Counting Down with You

by Tashie Bhuiyan

  Uh.

  I glance at Ace, but he’s in the middle of talking to his father. I press my lips together and force myself to take a deep breath.

  It’s just Spade.

  I reach down and gently scratch behind his ears. Spade barks excitedly and presses closer. I can’t help but laugh and scratch again.

  When I look up, Ace is watching me with a crooked grin. I return it.

  I continue eating my food. Occasionally I see Xander looking at Ace as if he’s seeing his brother for the first time. It might be because Ace keeps poking and prodding at me with his fork, but I think it’s because of the bright smile on Ace’s face. It’s nothing new to me, but it seems like it’s new to Xander—and new to Ace’s father, too.

  They’re truly trying, and it fills me with a strange sense of hope.

  * * *

  We end up in Ace’s room, and I toy with one of the stars hanging from his ceiling, lost in thought. Seeing Ace with his family was unexpectedly heartwarming, but it also stirred something uncomfortable in me, especially after my conversation with Miss Cannon. Could I ever have something like that?

  I just don’t know.

  “Karina.”

  I look away from the star to see Ace sitting on his bed. “Yeah?”

  “Sit with me for a second.” He pats the spot next to him. “I want to talk to you.”

  My brows pull together. His tone is serious. “Okay.” I sit down facing him and cross my legs pretzel style.

  “Your parents come back this weekend, right?” Ace asks, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s going to happen then?”

  I tense, not having expected that. I should have. I just met his parents. It’s natural he would ask about mine.

  “With us?” I say, biting my lip. This is a hard question, because I don’t know how he’s going to take my answer. “I want to stay together. That’s not even a question at this point. But it’s not going to be...easy. For either of us.”

  A wrinkle forms between Ace’s brows. “What does that mean? You said it before, too. You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

  I sigh. I was hoping to avoid this conversation for as long as possible, but now that it’s here, I can’t give him false promises. The only way for this—for us—to work is to keep it a secret as long as possible. He deserves to know that, too.

  “My family isn’t like other families. I need you to know that. You saw as much during our date...but this isn’t a temporary thing. This is the way it’s always going to be. We can never tell them we’re together. If we do, they’ll fight us at every step. They’ll see you as a distraction from school, and it doesn’t help that you’re white. They’re never going to accept you.” I fiddle with my sleeve, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t want them to take drastic measures.”

  “Drastic measures?” he repeats quietly.

  My bottom lip quivers. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I never want you to think I’m embarrassed of you or ashamed to be with you or anything like that, but I can’t ever tell them. You’re never going to be able to have the experience that I’m having right now, where you get to sit and eat with them. They’ll never make us pose for prom pictures. They’ll never clap you on the back or joke around with you. Just...all of it. They’ll never approve, and they’ll never allow it.”

  Ace’s frown becomes deeper. “They’d be that upset you’re dating me?”

  “Yeah. That’s just how they are.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, I add, “Knowing them, they’ll probably start looking for potential husbands when I graduate from college. Maybe we can drop the bomb on them then and run off into the sunset.”

  Ace tilts my chin up. “Like an arranged marriage? They’d force you to do that?”

  I shrug, even though my skin is crawling from just discussing this topic. “Not exactly. They wouldn’t force me. But deeply encourage me? Probably.”

  His eyes are sad. “Is that—is that what you want?”

  “What?” I ask, lips parting. “No, of course not.”

  “How can you talk about this so lightly then?” Ace asks, letting go of me to run his hand through his hair in a quick, agitated movement. He’s clearly frustrated, and I don’t know how to make it better. “I don’t understand, Karina. You don’t have to tell your parents about us if you don’t want to, but is it your choice? Is any of it? First your major, now your relationships? What’s next? When does it end? Maybe it’s not my place to ask, and I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but I just... I want you to be happy.”

  I understand where he’s coming from, but it doesn’t make it any easier to have this conversation. “They’re not choosing for me. They’re just worried about my future,” I say, but the words are empty. “And I—I can’t disappoint them.”

  “Why not?” His gaze is beseeching.

  I blink. How do I answer that? “They’re my parents, Ace.”

  He sighs. “I know, Karina. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “They’re my parents,” I repeat, not knowing what else to say. “I can’t let them down.”

  “What’s going to happen if you do? Would they stop caring about you? Stop loving you?”

  “Maybe!” I bite my tongue. I didn’t mean to say that.

  Ace looks at me in surprise. “Is that true? Would they stop loving you because you’re not who they want you to be?”

  “I—I don’t know,” I say, my breaths coming faster. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...

  He scrubs a hand over his face. “Listen, I don’t care about telling your parents about us. I don’t care if they never know. As long as you want to be together, that’s enough for me. We respect each other’s lines, right? But what about you? You have to hide so much of yourself from your parents. Do they even know who you are?”

  “They know enough,” I say, swallowing painfully.

  “Do they?” he asks lightly. “I’m asking genuinely. It’s your life, not mine. I’ll never ask you to do something you don’t want to do. That’s not my place. But is this enough for you? Is it enough to have their love, even if it means hiding who you really are? You’re their daughter, Karina. You shouldn’t have to change yourself to make them happy. If their love comes with terms and conditions, what’s the point?”

  “They’re my parents.” My voice cracks miserably. “I can’t—I can’t...”

  Ace reaches for me, but I move back unthinkingly.

  “Karina,” he says, his own voice pained. “I want you to be happy. I want you to want yourself to be happy.”

  “I am happy.” I blink back tears. “But I’d be happier if I made them proud.”

  “You make me proud,” he says softly. “You make Nandini and Cora proud. You make Miss Cannon proud. You make your Dadu proud. Can’t that be enough?”

  I heave on a sob. It’s not enough. It’s not enough, and I wish so badly that it was.

  Ace reaches for me again but falters halfway. “Can I please touch you?”

  Another sob tears its way out of my throat, and I nod. I need something to ground me.

  He wraps his arms around me, and I bury my head in his chest, crying. I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I wish it was enough to have other people look at me with pride. I wish I didn’t feel like I owe this gigantic debt to my parents and the only way to ever pay it back is to succeed in their eyes.

  “I hate seeing you so miserable,” Ace murmurs into my hair. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I know there are no easy answers, but I’m worried about you. I don’t know how much longer you can do this before you burn out, Karina.”

  I wish I had the breath to reply that I’ve already burned out. The fire he sees inside me is actually just the ember that remains from a once-roaring inferno.

  Ace holds me closer, stroking my hair with one hand and wrapping the other around the back of m
y neck, squeezing gently. “Breathe with me. Come on.”

  His chest moves under my head as he takes deep breaths in and out, and I try to copy him until my own breathing evens out. Tears still spill down my cheeks, saltwater stinging my tongue.

  “Hey,” Ace says, leaning back so he can cup my face. His thumbs brush across my cheeks, wiping the tear tracks. “You deserve to be happy, Karina Ahmed. Your life shouldn’t be about making other people happy at your expense. Please believe that.”

  “I wish I could,” I say, sniffling. I still feel the urge to rip out my heart and throw it somewhere far, far away, where it can’t bother me anymore, but I’m calmer. Ace is right in that I have to make a decision about my future career in two days. The question of which one to choose haunts my every waking moment. “But it’s easier said than done.”

  Ace’s eyes are sad. “I know. This entire situation is the worst. But if anyone can find a way to come out of it on the other side, it’s you. My lionheart. It’s always going to be your decision, but I hope you know I believe in you more than anything.”

  I close my eyes and lean into his touch, trying to soak in his warmth. “I wish I was as brave as you think I am.”

  I am not a spark. I am not a blaze. I am not an inferno.

  “You are,” Ace says, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “You are.”

  47

  T-MINUS 1 DAY

  One day.

  T-1.

  My parents come back tomorrow. Everything is going to change. It’s back to constant supervision and intense lectures and watchful gazes I can never fully shake, even when I’m out of their sight.

  It means goodbye to my dates with Ace, goodbye to having Dadu around, goodbye to my newfound happiness.

  Goodbye to the indecision that plagues me constantly.

  My motions are slow today. I wake up and brush my teeth. I eat breakfast and watch Dadu read the newspaper. I kneel on a janamaz and pray to Allah to help me find an answer. I lie down with a book in the living room but end up watching Samir play video games. I sit outside on the porch and attempt to do homework, all to no avail.

  Ace texts me, more than once, telling me he misses me. My eyes burn when I read the messages, but my mind is somewhere else, fixated on a singular, terrifying thought. Should I defy my parents? Should I tell them I want to study English?

  The idea has infested my mind like a disease. This past month has changed me. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones, something deeper than words can explain.

  I’m different.

  But I don’t know if I’m braver.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  “Dadu,” I say. I’m sitting in her room as she packs for her departure tomorrow. Just thinking about it fills me with dread. “Do you think I’m a coward if I don’t tell my parents the truth?”

  She stops folding a saree midway and her fingers clench around the material. “Of course not. Did someone tell you that?”

  In that moment, I’m certain if someone had called me a coward—an auntie or a cousin or a random person on the street—Dadu would hunt them to the ends of the earth.

  I wish that helped. I wish there was someone to blame.

  “No,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But I feel like I’ll be one. It shouldn’t be this hard to tell them I want to be an English major.”

  “No one has lived your life, Myra,” Dadu says. She loosens her grip and touches my hand. “So no one can pass judgment on you for your decisions.”

  “I’ve lived my life and I can pass judgment on myself. I—I want to tell them so badly, but I’m afraid of disappointing them. I’m afraid they’ll say no. Then what will I have?”

  Even the thought of them saying no feels like it’s going to kill me.

  “You will have your heart,” she says fervently. “Don’t let the fear of disappointing them stop you from living your fullest life.”

  “It’s terrifying,” I whisper.

  Dadu sighs and sets her saree down to sit next to me. “I know. And you don’t have to do it. If you do, do it because you want to. Not because other people are telling you to. Not because you want to make someone else happy. Whatever you decide, make sure it’s your choice.”

  “What if my choice is wrong?” I ask. My voice is small.

  “It won’t be,” Dadu says, wrapping her arms around my shoulder. “No matter what choice you make, it will be right because it’s yours. And if, down the line, you change your mind, that’s okay, too. No matter what, I will be proud of you and I will support you, Myra.”

  I stare at her face, earnest and warm, and look away in shame. In the end, even Dadu’s support isn’t enough. I love her so much, but I don’t see how she can stand against my parents. I don’t see how anyone can.

  I know my choice. It’s not one I’m proud of.

  In the end, I will always care more about making my parents proud than my own happiness, no matter how much I wish I didn’t.

  If they want me to be a doctor, I will be. Their expectations have shaped me too much for me to disappoint them in this. I can’t do it. I don’t have the strength.

  48

  T-PLUS 0 DAYS

  My mom hugs me when she arrives. It’s nice but so unbelievably strange.

  She still smells like roses and citrus shampoo but also like jasmine. In Bangladesh, there’s a garden in my grandparents’ backyard with jasmine shrubs. It seems she brought the scent with her. I’m wistful for half a moment, wishing I’d gone to Bangladesh with them.

  “We missed you so much,” Ma says, squeezing me in her arms and peppering me with kisses. I grimace at the amount of lipstick she probably just smeared across my face. Then her words register and my mouth falls slack. They missed me?

  “It’s great to see you again, Myra,” Baba says, patting me on the shoulder. “How was the ride here?”

  “The Uber driver had nice music,” I say, unsure how else to answer. Having my parents greet me warmly has thrown me into a state of confusion. Samir is smiling as if this unprecedented change makes sense when it doesn’t. “How was Bangladesh?”

  “Good,” my dad says, and then begins speaking to my grandma in quiet murmurs. Dadu isn’t coming home with us. Uncle Mustafa is already here to pick her up and take her back to New Jersey. My stomach twists at the thought of not seeing her for weeks when I’ve become used to seeing her every day.

  “We went to a mela almost every week, and we got to see a lot of our relatives. So many of them sent back gifts for you and Samir,” my mom says, gesturing to their luggage before coughing into her sleeve, clearly still sick. “We also went for fancy dinners and visited carnivals. Also your little cousins said hello. I have videos of them to show you.”

  “Your mom did lots of shopping,” my dad adds, rolling his eyes. He’s not much better off than my mom, judging from his pallor. He’s more pale than when he left, which is the opposite of what should happen when going to Bangladesh. “Half our luggage weight is just the things she bought.”

  “It’s less expensive over there,” Ma says, sniffing. She takes a tissue from her bag and wipes her nose. “Both of them needed new clothes anyway.”

  “I’m just glad to be home,” Baba says, wrapping an arm around Samir’s shoulders. “No more shopping for your mother, and finally some rest for me.”

  “But we’re going bowling this weekend, right?” Samir asks, nudging my dad.

  Baba makes a face. “Maybe next weekend. I don’t think I’m quite up to it yet.”

  “I, for one, can’t wait to go home and sleep,” my mom says, fanning herself. “And have some decent medicine.”

  Samir laughs. “You just need a good dose of NyQuil, Ma.”

  She nods in agreement. “That’s exactly what I need. That and my two kids.”

  Without warning, she pulls us both into anoth
er hug. I blink at Dadu over my mom’s shoulder, and she only shakes her head, looking equally mystified.

  My parents are being too nice. It’s uncomfortable. There’s a weird tension in my gut, my muscles strung tight.

  “What’s wrong with them?” I whisper to my grandma as we head for the parking lot, where my uncle is waiting to pick her up.

  She nudges me. “Maybe they had a change of heart. Being sick on vacation is never fun. Perhaps it made them grateful for the finer things in life. Life lessons come when you least expect them, trust me. Dada and I learned many in surprising places.”

  “I can only hope,” I say, watching my parents poke at Samir’s ribs, complaining he’s barely eaten since they left.

  As we enter the lot, a wave of sadness strikes me. It’s time to say goodbye.

  Dadu says farewell to Samir first, hugging him and ruffling his hair, telling him to take care of himself.

  Then it’s my turn.

  “Myra,” Dadu says, gently cupping my face. “I’m so proud of you. In this last month alone, I’ve watched you grow incredible amounts. I’m going to miss you so much. Please be kind to yourself when I’m gone, and call me if you need anything. I’m always here for you.”

  “Get a cell phone so I can text you,” I joke, even though my heart is heavy. I don’t want her to go.

  She nods seriously. “I’ll look into that with your uncle. Until then, you can always call my home phone. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I hug her tightly. “Thank you for everything, Dadu. I’ll miss you.”

  Please don’t go, I want to say. Please stay forever.

  But there’s no stopping this. It’s inevitable, like most things in my life.

  Before I know it, Dadu is gone, waving from a window as my uncle’s car drives away.

  I miss her already.

  “Oh, don’t look so sad, Myra.” Baba squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll visit her again soon and now you have us back.”

  “Yeah,” I say. But how long will this last? How long until I become the daughter that constantly disappoints you again?