Love from a to Z

by S. K. Ali

  She ladled vegetable curry on top of the cakes. The curry had been kept hot on burners, so when she returned the ladle to the pot, wisps of spiced steam scented the air between us.

  I took a plate and added dosa and potatoes to it. “I guess I can eat too. Energy for my door-duty shift.”

  “It looks so good.” Zayneb scooped some of the sauce with a spoon and tasted it. “And it is good.”

  We stood there for a minute not saying anything, just eating. Then she paused and looked at me. “So where are all these people my aunt wants me to meet?”

  “Mostly outside. I’ll point the way, but I gotta stay back. Committed to the doorbell.” We walked to the living room with our plates, Zayneb looking at the pictures on the stucco walls along the way, mostly single-subject photographs taken by Dad.

  She paused in front of a close-up of a bee and then glanced up at the dark wood beams running across the ceiling. “I like your house. It’s like how I imagined a Spanish villa would look. Like when you read stories where people live in pretty villas, you know? This is what I would picture.”

  I don’t know why, but when she said that, the light went back on inside me, like it had at the door.

  She was pretty open. Okay sharing what she liked.

  I felt a need to show her the best part of our house.

  “Then I think you’re going to like this.” Now that we had taken the two steps into the living room, I pointed to the left, where the three sets of arched French doors were flung open onto our large, cobblestoned patio, beyond which lay a neat lawn. Beyond that were steps leading down to a boardwalk edging the Arabian Gulf, with the white sails of small yachts and traditional dhows dotting the water along the horizon. It was my favorite scene to look out at, especially on a night like this, with stars flecking the vast dark sky.

  “That is beautiful. Oh my God.” She set her plate down on a side table and went toward the middle set of doors.

  The doorbell rang, so I put my plate beside hers and went to answer it.

  When I got back from walking the latest guests in, she and her plate were gone.

  • • •

  Dad beckoned me over to where he was standing with some guests when I stepped out on the patio, doorbell duty done. “Adam, come say hello to some new DIS teachers. This is my son, Adam.”

  I shook hands and, in between learning names, glanced around. And saw her.

  She was sitting cross-legged on one of the enormous fake white rocks that the landscapers at our residential community thought would be perfect scattered around everyone’s lawns. She held up a bubble wand while talking to my sister, Hanna. Or, most likely while Hanna was talking to her.

  “You must be so thrilled to be studying in London,” said one of the teachers I’d just met.

  I nodded.

  Zayneb blew bubbles as Hanna whacked them with a badminton racket.

  Dad looked at me. “Adam, why don’t you go talk to your friends? They’ve been asking for you since they got back last week.”

  I guess he knew my mind was somewhere else.

  I nodded and made my way to Connor, Tsetso, and a few other guys from my graduating class at Doha International School. They’d gone on to universities in different parts of the world, and most had gotten back for spring break earlier than me.

  Beyond the initial hellos and quick catch-ups, I hadn’t sat down with them yet.

  They were on lawn chairs near the steps to the boardwalk, their backs to the water, watching the guests who were playing badminton on the lawn. I joined their semicircle, sitting on the grass.

  “Adam. Right on time. Right person to tell us, who invited that guy?” Connor pointed at a kid swinging a badminton racket round and round until it hit him in the face, at which point he screamed and ran to a woman dressed in the uniform many nannies in Doha wear. After she consoled him, he went back and attacked himself with the badminton racket again.

  “I have no idea.” I laughed. “But practically everyone here is a teacher at DIS, so he must be a teacher’s kid?”

  Tsetso put his plate down on a rock next to him. “Okay, who invited that guy?” he said, nodding at a man who, while talking to a woman, was also getting a good scratch in, moving his back up and down on the trunk of one of the date palms separating our yard from a neighbor’s.

  I shook my head. “Drawing a blank. Not a teacher.”

  Connor pointed in Hanna’s direction. “And who invited her? With your sister.”

  Zayneb was still blowing bubbles for Hanna, who was now popping them with a magic wand.

  “She’s Ms. Raymond’s niece. Visiting for spring break. Zayneb. From Indiana. Sorta met her on the plane over here,” I said.

  “That lady with the dog is Ms. Raymond’s niece on spring break? That’s one old niece.” Connor laughed.

  There was an elderly woman behind Hanna, standing by herself, rubbing her nose on the head of a Chihuahua in her hands.

  Oops. I’d been looking at Zayneb. Why couldn’t I stop looking at her?

  “Remind me why you guys think this who-invited thing is fun again?” I stretched out my legs on the grass and leaned back on my elbows. The kid out to get himself with the badminton racket was at it again, so I decided to entertain myself watching the next episode.

  “ADAM!” It was coming from behind me. “CONNOR, ALL OF YOU GUYS, COME DOWN!”

  I sat up and turned to look down the steps. More students from our graduating class, on the boardwalk. I’d noticed them taking pictures of the water when I first came outside.

  “WHY?” Connor shouted, standing up. His long, plaid shorts paired with a differently plaided, scruffy shirt paired with a white boater hat over his bushy brown hair told me he hadn’t changed his crazy style after leaving for university in California. “WE’RE BUSY PLAYING ADAM’S FAVORITE GAME.”

  “Madison has the video of you guys doing If Harry Potter Went to DIS from our grad party last year.” It was Emma Phillips. I could recognize her voice anywhere.

  “YOU GUYS FOUND THAT?” Tsetso stood up. “I’m outta here.”

  The rest of the guys got up too and began bounding down the steps behind Tsetso, simultaneously trying to pull one another back to be the one to get there the fastest.

  Before he went down, Connor turned to me. “Your Zayneb? Playing with your sister? She’s coming over.”

  I watched the badminton kid go running to his nanny for the hundredth time. This time she tried to take the racket away from him. In response, he threw himself on the ground.

  “I think I met your sister. Hanna, right?” Zayneb sat on the chair Connor had just exited from. The only part of her I could see directly was her hands—left hand holding the bubble-solution container, right hand on the cap, a thin silver bracelet with a pendant dangling on her wrist.

  “Yeah. She’s super friendly.”

  “Also, a big fan of yours. I think I know everything about you.” She laughed and began opening the bubble container. “But don’t worry—I pretended to act surprised when she told me about the blue stone you got her for her rock collection.”

  Maybe it was looking up at her and seeing the remnants of her secret smile before she blew more bubbles that made me blurt out, “Do you want to come see the water?”

  Or it could have been how her scarf blended into the darkness of the sky behind her so only her profile was lit up, surrounded by bubbles and stars.

  Or maybe I just needed to stop.

  Stop projecting more meaning into her than she deserves.

  “Sure. Your friends are down there, right?” She stood up, screwing the bubble cap back on. “I’m pretty sure on the way home Auntie Nandy’s going to ask who I met here. I can’t tell her that I met a ten-year-old girl named Hanna. So I better meet some other people.”

  I nodded and let her go ahead of me on the steps.

  “Adam.” As soon as we stepped off, Emma—Emma Domingo, as there were three Emmas in our class—waved me over. “Come see yourself pretendin
g to be Lupin.”

  Zayneb hung back to let me go ahead. I hesitated, not sure if I should lead her to everyone periodically breaking into howls of laughter in unison, clustered around Madison’s phone.

  Or if I should lead her to the best place to see the moon above the water.

  Then I remembered she wanted to meet people, so I led her to them.

  I was pretty certain they’d love her.

  ODDITY: HOGWARTS HOUSES OR HOW EVERYONE SEEMS TO WANT TO BE GRYFFINDOR

  They did love Zayneb, enough to give her their social media stuff. And tell her their Hogwarts houses.

  She said she was mostly Gryffindor but also a bit Slytherin.

  “You’re Harry Potter!” Emma—Emma Zhang—said. “He was part Gryffindor and part Slytherin.”

  And that just made everyone talk about who among us was really Gryffindor. Brave. Inspiring. Remarkable.

  That got me quiet.

  I may be the most un-Gryffindor person there is in existence.

  Like, I’m lying here in bed after the party, proud that I passed a full day at home without once thinking about how I have to tell my father about my multiple sclerosis.

  There should be an un-Hogwarts Hogwarts house, one that doesn’t have any traits attached. Like bravery or wit or loyalty or cunning.

  A house for people who just want to appreciate the good things in life—the marvels, simple and extraordinary.

  Which reminds me: I didn’t tell Zayneb that we have the same journals. I never got the chance to.

  Maybe I’ll wait for her to bring it up somehow. When we next meet.

  I’m going to see her again. Zayneb.

  Tomorrow.

  I made sure of it.

  Because, yeah, I’m counting, and today was impression number two.

  I have to get to a fourth.

  ZAYNEB

  SATURDAY, MARCH 9

  ODDITY: UNPREDICTABLE CREATURES

  EXHIBIT A: THE THREE EMMAS I met yesterday.

  Emma Zhang, Emma Domingo, and Emma Phillips. Black straight hair with short bangs, dark brown curly hair with no bangs, and reddish-brown wavy hair with long bangs.

  The three Emmas were different from one another but strangely similar, too. They had clear skin and lengthy limbs. Even the shortest one, Emma Domingo, had long limbs on her petite frame. How?

  They were also similar in mannerisms. Getting excited at the same things and then, just like that, without a glance at the others, becoming suddenly subdued in unison.

  It was hard to know when the switch would occur, so I’d decided to observe carefully, without once getting excited. (I, myself, have a tendency to get easily excited about everything, so with this type of crowd, I stand out.) I figured if I played it cool the whole time, I could learn what got them abuzz. (And then I could disappear into them, peacefully.)

  I learned it was mostly their favorite movies and games, online and in real life.

  The Emmas weren’t the only ones like this. Most of the “young people” Auntie Nandy thought I should meet at the party were the same. Like they had an unwritten code organizing them.

  Maybe it was an international-school thing.

  I was getting into their rhythm, laughing along, sharing along, and shutting-up along, until the girl finding and sharing videos on her phone, Madison, paused a clip and said, “Amazing. I’m so glad I saw this again. I need to bring the whole outfit back to college with me. Connor and I got Coachella tickets, guys, and I’m rocking this, even though it’s fake-shit DIY.”

  She passed her phone to Emma Phillips, who hooted on sighting whatever it was and passed it to Emma Domingo, who did a cringe-smile and passed it to Emma Zhang, who said, “WHAT? Oh God, that’s so Coachella but also . . . DON’T, Madison,” before passing it to me.

  My anticipatory smile fell.

  In the frozen video clip, Madison had on a headdress—a handmade one by the looks of it—with big feathers arranged in layers and a long train of feathers falling over one shoulder onto a see-through black shirt, under which she wore a colorful, beaded tank top. Her cheeks were vividly marked with makeup in an attempt to replicate face paint. I frowned. “Um, are you indigenous?”

  I’d heard a slight Australian accent whenever she spoke, but I couldn’t assume she didn’t have an indigenous background. A North American one, I mean.

  Emma Domingo shook her head at me and whispered, “She’s not Native American.”

  “I made that myself. With expensive feathers my dad brought me back from a business trip. And it took me two entire-ass weeks. Remember, guys, for our fake Coachella party?” Madison took the phone back and smiled. “Connor, how cool would this look when we’re at the real thing, huh?”

  She passed the phone to a guy with clothes that screamed I want to be noticed in the worst possible way. They actually looked like brother and sister, this guy and Madison, with similar coloring—skin and hair. Except his hair was a bushy brown, and hers was a thin, stringy brown.

  Something about the way he laughed when he saw the outfit enraged me.

  I swallowed my anger, remembering this was my first day with these people.

  But then . . . maybe I’ll never see them again.

  “I mean, are you of native background. Like, is that part of your culture, or . . .” I paused, cautioning myself, Remember—you came here in peace. But the three Emmas were waiting for me to finish speaking, even though Madison ignored me, leaning back into another guy, who immediately draped both his arms across her shoulders. “Were you using someone else’s culture to have fun? Because you know it’s sacred, right?”

  If I had been back home, I would have added more to this and been spicier, been louder, but here, surrounded by people I didn’t know, in an attempt not to rock boats, I said it like I was talking to a fragile, elderly person I’d been ordered to show respect to.

  Kavi wouldn’t have recognized me. Ayaan would have given me a long, hard look.

  All it did here, my lukewarm tackling of Madison, was get me further ignored.

  Madison took her phone back from Connor, closed the video, and flicked at her screen. Snuggling into the guy behind her, she held it up and snapped a picture of them both.

  I looked at the Emmas. Emma Zhang widened her eyes at me and then called me over to her, and Emma Domingo looped her arm through mine. Then, like nothing had happened, the Emmas and I took pictures together with our backs to the water.

  I’d melted into them.

  It was the weirdest thing, and a part of my brain had a thought, as I smiled and shifted poses serenely for Emma Phillips’s phone: If this is what peace feels like, I need to take a crash course in learning to like it more.

  Because I just wanted to yank Madison’s phone from her, superglue her to a chair, and force her to watch the longest video on cultural appropriation. And a marathon of videos on the more than five hundred tribes living on the land Coachella takes place on. And a video on . . .

  • • •

  Only Adam, the guy from the plane, wasn’t completely in sync with the crowd around him. He was quiet mostly.

  I didn’t even know where he was when I feebly tried to take Madison on.

  The only time he spoke up a bit was when we were talking about where we’d been in the world, and Connor, who seemed to like the limelight, started a chart on his phone to see which continent had the most visits from all of us.

  To record our answers, he barked names out one by one like he was a teacher. And funnily enough, he said Zayneb properly when his eyes landed on me.

  Geesh, I don’t even know how I let this simple thing—him saying Zay-nub, my name—immediately earn him a sliver of respect from me. I duly listed the four continents I’d visited, like a good li’l student.

  Emma Domingo has been to every single continent except for Antarctica. She’s also visited her father’s “ancestral homeland,” as Connor put it, the most, having been to the Philippines twenty-four times.

  Adam is the one who’
s been to the least amount of places.

  Other than Doha, he’s only been to Canada, where he’s originally from, two school trips to Belgium and France, and then England for college.

  “So you’re the only one who hasn’t visited your parents’ country of origin?” Connor asked.

  “Well, I have. Because my parents are Canadian,” Adam said.

  “I know your mom was. But your dad is originally from China.” Connor lowered his phone.

  “My dad’s grandparents are originally from China. Like how my mom’s grandparents are originally from Finland.” Adam shrugged. “And, yeah, I do plan on visiting China and Finland one day. And the rest of the world.”

  After that, he hung back, observing, smiling sometimes, and looking at the water and the night sky at other times. Not talking much.

  Except when we were leaving and he walked Auntie Nandy and me to the door and suddenly asked me if I wanted to volunteer with him on Sunday at Hanna’s class at DIS. They were going on a field trip to an animal sanctuary outside Doha.

  So he, too, was unpredictable. Maybe. Kind of?

  I said yes. Even though I’m not into animals, except for whatever animal Squish ended up being.

  I said yes, because I wanted to be around him more.

  • • •

  It was almost five in the morning here in Doha, after Fajr prayer on Saturday, but I looked through the pictures on my phone from last night to find him.

  I knew there was at least one shot from yesterday that Adam had ended up in inadvertently.

  There it was. There he was. In the background behind us, the Emmas and me. He was standing with his back to the fence skirting the water.

  An angular face with the trace of a sad smile. Eyes that could faze with their gaze, so carefully did they look at things.

  And yes, like I thought, he had those eyes turned to the sky again.

  • • •

  This Is What You Missed, Bulletin II by Kavi Srinivasan, filed as FYI for Zayneb Malik: