Counting Down with You(29)
I ignore his hand but climb off his bed with a sigh. I had a pillow between us for separation but, when he stands, we’re entirely too close. It makes our height difference extremely apparent, since the top of my head barely comes up to his chin.
His shoulder grazes mine, and I take a step back, hoping my blush isn’t visible on my cheeks. “Let’s go.”
15
T-MINUS 23 DAYS
I don’t know how it slipped my mind that dinner at the Clyde residence means dinner with everyone. That includes multimillionaire businessman Albert Clyde, who’s sitting at the end of a small table.
“Oh my God,” I whisper and attempt to make a getaway. I have nothing against the man, but the same way that I don’t want to be on Ace’s or Xander’s radar, I definitely don’t want to be on Albert Clyde’s radar. I don’t make it far, because Ace’s hand on my wrist immediately pulls me back.
“Relax,” Ace says in a quiet voice. “He’s not going to bite.” A pause. “Or, well, he won’t bite you, at least.”
“Alistair, stop whispering in the doorway and join us at the table,” Ace’s father says. “And introduce your guest.” His tone leaves no room for argument.
“This is Karina Ahmed,” Ace says, gesturing to me with a wave of his hand. “Karina, this is my family.”
I smile weakly. “Hello.”
Ace hesitates, and I don’t understand why until he points to the seat next to Mia. “You can sit there.”
Which means Ace has to sit next to Xander, since there are only six seats at the table.
Usually, I would refuse because it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Ace doesn’t like his brother. However, I also don’t want to sit next to Xander, and I definitely don’t want to cause a scene, so I quietly take my seat across from Ace.
“Shall we say grace?”
Ya Allah, I’m in a sitcom. I’m the Muslim girl sitting at a table with a typical all-American family about to say grace. Well, Mia and her mother are Black so at least there’s some solidarity, but this is still incredibly awkward.
“Dear God,” Ace’s father starts, and I bow my head in accordance, wanting to be respectful of their religion, even if this is one of the strangest situations I’ve ever been in. The few times I’ve been to Cora’s house, her family has never done this even though they’re Christian, too. My family doesn’t even sit down together for meals.
We eat on a strange schedule, where lunch is whenever you come home and dinner is an hour before you sleep. Since the timing differs for all of us, we rarely have meals together unless we’re hosting guests of some sort.
This family dinner laid out in front of me is very much uncharted territory.
“Thank you for your graciousness,” Ace’s father says. “Thank you for the roof over our head and the food on our table. Thank you for the meal we are about to enjoy, made by Tina’s wonderful hands. Thank you for Alexander’s acceptance into Yale University with a full scholarship. Thank you for allowing Cosmia to win first place in Midland High School’s talent show. Thank you for not landing Alistair in detention this week so he’s able to attend our family dinner.”
I wince. Not landing Alistair in detention this week? Who says that during grace?
Albert says some more things and finishes with, “Amen.”
The rest of the family echoes, “Amen,” and I stay silent, busy looking at Ace now that all our heads aren’t bowed.
He looks unbothered by his father’s statement, his posture as lazy as it usually is. His arms are splayed out on the arms of his gaudy chair, and his legs are spread wide enough that one of his knees is knocking into his brother’s.
Xander roughly pulls away. “Alistair, move over.”
“Am I bothering you?” Ace asks, raising his brows. “I thought nothing bothered you?”
Xander’s grip tightens on his fork. “Aren’t you tired of being so immature?”
“Immature?” Ace pretends to look shocked. “You know, Mom always says I’m too mature for my age—”
“Mom hasn’t seen this side of you,” Xander says, his tone biting. “Dad, do you see what I have to deal with?”
“Alistair, enough,” his dad says.
Ace opens his mouth to argue but seems to think better of it after a glance in my direction.
My gaze flicks among the three of them with rapt awareness, and I look away only when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I take it out briefly to see a text from my mom. My heart rate rises and I force myself to take a breath, clicking on the notification. Dadu says you’re staying at school late, finishing up a project. What project?
There’s another text from Samir earlier, which reads: bro I accidentally recorded over baba’s basketball games on the DVR how mad do u think he’s gonna be on a scale of 1-10??
I reply to my mom first, a lie already prepared. I make up some nonsense about a physics lab and send a selfie of me and Nandini in goggles, saved in my camera roll from last week.
Then I respond to Samir, saying: yikes... ask dadu if she’ll take the blame bc he’d never be mad @ her. I don’t think he’d be that mad at you anyway, but if you wanna avoid a lecture... that’s ur best option lmao.