“It’s not raining,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
It works because a real smile touches Ace’s lips. “A sun check?”
I smile back, glad to see his face brighten. I still have the urge to stab Xander with a pencil, but that’s neither here nor there. “Yeah. We can get a sun check. Call me tonight?”
“Of course,” he says before hesitating. “I hope you know I wouldn’t be brave enough to even consider doing this without you, lionheart. Wish me luck?”
Even now, in the middle of such a tense situation, he manages to make my stomach do cartwheels. “Always.” I lean forward to kiss his cheek. “Good luck.”
Ace’s face flushes as he pulls away. To Xander, he nods shortly. “Let’s go.”
Xander’s expression is a mix of distrust and bewilderment. When Ace walks away, he has no choice but to follow, leaving me alone.
Ace is going to face his family, and he says it’s partly because of me. I don’t know about that. Sometimes I wonder who the real lionheart is in this relationship. During moments like these, I’m almost certain it’s him.
* * *
When Ace calls me, I fall off my bed in an attempt to answer and nearly knock over the candle on my dresser.
“Are you okay, Myra?” Dadu calls from the next room over.
“I’m great!” I say and slide my thumb across my screen. Ace shows up a moment later. There’s a smile on his face that makes me want to smile, too. “Hi.”
“Hey. Are you busy?”
“Not at all,” I say, turning my phone so he can see the episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender paused on my laptop. “So what happened?”
Ace chews on his bottom lip and I stay silent, not wanting to rush him. “I talked to my mom and dad. About everything.”
“Everything...?” I wait for him to elaborate, settling more comfortably in my bed and holding him up on my pillow.
Ace nods and lies down on his own bed. Seeing him shirtless on my screen doesn’t cause me to fling my phone across the room, which is a definite improvement from last time.
I know odds are we’ll never spend a night lying next to each other without pulling some kind of reckless stunt. This has to be enough. It is enough. I love seeing him like this, warm and natural and soft.
“I told my dad how I felt about the whole Xander situation. I don’t think he realized it was that bad. He’s not...happy with me about certain things, but I’m not happy with him either, you know? But at least now he knows I wasn’t trying to leave home because of him. We both agreed to try going forward. I didn’t tell him about the college thing yet, but I’ll work up to it. I don’t want this to be a thing I did for him. It’s a me thing. I want it to stay a me thing as long as it can.”
His smile makes sense now, and it makes me happy to know things are working out for him. “That’s amazing, Ace! I’m so happy for you. I’m glad he was understanding about it. What about Xander?”
“Xander is... Xander. I think he also didn’t realize how serious it was. For him, it’s always been a competition. I don’t think he ever realized I wasn’t playing. He talked to Mom on his own, so I don’t really know what went down there, but he seemed different afterward. Better.”
“Will he relax then, do you think?”
Ace laughs. “We can hope. He’s still Xander, though. I don’t know if he can help himself.”
“Brothers,” I commiserate, but then I soften, seeing how bright his eyes are shining. “I really am so happy for you. This is everything you deserve.”
Ace’s smile stretches even wider. “God, you’re so sweet. I wish you were here, baby.”
My cheeks warm as I laugh. “I wish I was there, too.”
He tilts his head, considering me before he presses two fingers to his lips and lifts them to the camera.
I lift my eyebrows. “Are you attempting to kiss me through the phone?”
Ace shakes his head, amused. “What else am I supposed to do? I can’t exactly come over. Your grandma is great, but even she might protest me throwing rocks at your window at 11:00 p.m.”
“Not might. She would definitely protest,” I say before pressing two of my fingers against my own lips and holding them to my camera. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” he says, and he looks like he means it.
I fall asleep to the sight of his smile, but despite the happiness I feel for him, my mind can’t help straying to my parents.
Ace’s family accepted everything he told them. They sat down and tried to understand his side of things. I don’t know if that will ever be in the cards for me.
I want to be lionhearted, too. Not because of Ace, not because of my friends. I want to be a lionheart for me. I want to apply to Columbia for English and go on to have the future I’ve always wanted.
With six days left until my parents’ return, desperation claws at my chest, begging me to save myself. But I still don’t know if I have it in me to try.
43
T-MINUS 5 DAYS
Inspired by Ace, I decide to talk to Samir the next day. I don’t know what I’m going to do about my parents yet, but maybe if my brother understands what I go through, things will be a little easier around here.
After I come home from school, Ace dropping me off with a kiss to the side of my head, I knock on Samir’s door.
Wednesday is one of the rare days my brother doesn’t have an after-school activity or work at the deli, so he opens the door a second later.
“Can I talk to you?” I say, trying to push down the nerves. I can be brave. I can do this. “It’s kind of important.”
Samir furrows his brows but opens his door wider for me to come inside.
I make a face at the dirty wrappers, empty bottles, and clothes tossed around. “Astaghfirullah.” I seek forgiveness in Allah. Throwing the word around callously is probably bad, but I think only a prayer can help Samir fix this mess.
My brother rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who came to my room.”
“Right, right, sorry.” I take a seat on the one clean part of his bed. Jane Eyre sits beside me, and I run my finger along the edge nervously. “I wanted to talk about what happened the other night. With Ma and Baba.”
Samir looks at me with wide eyes. “I already said I was sorry. I helped you the other night. I thought we were good.”
“We are,” I say, licking my lips nervously. “I’m not mad at you. I just want to talk about it.”
“What about it?” Samir asks, scratching his arm as he sits down at his desk.
“I...have you noticed how differently Ma and Baba treat us?”
He blinks at me. “Just because of one time?”
“It’s not just one time.” I don’t know how he could have failed to notice it over the years. It feels so obvious to me. “It’s all the time. Part of it is because you’re a boy. They let you have all the unchecked freedom you want but don’t—won’t do the same for me. The other part is because you’re...perfect. You love math and science. You want to be an electrical engineer and go into robotics. You’re charismatic and good around others. They constantly brag about you. They always put you first. No matter what it is, they always take your side.”
Samir looks shocked. “That’s not true, Myra Apu.”
“It is,” I say, looking down and fiddling with a loose string from my pajama pants. “I’m the odd one out. I love books and reading. I care about things outside their realm of understanding. I’m shy and don’t talk to anyone I don’t already know. I constantly disappoint them. If they could have two of you, they would do it in a heartbeat. They’re so hard on me because of that. Sometimes, I can’t even breathe around them, because I’m worried they’ll tell me I’m doing it wrong.”
“Since when?” Samir asks, biting his lip. “How come I’ve never noticed?”
“Because you never
had to,” I say, trying not to let my bitterness taint the words. It’s not his fault our parents treat us differently. “I know they’re not doing it to be cruel. They just don’t...understand me. You fit perfectly into all their boxes. I don’t. I always have to watch myself for missteps, because everything I do wrong gets scrutinized. If you do something wrong, they’ll move on within five minutes. It’s just how it is.”
Samir sits there for a long moment, grappling with the information. I wait it out even as my hands start shaking. I shove them underneath my thighs to keep Samir from seeing them.
“How can you live like that?” Samir finally asks. He makes a move as if to reach for me before seeming to think better of it. “Why don’t you say something to them?”
“What good would it do? They’re not going to change because of me. At this point, all I can do is try to meet their expectations. Maybe one day they’ll be proud of me. I’ll wait until then.” Even as I’m saying the words, they sound desolate. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.
My stomach is tied into painful knots, but Samir is reacting better than I hoped. I expected more denial. Maybe a little ignorance. But he’s listening to me.
It’s a relief, even if I’m nauseated enough that I feel like running to the bathroom.
Samir shakes his head, his expression growing tight. “But that’s horrible. You’re not a puppet. You shouldn’t have to worry about every single thing you do. I’m sure Ma and Baba would understand if you told them the truth. I know they’re proud of you. Remember when you cooked biryani for the first time? Ma bragged about it to all the aunties. And every time you get straight As, Baba prints out your report card and puts it on the fridge.”
I smile weakly. “It’s nothing compared to the way they treat you. You’re blinded by their love for you.”
“Myra Apu...” Samir frowns. “How long have you felt like this?”
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, considering how honest to be. “My whole life, Samir,” I say finally. This conversation isn’t the place to lie. “It’s nothing new. I’m sorry I never talked to you about it before. I wasn’t... I wasn’t brave enough.” I swallow roughly. “But I’m trying now.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Samir says sharply. I look up with wide eyes, worried I mistook his tone of voice earlier, but then he says, “Dude, you silently lived through that without ever complaining. That’s mad brave. How could you ever think otherwise?”
My throat closes up. Those were the last words I expected from him. “I don’t quite know about that.”
“I do,” he says, unfaltering. “I’m sorry if I helped contribute to...the situation. I’ll be careful in the future, and if there’s anything I can do to help, tell me. If you need me to cover for you again or make up an excuse to get us out of the house, or you just need to, I don’t know, vent, I’ll figure it out. I don’t want you to go through this alone.”
A tear slips down my cheek and I use my sleeve to wipe it away. “Thank you, Samir.”
“Oh, don’t cry,” he says, looking disturbed. “It wasn’t that deep.”
I laugh hoarsely. There’s the brother I know. “It was definitely that deep.” I stand up and walk over to him, holding my arms out. He sighs but doesn’t move away, which I take as invitation to wrap my arms around him from behind.
“It’s no big deal.” Samir looks up at me and winces slightly. “Hey listen, I’ve got your back and all that, but uh...is this thing with Ace really worth it?”
I freeze. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, shifting his gaze to the ground. “You know Ma and Baba are never going to approve. Is this worth it? Have you really thought about it then?”
Ya Allah, if Samir is concerned about this, there’s no way I’m going to get out of this situation unscathed. I swallow down the fear coating my throat. I can’t afford to be worried about this right now. There’s nothing I can do. This is a problem for future Karina. “It is what it is,” I say. “He makes me happy. I don’t want to throw that away.”
Samir nods as if he expected that answer. “Okay. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”
I offer him a strained smile. “Trust me. I understand. I’ll worry about it when I’m in college.”
There’s a moment of layered silence, a million things left unsaid. “I’m sorry,” Samir finally says. “I’m sorry you understand.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, and I mean it. “Thank you for looking out for me, though. You have no idea how much it’s going to help, having you in my corner.”
He squeezes my arm. “Sorry I wasn’t there before.”
I close my eyes and hold on to him tighter. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Samir nods before giving me a curious look. “Does this mean you’ll help me with Leah now, too? Tit for tat or whatever?”
“Oh my God, you ruined it.” I drop my arms, but there’s a genuine smile threatening to split my lips. “You’re so annoying.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Don’t say anything. Ever,” I suggest and leave his room. The smile finally breaks free. My brother is an absolute mess, but when it matters, he listens.
* * *
My parents call that night, and I grimace at my phone. I’m on FaceTime with Ace, who’s curating his end-of-month playlist while I finish reading a new book I got from Two Stories.
“Can I call you back?” I ask, drawing his attention away from his laptop. “My parents are calling.”
Ace frowns. “Of course. Are you going to be okay?”
I huff fondly. “I’m good. Thank you for checking.”
“I only wish I could do more,” he says under his breath but raises two fingers to the camera again, his sign of a kiss.
I raise two back and answer my parents’ call. For once, my mom is smiling at me. “Myra!”
“As-salaam alaikum?” I say and it comes out like a question. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Ma gives me a strange look, like I’m weird for questioning her optimistic mood. “Your dad and I just got home from a going away party. We had to leave because he wasn’t feeling well.”
“Don’t blame me,” Baba says from off the screen. “You’re the one who threw up.”
My mom glares at him but turns back to me with a smile. Now that I’m paying attention, she definitely looks ill. “We leave so soon, it’s strange. It feels like it went by so fast.”
You have no idea, I want to say. “I know. I can’t believe you come back on Sunday. What time does your flight get in?”
“We come at night.” Her face is warm and welcoming, even though it’s slightly ashen and there are dark circles under her eyes. “I can’t wait to see you and Samir again.”
My dad comes into the shot, loosening his tie, and a smile takes over his face, too. Both of them? Maybe they’re drunk. We’re not supposed to drink alcohol because it’s haram and we’re Muslim, but I can’t think of another explanation. “Myra!”
“As-salaam alaikum,” I repeat, scratching my head. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
“It was okay,” he says, sitting next to my mom and squishing his face into the frame. Oh, he looks sick as well. I should probably be less surprised, since I also fell ill last time I went to Bangladesh. Even though visiting is always lovely, the air pollution is difficult to handle. The food also sometimes affects our stomachs, which sucks because my relatives always put so much effort into making extravagant meals that look and taste fantastic. With that in mind, I discard my drunk theory. They’re definitely being nice because they’re sick.
“I can’t wait to get home,” my mom says, rubbing her eyes. “And hug you and Samir.”
“It’s miserable here,” my dad adds, even though my mom swats him on the arm. “I’ve never missed home so much.”
God, I need to calm down.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Okay. Okay. If they’re in a good mood right now, I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Looking a gift horse in the mouth is bad practice, after all. “I’m excited to see you both again, too.”
“Mashallah, our beautiful girl,” Ma says, holding a hand to her heart. “How have you been doing? Are you eating enough? Sleeping enough? Doing all your homework?”
“Yes,” I say, trying not to fidget. “How about you guys?”
“Don’t worry about us,” Baba says. There’s a faint look of nausea on his face, but he’s clearly fighting past it. “You guys are what’s important. Is there anything specific you want from Bangladesh? Gifts or anything? Your mom already bought you a lot of clothes, but is there anything else?”
“Uh. A pillow?” I say. I definitely prefer the pillows from Bangladesh to the ones from America. They’re much more sturdy, yet still comfortable. I didn’t think I was going to be able to ask for one with the mood they were in last time we formally spoke. “If that’s okay?”
“Of course,” my mom says, laughing. “We’ll make sure to leave room in our luggage.”
My smile is painful to hold, and I keep counting backward in my head. “Thank you.”
My dad nods. “And how’s your Dadu? Samir?”
“Good and good,” I say. Tick, tock. I really don’t want to be here when they lay down the law again. “Do you want to talk to Dadu? I’ll put her on.”
Without waiting for a reply, I slip off my bed and take the phone to my grandma’s room. She raises her eyebrows at me when I hand off my phone, but she doesn’t question it.
I go back to my room and pull out my janamaz for the Isha prayer, before I falter. I sit down, staring at the patterns woven into the prayer mat, my brain whirring. I always tell everyone my parents aren’t bad people, but sometimes I forget it, too. I’m always on edge around them, trying to please them and do what will make them proud, and sometimes I forget they’re my parents and they’re supposed to look out for me. I forget they might not love me as much as Samir, but that doesn’t mean they don’t care about me at all. They wouldn’t be so invested in my success if they didn’t want me to do well.
Counting Down with You Page 29
