It All Comes Back to You

by Farah Naz Rishi

  “Texas? You’re moving to Texas?” My head spins. “What about me?”

  “You’ll be living in the dorm. It’ll be good for you to live on your own, especially your first year. Stand on your own two feet.”

  Except I don’t want to live on my own. I don’t want to stand on my own two feet. What’s the point of family if it’s so easy to dissolve one?

  “Dad,” I plead in a panicked whisper. “This is moving way too fast. If you leave, where will home be? Where am I supposed to go for the holidays? What if I get sick? What if—”

  He coughs into his hand. His skin looks pallid.

  The ball of anger in me unfurls a little. “Are you sick?”

  “No, no,” he replies, waving his hand. “Just fighting off a small cold.”

  My shoulders slump. “Okay, if—if you’re sure.” The house creaks and groans, the usual sounds of the old wood and foundation settling for the night. Downstairs, the washing machine churns water, adding to the soft hum of white noise.

  “I don’t want to give up the house,” I continue. “This is our house. We can’t just leave now. We grew up here. I don’t want other people to live here.” The idea of strangers running through these halls—our halls—feels like a violation.

  “I understand how you feel. And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier—I’ve been thinking things over for a long while now. But I think it’ll be good for us. This house—it stopped being a real home when your mom died. You know that. It’s time to move on.”

  Dad taps the space beside him, beckoning me, so I walk toward him and lean against the mattress. He takes my hand in his.

  “Where you live, where you love, where you breathe—that is where your home will be.”

  My ribs draw tight, as if someone’s pulled on their shoestrings. I don’t think Dad understands at all. Yes, we lost Mom, but isn’t that all the more reason to hold on to the house?

  Have we not lost enough?

  “This isn’t what Mom wanted,” I say, gritting my teeth.

  “Life changes, Kiran.” He closes his eyes and lets out a tired sigh. “That’s the one thing you can count on. We’ll talk about this in the morning, okay, beta? Between work and trying to coordinate with the Maliks for the wedding—I’m too tired.”

  He doesn’t open his eyes. I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, the subtle flare of his nostrils.

  I pull his phone away from him, set it gently on the bedside table.

  “Okay, Dad,” I say. “Get some rest.”

  I turn off the lights and leave him alone, closing the door behind me.

  Later that night, I sit at my desk and crack open my laptop. The screen casts an eye-aching blue glow over my bedroom.

  A cheerful ding, louder than I expect, makes me nearly jump in my seat. It’s a message notification in the guild channel.

  A message from Foxx:

  Devynius Foxx: Hey. You’re up late.

  Normally when I get a message from Foxx, my heart flickers with life and my veins tingle like they’re filled with molten gold.

  I remember the relief on Deen’s face when I shook his hand, promising to stop digging into Faisal’s past. I don’t even feel guilty about lying anymore. Tonight, I’m just numb.

  I minimize the chat box, and instead open up Facebook to Leah’s page one more time.

  Step three: Bring out the Dark Horse.

  It’s the final step in my plan to save Amira, the one I’ve been dreading the most. I’ve thought about messaging Leah a hundred times. But each time I sit down to write it, the words won’t come out. I don’t even know where to start. Would she even reply? Would I reply if I were in her shoes?

  I guess part of me was hoping it would never come to this.

  But right now, with the house and everything, I don’t care anymore. Despite the empty pit in my belly, the words spill out from me like water.

  Hi Leah,

  You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but we both know Faisal.

  This probably sounds ludicrous, but . . .

  My sister is getting married to Faisal in August and I have a couple questions. About him. Frankly, there’s some things I’m worried about and I don’t know who else to turn to.

  I was hoping we could talk.

  I press send.

  Then I throw myself into my bed, sinking deep into my plush comforter, and I pretend that the maw of the world is eating me whole.

  Chapter 23

  Deen

  Monday, August 2

  20 Days Until the Wedding

  AM I BEING PARANOID IF I suspect that Kiran was behind the whole stripper incident? I text Vinny.

  He texts back immediately; he must be out of Statistics already. Unlike me, Vinny is a good boy who does not text in class.

  If Kiran was behind it, why would Asher stop it?

  Also let’s be real, you said Kiran hates you

  So why would she hire a stripper to get back at you??

  Isn’t that more like a GIFT???

  I chuckle. He has a point. But I can’t shake off this bad feeling.

  Faisal said Amira called him to ask how the bachelor party went. He said he panicked and told her he didn’t remember much, then backtracked and said he’d eaten too much and passed out. Or something like that; he was talking too fast on the phone when he told me. The way she questioned him, though—it was like she knew about the stripper and was waiting for him to mention something. But if word got out that a stripper was there, on top of the fact that he accidentally got wasted, M&D would kill Faisal. Frankly, it’s a miracle they haven’t found out already.

  I don’t think the Kiran I know would ever have pulled a trick like that, but she has always been headstrong, and absolutely fearless. The kind of person who sways as hard as they can on a swing set just to see if they can go over the top bar—and hopes that they do. So if she really, really wanted to destroy Faisal and Amira’s relationship . . . No. I don’t want to pursue that line of thinking anymore. It only rubs my face into what I already know: that I’m at the center of it all. The jerk who ghosted her three years ago. The cause of this whole mess.

  But I got her to promise no more schemes. At least, I think she did. She had that look in her eye when we shook, one that said this wasn’t the end of the story.

  Btw, that remix you asked for is almost done

  Glad to hear you’ve dropped your pride to get jiggy with your ex in front of 500 people ;D I for one look forward to it

  I grin. Vinny, you scoundrel, I text back. Kiran doesn’t know this yet, but the song we’ve practiced to isn’t exactly the one that’s going to be playing that day.

  I let Vinny know I’ll be heading out of the library soon, and get to my sore feet. I’m at a table in the Bobst Library where I’m supposed to be studying for my upcoming finals. August is already here. Which means just a few more weeks until I’m done with summer school. And a few more weeks until the wedding. But I can’t focus on finals right now. Hell, I can barely focus on anything. Dancing with Kiran the other night proved to be a success. I took Asher’s advice; I reached out, made the first move. Now I just have to keep upping the charm factor and smoothing things over. It’s working so far. Regardless of whether she keeps her promise, at least with us spending so much time together, there’ll be less time for . . . mishaps.

  But goddamn, my legs are tired.

  I slip my phone into my pocket and start heading out to the humid death trap that is Rubin Hall.

  My phone dings again, but this time, it’s a message from Kasia in the guild chat:

  Kasia Coribund: If you could live anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?

  I’ve thought about this question for years, but I’m disappointed to announce that my answer has always been, and will always remain:

  Devynius Foxx: In my bed. In my room. In my house.

  I smile. I love that about her, about us. She’s always interrupting my day-to-day with some seemingly innocent question
that secretly has a thousand layers to it. I find myself excited to learn more about her, in ways I’ve never gotten to know anyone else before. Somehow, it teaches me more about myself, too.

  I guess . . . I guess Kiran also had that effect on me. Except the Kiran of today teaches me about myself by testing my limits. And what I learn about myself is rarely good.

  Let’s talk more about your bed, I start typing, when I nearly crash into someone around the corner of the hallway.

  There’s a flurry of folders and notebooks and textbooks that fall to the ground with a spine-jolting clatter.

  It’s Amy.

  “Hi!” she says, brushing her curls out of her freckled pink face.

  “Hey.” I look at the mess of paper around her. “Woof. Sorry about that.”

  I bend down to help her collect it all, my legs throbbing in protest. Of all the people to bump into right now.

  “It’s okay! I’m a little scatterbrained, too, lately, with finals and all.”

  “Yep, those finals.” I look away.

  “You haven’t really studied, have you?” she asks, laughing.

  I hand her back her folders. “How’d you guess?”

  She laughs again, like I’ve said the funniest thing in the world. “Raquel and I were thinking of doing a group study thing since exams are coming up. You free on Sunday?”

  “Nah,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck. “That’s when the mehndi’s happening.” I see her confused face and explain: “Er, it’s the ceremony thing that happens before a wedding. It’s like a bridal thing, but also not? It’s hard to really paint a clear picture. It’s like you have to experience it to understand what it is.”

  “Lots of wedding stuff, huh? A shame we never ended up going to that other thing you invited us to; Vinny was supposed to give us the deets but then he got sick.” Her smile wavers a little. “Well, what about Saturday?”

  “I’ll have to be heading home to help set up, make sure my brother’s not stress-eating in his bedroom—that sort of thing.”

  “How about lunch on Monday?” she asks again, undeterred.

  “Ah.” My stomach churns uncomfortably. “See, the thing about mehndis is that they usually go pretty late, so I might not even be back on campus then. The last mehndi I went to when I was a kid, back in Pakistan, lasted until three a.m.”

  “Oh.” Amy hugs her notebooks and textbooks closer to her chest. “Okay.”

  “Yeah, sorry. You know how it is,” I say automatically, even though she obviously would have no idea how it is. “But I bet Vinny’ll be free. He’s been looking for excuses to hang out with you and Raquel more”—nice, smooth—“so I’m sure he’d appreciate the invite.”

  Amy’s mouth folds, making her lower lip disappear. “Sure. Yeah. Maybe I’ll do that.”

  Has she gotten the hint? I have no way of knowing. Maybe I should just come out and tell her: Hey, so I’m not really into you that way, but do I have just the boy for you! Or is that one of those things that’s going to sound a lot worse out loud?

  Movement from the other side of the hallway snags at my line of sight, and my soul leaves my body so fast, rigor mortis would leave me standing.

  It’s Professor Pryce.

  Shit.

  Okay, so what you need to know: ever since he gave his little pep talk, I have been better about showing up to Professor Pryce’s class on time. Sort of. But between everything that’s been happening with Kiran and the hours I’ve spent talking to Faisal, making sure he’s okay, I’ve kind of fallen off the ol’ homework train. And it’s not even that I forget to do it, I just keep forgetting to bring it . . . finished.

  “I don’t understand how you can write the most brilliant essays I’ve ever seen for my class one day, and then turn in this the next,” said Professor Pryce last week, thrusting back a piece of paper with a poorly drawn cat on it and the caption, Oops, I forgot! :3

  I do realize I’m on thin ice. Trust me, I do. I just don’t need to hear about it for the hundredth time. I don’t want to hear about how disappointed he is. Even worse, I’m scared of the alternative—that I’ll see it in his eyes and his voice, that he’s given up on me.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Amy. But I’m already running.

  I dart into a darkened hallway, into a quiet row of bookshelves labeled MAPS/ATLASES that smells like the mustiness of ten centuries. Pretty sure no one’s opened any of these atlases in years, so it’s empty. The lights here are dull, practically running on a single watt. I lean against one of the bookshelves, my chest rising and falling at a frenetic pace.

  Footsteps. Getting closer.

  Closer.

  “What are you doing?” Amy’s head suddenly pokes out from behind one of the shelves.

  “Gah!” I throw my hand to my chest. “Why’d you follow me?”

  “I don’t know! I figured if you’re going to react that way, you must have seen something horrible. Like a ghost.”

  My breathing starts to slow. “No, just Professor Pryce.”

  Her face crumples with confusion. “But Professor Pryce is really nice.”

  “I’m sure he would be if I actually went to more of his classes.” I wave her closer. “Get in, get in. If he sees you, he’ll find me.”

  Amy sidles next to me into the maps section, our shoulders touching. We crouch, and she cradles her books to her chest tighter. For a moment, I think she leans into me a little more. Or maybe she’s having trouble balancing.

  “Shouldn’t you just talk to him?” Amy whispers. “Might be easier if you get it over with.”

  I swallow and train my eyes to the doorway, saying nothing. It reminds me of something Vinny said. About me and Kiran. But just talking always sounds so much easier than it actually is.

  I hear the echo of more footsteps, harder this time, the click of new, fancy, Professor Pryce–style shoes.

  I hold my breath.

  Professor Pryce walks past the doorway.

  He’s gone.

  “Holy fucking shit,” I say, letting out a sigh of relief. I lean against the book stack and close my eyes. I think I just lost ten years of my life. More, if I’m lucky.

  Amy giggles softly. “You all right?”

  “I swear, the universe is testing me,” I mutter.

  Amy goes quiet. That’s when I feel something warm against my mouth.

  My eyes open.

  Amy’s kissing me.

  I freeze, my mind on overload. What is happening? What is happening? I’m willing my hands to move, to stop her, but they’re lifeless. I don’t want this. Not like this, not with her, not while—

  Kasia. The name appears in my head like a jolt of reality.

  “Whoa.” I finally break away. “What—?”

  “Wow, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” says a voice behind me.

  I turn around, only to be greeted by Vinny, wearing a broken expression I’ve never seen on him before. His blue eyes have glazed over, cold and unfeeling. As if something behind them has shattered.

  “I was trying to come find you to warn you about Professor Pryce, but. Clearly you didn’t need help.”

  “Vinny.”

  Vinny turns to leave.

  I jump to my feet.

  “Vinny, wait.”

  Except Vinny is fast; he’s actually running—is he crying?—sprinting out of the library. I follow close behind, watching him zip straight into the road, narrowly missing a taxi, before running into Washington Square Park.

  I will my already sore legs to move faster. But Vinny’s actually in much better shape than me, and he’s pulling away.

  I hate sports, I scream in my head. I hate sports I hate sports I hate sports I hate sports. It’s a chant that gets me through the pain of my muscles burning, and slowly, surely, I catch up to him.

  Finally, I grab him by the shoulder. “Stop,” I wheeze. “Jesus, just stop.”

  To my relief, Vinny actually does.

  He looks at me, breathing hard, with a tightnes
s in his eyes that feels like a slap. I curl forward, hands on my thighs, desperately gasping to catch my breath.

  “How could you, man?” Vinny’s voice is low. “You know I like her.”

  “I know. I know.” I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and stand a little straighter. “But it’s not what you think. It’s just, she’s kind of been coming on to me, and we keep bumping into each other, and—I don’t know, maybe she got the wrong idea.”

  “How did she get the wrong idea? She knows I like her, right?”

  “I—” My shoulders slump. “I’ve hinted—”

  “It’s a simple yes or no answer.”

  I sigh. “No.” I shove my hands in my pockets; my fingers are shaking, even though I can barely feel them. “I don’t think she does. But that—what you just saw—that didn’t mean anything.”

  “I don’t know if that’s better or worse.” He rubs at his eyes and lets out an exasperated breath. “You were supposed to help me. How was that helping? In no way, shape, or form was that helping.”

  “I meant to help! But I’ve been swamped with Faisal’s wedding and stuff with Kiran—I’m trying to make sure she doesn’t ruin everything, I can’t focus on everything on once! I’ve been trying. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  Vinny laughs. “Man, I really hate this about you, D-Money. Was this really why you wanted wooing advice? I don’t get it. You’re the kind of guy who could have anything he wanted, but you don’t take any of it seriously. You could have any girl you want, but you just had to go after the one I liked. I’d say it’s because you only care about yourself, but I think even that’s a lie. The only thing you ever give a shit about is your brother. That’s a recipe for a lonely-ass life, right there.”

  “You don’t understand the situation.” Ugh, God I feel sick. “You don’t understand what we’ve been through. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Wooow.” Vinny folds his arms across his chest. “You know, all this time you’ve been talking and giving me excuses, but not once have you even said you’re sorry.”