Counting Down with You(62)

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

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

Dadu is still staring at me, so I shrug helplessly. I have no idea why he’s here.

Ace holds the flowers toward Dadu. “I brought these to say thank you for hosting me the other day.”

I’ve never seen Dadu shocked before, but I’m pretty sure I’m seeing it now, her eyes wide and lips parted. I don’t think she understands what he said or why he’s offering her flowers. To be fair, I barely understand. I glance at Samir, but he doesn’t seem to find any of this strange, which is the only source of relief among all the screaming white noise in my head.

“Myra, what’s going on?” Dadu asks me.

I hold my hands out defensively. “He wants to thank you for feeding him.”

“Oh.” My grandma softens and takes the flowers. “You’re welcome.”

Ace looks over at me and my brother hopefully. “I was wondering if you both would like to join my sister and me. We’re going bowling, and we’d love some company.”

“Both?” Samir and I say at the same time. His tone excited, mine horrified. Of all things, why did it have to be bowling?

“Yeah,” Ace says, nodding. “My sister is waiting in the car, if you want to join.” He glances at my grandma. “If it’s okay with you, Mrs. Ahmed.”

There’s a moment of stark silence after I nervously translate. Ace probably doesn’t notice, but I’m hyperaware of it. There’s no way Dadu will say yes, which is definitely for the best. I don’t want my brother and Ace anywhere near each other, because it’ll inevitably get back to my parents.

But missing out will still suck.

I hold my breath, waiting and waiting and waiting for the blow.

Finally, Dadu looks away from Ace and glances at me. “Okay. If Myra says yes.”

Wait, what?

“Really?” I say in disbelief. Dadu has always had my back, but this isn’t something I thought she’d budge on.

Dadu considers me for another moment before nodding. “Yeah, Myra. He brought me flowers. You can go bowling with him.” She pauses. “Your Dada would always bring me flowers, too.”

Oh my God, only Ace would unwittingly charm my grandmother.

Samir looks at me hopefully. He might love bowling, but the risk of going with him and Ace...

My brother keeps pouting at me and my resolve finally breaks. “Fine. I’ll get dressed.” Still, I have to figure out a way to make sure Samir doesn’t slip up and tell our parents something he’s not supposed to. I can’t risk it. I won’t risk it.

Both Ace and Samir cheer obnoxiously. I open my mouth to tell my brother to come upstairs with me but, before I can, Samir rushes toward the foyer and puts on his shoes. “Wait, before you leave—” I say, but he waves me off.

“Tell me in the car,” he says, far too eager, and slips through the door.

I stare after him woefully. Mia and Ace will be in the car. I definitely can’t talk to him with them around.

I sigh and head upstairs, hoping I’ll have a moment alone with Samir once we’re at the bowling alley.

In my room, I stare at my wardrobe in distress before plucking something from the back, where the clothes I hide from my mother reside. I slip on a tank top and skinny jeans with holes in the knees. The jeans aren’t that bad, but wearing something without sleeves feels too bold. I’m already testing my luck by agreeing to this outing. After a moment’s hesitation, I throw on a cardigan, covering my bare arms.

I hurry down the steps and nearly run straight into Ace, who’s standing in the doorway. “Hi, Karina.”

A swarm of butterflies rushes through me. “Hi,” I say back, and force myself to turn around and shout, “Bye, Dadu!”

“Bye, Myra. Have fun!” Dadu says, which is strange to hear.

I turn to Ace, trying to get rid of the nervous jitters. God, I wish I could light a candle. “So...bowling?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling at me. Something loosens in my chest. “I’m letting Mia practice driving.”

“So you’re looping me into dying with you.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” he says, laughing and offering me his hand. “Come on.”

I almost slip my fingers through his but falter, staring past him.

Samir is already in the car, peering over Mia’s shoulder. The windows are down, so I can hear when he says, “How far is it?”

“Like ten minutes, Rafiq. Relax,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Not now,” I say to Ace, my throat tight. Samir isn’t looking at us, but if he does, I’ll be caught out before I can explain. “I can’t—my family...”

Ace gives me a curious look, but doesn’t press, lowering his hand. “Let’s go, then.”

I give him a small smile. “Okay.”

Daniela is sitting in the front beside Mia, so Ace and I slide in the back beside Samir. His eyes are bright, his body vibrating with excitement.

My brother hasn’t had the chance to go bowling in a few weeks. My dad usually takes Samir every weekend, some kind of father-son bonding thing I’m not privy to. All my mom and I ever do is listen to dreamy Bengali folk music together. She knits and I make origami—more for my anxiety than anything else—and after a few albums, we go our separate ways.