It All Comes Back to You

by Farah Naz Rishi

  I think of Faisal’s face in the picture I saw. I love being right as much as the next person, but this . . .

  Just what kind of drugs was he on? And what’s this felony charge? The words start to blur on the page. I’m trying to grasp what it all means, but it’s too much.

  And Leah, again. At the center of it all.

  I carefully rip the page out and shove the notebook back in the drawer. I feel sick. Is this really the kind of thing Faisal feels okay hiding from his future life partner? Why?

  Maybe ignorance really is bliss. The rumors about Faisal hadn’t even come close: this is so much worse than I thought.

  Faisal is so much worse than I thought.

  There’s a searing prickle on the back of my neck. And the smell of pine.

  I spin around, hiding the page behind my back.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Deen stands beneath the doorway. There’s no sign of his usual smile, and his eyes burn. He’s furious.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. Too quickly.

  “Nothing, huh.” Deen takes a step toward me. “Want to hear something funny? I thought a bunch of feral raccoons were trying to raze the garden outside, but—surprise—it was just my cousins. Apparently they’ve gotten the idea that there’s a jinn loose outside. Thankfully, I wrangled them off before they could do too much damage.”

  Another step. “And then I realized you’d been gone an awfully long time, far longer than any normal person should take in the bathroom.”

  I can feel the rush of blood in my veins, every cell ablaze beneath my skin. I’m wearing a shalwar kameez, which means I have no back pockets and nowhere to hide the paper.

  Deen’s going to realize I know the truth about his brother. Or at the very least, that I’ve been digging for it. And I don’t want to give him any more reason to keep an eye on me.

  The thought hits me, then. Is Deen really in on hiding his brother’s secrets from Amira, too? And a sadder thought: Would I be surprised if he was?

  A roar of shouts and claps shakes the ceiling above us. The bang of footsteps. Deen stops moving toward me and listens.

  “Deen, beta! Kiran! Come upstairs!” comes Mona’s voice from the top of the nearby stairs.

  Deen and I share a look, then walk up without a word. I crumple the page in my fist, letting Deen walk ahead of me, and tuck it into my sleeve.

  “Faisal proposed!” Mona shouts when we reach the kitchen, clapping her hands together. Behind her, Faisal is talking to Dad, face flushed, while Deen’s parents flank him with wide smiles.

  “What?” Beside me, Deen has an expression that I can’t read.

  Amira suddenly rushes me and envelops me in a hug.

  “I said yes,” she says into my hair, laughing.

  My head spins, and her voice echoes in the empty space of my mind. I hold her to me, an anchor to something real. Like it’s the last time I’ll ever hold her.

  Loading

  [CAMBRIA: THE EVOLUTION EXPANSION PACK]

  [ROANA GUILD CHAT ROOM]

  * * *

  Kasia Coribund: So marriage is a thing that people do, right?

  Devynius Foxx: Oooh, Kas . . .

  Devynius Foxx: This is awkward, but

  Devynius Foxx: I’m just not ready for commitment right now

  Kasia Coribund: Ha ha.

  Devynius Foxx: Everything all right?

  Devynius Foxx: Sounds like things have been hectic on your end.

  Kasia Coribund: To say the least.

  Kasia Coribund: I’ve just been thinking about marriage a lot recently

  Kasia Coribund: Not for myself, but for someone important to me

  Kasia Coribund: You know how I asked you how you know when you can trust someone?

  Kasia Coribund: But then I remembered the best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.

  Kasia Coribund: Except then I remembered it was Ernest Hemingway who said that, and the guy isn’t exactly number one on my list of inspirational people

  Devynius Foxx: pretty sure he shot 400 rabbits in a single day

  Devynius Foxx: just to prove he really could

  Kasia Coribund: . . . . . . there you have it

  Kasia Coribund: the thing is, people actually live like that

  Kasia Coribund: baselessly trusting people and hoping for the best.

  Kasia Coribund: And I almost envy them.

  Kasia Coribund: I wish I knew how it felt.

  Devynius Foxx: If we met in real life

  Devynius Foxx: Would you trust me?

  Kasia Coribund: . . . What?

  Devynius Foxx: Maybe trust is something you have to practice.

  Devynius Foxx: Maybe you could practice on me.

  Kasia Coribund: what are you saying Foxx, lol

  Devynius Foxx: Sorry, sorry

  Devynius Foxx: Lack of sleep is hitting me HARD

  Devynius Foxx: But for what it’s worth

  Devynius Foxx: I trust you, Kas

  Devynius Foxx: Right here, right now

  Devynius Foxx: I gotta go

  Devynius Foxx: Talk later?

  [Devynius Foxx has logged off]

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Deen

  Friday, July 2

  VINNY SLAPS MY BACK, HARD. I stumble forward. “Where you at, Malik?”

  I can barely hear him over the spine-throbbing rumble of music blasting from the speakers. It’s 1:00 a.m. and we’re at a party at some warehouse in Brooklyn. I recognize clusters of people from my classes, with a couple of international students thrown in—but since it’s the summer, it’s mostly faceless, nameless bodies moving to the bass-heavy beat, aggressively grinding their loins together like they’re trying to start a fire. On a giant sofa shaped like a pair of lips, and sitting far too close to me for my liking, at least four, maybe five people fumbling through a sloppy make-out session that’s one pair of limbs away from becoming a human centipede. In the middle of it all, someone’s set up a beer pong table; every time someone takes a shot, regardless of whether they score or miss, the horde bursts into screams that rattle my skull.

  I’m no prude, thank you very much. Tonight, though, it’s . . . a lot. I’ve found a slightly quieter, less-crowded spot by an empty coatrack near the bathrooms to take a breather.

  I wonder if Kas would ever come to a place like this. Probably not.

  “Seriously, who invited this zombie?” Vinny laughs, all good cheer.

  “You did, Vinny.”

  Tonight, Vinny’s wearing jeans and a sleeveless white T-shirt, which normally is straying into jackass territory. But Vinny just looks like a happy dude; even though he’s got booze on his breath, his cheeks are flushed, and drops of sweat glitter across his hairline. We’ve been here for almost an hour, and though I’m wilting, Vinny’s thriving like a weed. My theory’s that he’s just used to crowds, coming from that big-ass family of his single-handedly taking over Long Island.

  “You should be celebrating your brother’s engagement. Or are you still stressing over that enemy of yours?” he asks.

  “Who knows.” And by that I mean, he’s hit the nail right on the head. The guy’s weirdly perceptive about the strangest things.

  “Did you up the magic charm? I told you to dial up the charm.” Vinny, buzzing with energy, is drumming his fingers at the bar to the beat of the music. “Wait, does this person have anything to do with your brother’s engagement?”

  I stiffen. Yep. Weirdly perceptive. “Uh, maybe?”

  “Yikes. Grudges and weddings don’t mix. Trust me, I know; my aunt Jules hated the girl her best friend Mike was marrying. Needless to say, the wedding was a hot mess. I told Ma it was because she was in love with the guy, but—”

  “Anyway, you sure you don’t want to call it a night?” I say, changing the subject. “We could still celebrate. Like, at a bodega. With egg and cheese bagels.” Seriously. I’m hungry, tired, and would much rather be on Cambria, playi
ng a couple of rounds with Kas. Something to distract myself.

  But Vinny ignores me. “The point, D-Money, is that you gotta find the source of the grudge and face it head-on. The longer you ignore it, the more likely someone’s face will get bashed into a wedding cake.”

  He’s probably right. But my head’s a load of static and nothing, not even good advice, can penetrate it. I don’t even feel like drinking tonight, and it’s not because I hear the angels on my shoulders tutting and shaking their heads in divine judgment. Right now, lack of sleep is making me picture them as angelic Professor Pryces, their round-framed glasses glinting as they jot down my sins in their little leather notebooks. Deen Malik, a shit Muslim and a shit student.

  I just can’t stop thinking about Kiran.

  Seeing her last week has thrown me off my axis. Something about her just riles me up with the enthusiasm of a drunk with an egg beater. And look, I know it’s my fault for leaving things the way they were. Of course she’d be mad at me. Bitter, even.

  But trying to dig more dirt on Faisal? That’s going too far. It’s bad enough she knows about Leah. Faisal’s entitled to his privacy, to live without being bogged down by his past. I wish Kiran’d leave well enough alone.

  “No, you need a night out. You, my good man, have been tense as hell lately. And I’m not quite ready to call it quits just yet.” Vinny looks over my shoulder, into the crowd. Searching.

  Oh. “Is Amy here?”

  “I’m glad you asked. But first, here.” He shoves a glass into my hand. “I got you a drink.”

  I shake the glass, eyeing it suspiciously. Particles swirl before floating to the bottom. “What’s in it?”

  “Something to get you drunk.”

  I take a tentative sip and splutter it back out. It tastes like sugar and gasoline. “What the hell is this shit?”

  “I dunno, man, I panicked and I know you don’t like your vodka straight up, so I might have added some stevia packets I found.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Look, Amy’s over by the back. You warmed up now? I need you to play wingman tonight. Turn up the eau de Deen-ette, the social potpourri, if you catch my drift.”

  I sigh, rub my eyebrows. “Fine. Yeah. I got you.” I’m actually far from warmed up, but Vinny’s nervousness is vibrating off him in waves, and I don’t need to give the lovesick bastard a reason to be even more high-strung than he already is. I consider setting the drink down on a nearby table, full of empty and crushed red Solo cups and glass bottles, but decide against it. I’m going to need it. I follow Vinny to the back of the warehouse, shaking thoughts of Kiran out of my head.

  Amy’s on a sofa in a relatively quiet corner, drink in hand. She’s with Raquel, who’s wearing some tiny glittery gold dress ensemble; her back’s half turned to us, covered by little more than some strips of fabric and strings.

  Right. Raquel. With everything that’s been happening, I’d almost forgotten about her. But I suddenly remember the part where Vinny said she was into me. Only it doesn’t ignite the same kind of, we’ll call it excitement, in me as it normally would. Maybe the stress is getting to me. Or maybe it’s Kasia.

  “Look who it is!” Amy smiles wide, her curls bouncing when she sees us. “Our favorite pool team.”

  I shove Vinny ahead into the open seat on the sofa, next to Amy, and grab a stool to sit by Raquel. Even with the smell of sweat and booze permeating the air, I catch a whiff of her vanilla-scented shampoo.

  “Hey.” Raquel raises an eyebrow. “Why do you two look like you’re up to no good?”

  Vinny laughs nervously and takes a swig from his beer.

  “Us? No good?” I put my hand on my chest in mock indignation. “Perish the thought. We were just casually discussing how we’re gonna kick your ass in pool again.”

  Raquel laughs. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Sounds like a date.” Right. Live in the here and now, Deen. I take a long sip of my drink, trying to blur my thoughts.

  “Speaking of which,” says Vinny, “this guy’s older brother just got engaged.”

  “Oh yeah? Is that why he looks like someone died?” asks Raquel.

  My fist tightens around my drink. I’m relieved that Faisal and Amira are officially engaged now, but I can’t get rid of this nagging nervousness itching in the back of my head. I still don’t know what Kiran might have found in Faisal’s room. After Mona khala called us upstairs, she never left Amira’s side, so I didn’t have a chance to grill her. Even amid all the celebration, she was quiet. Too quiet.

  How much does she know? I have to find out. Knowing about Leah is one thing, but if she finds out about the fire—God, the stress of it all, of waiting for a potential shoe drop, is killer.

  Vinny reaches over to whack my shoulder. “Seriously, why are you so bummed? Your brother’s getting hitched! It’s going to be the wedding of the century! Seriously, his parents are loaded.” He said the last part at Amy and Raquel. “You’re going to be the Prince Harry to Faisal’s—whatever the hell the older prince of England’s name is. Which means you, Mr. Grade A, USDA-certified Hot Shit, are the one everyone’s going to be throwing their hot single daughters at.”

  I waggle my eyebrows. “Hardly necessary.”

  “Yeah, but it also means your brother can be someone else’s problem.”

  I bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Hide it all you want,” Vinny starts, “but I know when you’re staring at your phone, it’s because of him. When you get a phone call and you gotta leave the room? That ain’t a booty call—no one would look that upset.” Vinny looks at Amy. “This guy worries about his brother like you would not even believe. Probably the only person he cares about.”

  “Yeah, well.” I’m annoyed Vinny’s running his mouth so much, but he’s not exactly wrong. I throw back the rest of the drink Vinny handed me, even though it burns. “The thing about the wedding? They want me to do some kind of dance-off. Against my future sister-in-law.”

  “Is that a common thing at Pakistani weddings?” Amy asks.

  “Dance-offs? Some do it, yeah, depending on community beliefs and whatnot. Usually in groups.” Though Kiran would outshine everyone in a group without even trying. I run my hand through my hair, and I have one of those moments where I realize how hot and sticky and dark it is in here. I sigh. I guess it’s time to come clean to Vinny. “I think the more uncommon thing is my future sister-in-law also being my ex.”

  Vinny sits up. “Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. Your ex? As in, a person you formerly used to date? You never told me this.” His eyes bulge. “WAIT, is this ex the enemy in question? The one you’ve been trying to smooth things over with?”

  “Maybe. Yes.” I run my hands through my hair again. “In any case, I didn’t think it was pertinent to bring up because it was a long time ago. I was, like, fifteen.”

  “Long time ago my ass. I still haven’t gotten over my first girlfriend from day care.” Vinny looks ahead, wide-eyed, like the processor of his mind can’t keep up. “No shit, was she your first?”

  “Yeah, and it ended badly and now she hates me.”

  “What did you do to her?”

  I look away. “Uh, I might have . . . ghosted her?” God, why is it that some things sound ten times worse when said out loud?

  Raquel’s and Amy’s eyes widen in horror while Vinny’s face becomes a perfect impression of the cringe emoji.

  “I know.” I rub the back of my sticky neck. “I’m a tool.”

  “I, for one, don’t believe that for a second,” Amy offers as comfort. “You must have ghosted her for a reason, right?”

  Faisal’s gaunt face flickers in my mind. “Something like that.” Vinny shakes his head. “Damn. No wonder she hates you. That’s cold, D-Money. No offense, but I don’t know if this is the kind of problem you can smooth over.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence, buddy ol’ pal.” I clench my jaw. The thing is, he’s right. But I still have to try, fo
r Faisal’s sake.

  “Oh my God, so what,” says Raquel, “you’re going to have to dance-off at the wedding with your ex? We’re talking, like, a Bollywood-type dance thing, right?”

  Amy grins. “That could actually be kinda cute.”

  I laugh bitterly. “I don’t know about cute. Kiran’s a dance pro, which means I’ll be made to look like a dying fish on the floor in front of five hundred people. Plus, Kiran doesn’t want her sister to marry my brother. She’s practically declared war.”

  “You could always dance with her instead of against her,” says Raquel. “Choreograph something together. Then she can’t make you look bad.”

  I snort. “A single guy and girl dancing together would be too scandalous, unfortunately. Plus, she’d probably want me to look bad. To get revenge.”

  And if dinner last Sunday was any indication, by any and all means necessary.

  I know I shouldn’t panic yet; just because Kiran knows about Leah’s existence doesn’t necessarily mean she knows about everything else. But Mom meant it when she said she wouldn’t fund Faisal’s move to California if things got out. If Kiran keeps digging, losing Amira wouldn’t just be the end of a relationship. It could be the end of everything Faisal’s worked for, everything Faisal’s dreamed of. It could be the end of Faisal, and all the sacrifices he’s made to get here. How could Kiran not give him a chance, not see how important Amira is to him?

  Or maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t care.

  I grip my glass tighter. Right now, it doesn’t matter if I’m the reason why she’s doing this. Rage overtakes me like a fever. Maybe it’s the booze, but I’m suddenly pissed about everything: our parents not being there for Faisal when he needed their support most, and then threatening to take away everything if his secret gets loose, all because of their stupid obsession with appearances. And Kiran—she pisses me off, too. So freaking judgmental. Unlike me, Faisal’s been doing his best; he doesn’t deserve to be haunted by his past mistakes. He deserves to talk about it on his own terms.

  The nerve of her, looking at me the way she did when I caught her looking through Faisal’s stuff. Confused. Ashamed. And vulnerable.