Counting Down with You(103)

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 another 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.”