Counting Down with You(112)

“To visit your Dadu,” Ma says, before taking away my half-eaten roti. “I’ll wrap this. Get dressed.”

I want to protest and say I was in the middle of eating when her words register. We’re going to visit Dadu.

I still haven’t told my grandma what happened, but now I don’t think I’ll have much of a choice. I almost contemplate faking an illness to avoid this situation, but then I get a hold of myself. It’s Dadu. She’s not going to try to make my life any more miserable than it already is.

And I miss her. Maybe more than anything else.

This visit was going to come inevitably. The whole family goes to see Dadu every few weeks, to make sure she doesn’t get too lonely out there. The anniversary of her daughter’s death is approaching, and we tend to visit more frequently around then. It completely slipped my mind, and I feel horrible about it. I’m not the only person going through things.

For Dadu, I’ll brave my relatives.

I silently get dressed and pile into the car with the rest of my family. Samir gives me a concerned look, but I ignore it. Still, he sits a little closer than usual, and his warmth is a comforting weight.

My dad keeps up a steady stream of conversation the entire ride there, mostly with Samir, but I keep my earphones in. My skin is already crawling and my knee is jiggling up and down.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.

I run Ace’s playlist on a loop through my earphones.

Halfway through the drive, Samir starts texting me ridiculous memes. I snort at one despite myself, and he flashes me a thumbs-up. I smile at him briefly for attempting to cheer me up, but the texts are only a momentary distraction from my anxiety.

By the time we get to my grandma’s house, I’m concerned my heart might beat out of my chest. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down my temple. My palms are so sticky that wiping my forehead will barely help.

I greet my grandma with salaam, and there’s enough of us at first that she doesn’t seem to notice how down I am. My cousins are already there, which at least means I can go unnoticed.

Fatima catches my eye and waves me over, but I shake my head. I don’t have the energy. She frowns but lets me go with an understanding nod.

I’m slinking away to find an abandoned room when Dadu grabs my wrist, turning me toward her. “Make sure to come by my room after I’m done praying, okay, Myra? I want to know what’s new in your life.”

My smile is strained. “Okay.”

I manage to escape for an hour, sitting in a corner on my phone, but eventually one of my little cousins comes up to me, tugging on my pigtail. “Dadu wants to see you.”

With a sigh, I get to my feet and make my way to her room. Dadu prefers the comfort of her room to the large living spaces, and I can hardly blame her. My uncles are so loud, arguing over some cricket match, and my youngest cousins are running around in a frenzy. I pass my parents, who barely notice me, engrossed in conversation with one of my aunts about the upcoming election.

When I get to Dadu’s room, she’s sitting at the small table tucked beside her wardrobe, sipping a cup of chai. I sit down across from her, where there’s another cup prepared just the way I like it.

“So what’s wrong?” she asks.

We’re getting straight to the point then. I didn’t even realize she noticed I was off.

I slump in my seat. “I talked to my parents about college.”

Dadu’s face falls. “What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The night after you left.” I sip my chai to avoid answering the rest.

“And then...?”

I grimace, knowing I’ve backed myself into this corner. “I told them the truth.”

My grandma’s grip tightens on her mug. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? I thought you weren’t going to talk to them.”

“I wasn’t,” I say, keeping my gaze on my mug instead of my grandma. If I keep looking at her face, I’m going to start crying, and I’ve cried enough this week. “But they were in a good mood. I thought maybe...maybe they’d be accepting. Maybe they’d approve. I was being stupid.”

Dadu’s face hardens and she reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “You’re not stupid, Myra. What did they say?”

I close my eyes and shake my head. “I can’t—” I cut myself off, forcing myself to breathe in and out. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. “They said I was being selfish and lazy. That I was only thinking of myself and that I would get nowhere in life.”

“Myra, sweetheart,” Dadu says hesitantly, but I shake my head. I need to get this all out in one go.

“They said they were extremely disappointed in me, and that I was ungrateful for everything they’ve given me—which isn’t true. I am grateful for everything they’ve done and sacrificed, but—I wanted this one thing. That’s all.” My throat closes and I can’t say any more.

When I open my eyes, the look on Dadu’s face is pained. “They said that to you?”

I nod, swallowing against the bile rising in the back of my throat. “I’m so scared,” I whisper quietly. “I don’t know what to do, Dadu.”

“The light in your eyes has died out.” Dadu gently touches my cheek. “Myra, darling, please don’t let your parents stop you. If you want to study English, do it. Be happy.”