lit up. “OH WOW. There
is only one word for this. Enchanting,” she said, coming up to me to look at

---

the picture on my phone as Ms. Raymond went around with Zayneb’s mom,
looking at the details. “And you do have a thing for blues, Adam Chen. I
know it a hundred percent now.”
“Is that why you’re wearing my favorite blue hijab again today?” I took
my phone back from her and looked at the picture I’d taken. Sure enough, it
was a mix of blues in the background competing with her scarf—but not her
face, not her smile. I favorited the picture. “Because you know it’s my
thing?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe. Or maybe it was the only clean
scarf I had.”
The door to the room, ajar previously, opened wider, and a man walked
in with Dad. He was dressed in traditionally Qatari clothes, a long white
thobe and a shemagh.
I went forward to greet him, with my hand out, but he didn’t notice me.
He was looking at the room, his eyes widening.
It was the first time I saw someone looking at something I’d made the
way I looked at things I was interested in: like he wanted to take in every
single detail.

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