Counting Down with You(114)

“Ammu...”

“Don’t ‘Ammu’ me,” she says to Baba. “Tell me you understand. If for some reason you don’t understand, I’ll pack my bags and come home with you and Farah so you can also live with a parent that shames you for your choices. Is that what you want? I can start packing now.”

“Ya Allah, Ammu,” my dad says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

Dadu shakes her head. “Then ask Myra what she wants. Ask her and listen to her.”

My mom frowns deeply but doesn’t raise another argument. My dad looks exhausted. I know how much he values Dadu’s opinion. Maybe even more than he values my mother’s. It’s clear this denouncement is weighing on him. “What do you want, Myra?”

Stay as strong as you can. Ace’s words echo in my head.

I swallow the fear coating my throat. I can do this. I have to do this. My future is at stake. “I want to study English. I love reading about new worlds, and I love writing about them even more. It’s all I’ve ever dreamed about. English is everything to me.” I suck in a deep breath. “And I want to go to Columbia. Their program is incredible, and it’s an Ivy League school, and I know I would do amazing there. It’s the right choice for me and I can prove it. I have graphs, analyses, whatever you want. Just give me a chance.”

My parents are quiet as they stare at us and Dadu squeezes my shoulder again. My stomach swoops uncertainly as the silence stretches.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

“Please let me have this,” I say, my voice breaking. Please. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Okay.” The word comes out painstakingly from my dad’s lips. “You can study English.”

Okay.

Okay.

Okayokayokay.

My mouth falls open and no words come out. Dadu steps in for me. “And you will cast no judgment on her for this decision. If I hear or see you doing something of that manner, you’re going to wish it was me who died instead of your Abbu. Not that he would approve of any of this, either.”

“Ammu,” Baba says, aghast. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m being serious,” she says, sitting down across from me and sipping her chai. “It’s settled then. In the fall, Myra will apply to Columbia to study English and you will support her wholeheartedly.”

My heart is racing. Is this real? Can this be real? Did we do it? Did I do it?

All the heaviness weighing on my heart is slowly lifting like a strange fog. The world looks clearer, sharper.

Both my parents seem resigned. “Okay.”

As one, they rise and leave the room, shutting the door behind them. I blink after them in disbelief. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, Myra,” Dadu says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. I turn my attention back to her. My eyes feel like they’re about to bulge out of my head. “This is real life. You did it and I’m so proud of you for being brave. Please tell me if there are any issues. I’ll handle them, okay? I won’t let this family fall apart. You will have your happiness.”

“Dadu,” I say, my voice choked. I don’t bother to stop the tears this time. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I lunge across the table and wrap my arms around her bony shoulders, squeezing as tightly as I can.

“Oh, Myra,” she says softly, hugging me back. “Don’t thank me. You did this. I simply helped.”

When I pull back, tears still streaming down my face, she gestures to my eyes with a small smile on her face. “The light is returning. Mashallah, Myra. Your Dada would be so proud, too. Maybe there’s hope for our family, after all.”

I exhale in such painful relief, it hurts. “I think you’re right, Dadu.”



53


T-PLUS 14 DAYS

My house is silent.

There’s an awkwardness in the air. I don’t think either of my parents are mad at me. They’re definitely irritated, but it seems directed more toward my grandma than me.

Samir comes to my room and gives me a quick hug, mumbling how happy he is for me. “I never did that,” he says a second later and walks out, which I should have expected.

Yet I can’t stop smiling afterward.

Sunday night, I slip a packet of research I did on Columbia’s English program under their door. Later, I hear my parents arguing with Dadu on the phone. I have to light two candles to stay calm enough to listen. The conversation starts loud but ends quietly. When my dad comes out of their room, he looks even more resigned than before.

“We’ll start looking at the best colleges for English in the summer. We saw your research, and the English program at Columbia looks decent, but you need to have backup options if it doesn’t work out,” Baba says on his way to the bathroom, and I gape at him. He doesn’t notice, already closing the door, but I can’t even process the words.

I did it. Things worked out somehow, and I can—I can have the future I want.

And I can have my parents, too.

That’s all I ever wanted.

One day, I know we’re going to fight over my general lack of freedom, and we’re definitely going to fight about Ace. But I have to believe those fights will be worth it.