Counting Down with You(76)

“He likes you,” Nandini says softly in response to whatever she sees on my face. “He likes you so much. Look at these candles. Look at this playlist. You couldn’t pay my ex-boyfriend to do that.”

“He could’ve bought the candles at any Duane Reade he passed by. And Ace likes music.” I swallow painfully. “He probably didn’t have to put that much effort into it.”

Cora gives me an incredulous look. “He burned songs on a CD for you. Do you know what year it is? No one casually does that. He definitely put a lot of effort into this.”

I’ve been thinking about that, too. I keep picturing Ace walking past a convenience store, catching sight of an assortment of candles and deciding to buy them for me. Or worse, in his room, waiting for me to text back only to receive radio silence, and then deciding to make a playlist for me to pass the time. They’re such painfully sweet gestures that it seems like I must have made them up.

“We’re just fake dating,” I say. I’ll live in denial about this for the rest of my life if I have to. “He has an image to keep up.”

“In front of who?” Cora asks. “The only people here are me, you, and Nandini. He didn’t even know we were going to be here. He came by specifically to give you this playlist and these candles and apologize to you for something he didn’t even do. What part of that seems fake?”

“Don’t do this,” I bemoan, covering my face with my hands. Being reminded of how miserable Ace looked on my doorstep makes me want to die. I force myself to remember that he was in the wrong to show up at my house just because I didn’t text back. I have to hold on to that, or else I’m going to give in to their pestering. “I’m not in an emotional state to argue with you.”

“Because you know I’m right,” Cora says. “Nandini, tell her.”

Nandini sighs, patting my head. “Karina, sweetie, I love you, but this is too much. We’re your best friends. If you can’t admit to us you like him, who can you admit it to?”

“Oh, come on, don’t play the best friend card.”

“She has a point,” Cora says. “I thought we were your best friends, Karina?”

“You both suck,” I say fervently. They know I’m not going to dismiss our friendship. “Fine. Fine. I like him. Are you happy now?”

“I told you so!” Cora jumps up in excitement, nearly sending me toppling off the couch. “I fucking told you so.”

Nandini snorts and helps me keep from falling with one hand stretched out. “We did tell you so. Now what are you going to do about it?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“My parents never found out about my ex-boyfriend,” Nandini points out, nudging me. “You could keep it secret. We only have one more year until college and then we’ll be in dorms, and none of this will matter. Your parents don’t have to know.”

She’s right. I know she’s right, but after my last conversation with my parents, I don’t know if I have the strength to see this through, even in secret.

And I don’t know if I can ask that of Ace, either.

“I’m doing nothing,” I say again, staring up at the ceiling.

Cora does some kind of weird full body wiggle, poking my nose. “We’ll see about that. I don’t know a lot about Ace, but I think it’s pretty clear—he’s used to getting what he wants.”

I huff. “Well, not this time.”

“Famous last words,” Cora croons, not for the first time. I have a disturbing feeling she’s right.



35


T-MINUS 12 DAYS

The next day, my relatives unexpectedly stop by. I’m in the shower when Samir knocks on the door and says, “Fatima and Labani are here with their parents.”

Hearing Samir’s voice is jarring in and of itself. We haven’t spoken since yesterday afternoon, when he opened the door for Ace. But then the words register, and I’m even more confused. “Huh?” Since Fatima’s family lives in New Jersey, they rarely visit us. Parties are one thing, but Long Island is a lengthy venture for a casual visit. “Why?”

“To see Dadu, so hurry up!”

I groan and start rinsing my hair.

After slipping into my room undetected, I change into a salwar kameez and dry my hair as fast as possible. By the time I come out, my relatives have settled in and are eating samosas and fuchkas.

“As-salaam alaikum,” I say, bowing my head.

“Wa-alaikum salaam,” they say back. My aunt and uncle are busy fussing over Dadu. They treat her like she’s a fragile old lady ready to break her hip, and it’s all too reminiscent of the conversation I had with Dadu about her brothers treating her like a precious jewel. I have difficulty hiding my grimace.

I wish I could help her, but I doubt anything I say will convince my aunt and uncle to stop hovering.

I sit down beside Fatima with a half smile. Labani is only ten years old, so we don’t really talk to each other much. Samir is keeping her occupied, showing her his collection of robotic toys. I barely hold back a snide comment about him showing off in front of our uncle and aunt.

What would I ever show them? My poetry? Yeah, right.

“Are you feeling better?” I ask Fatima, trying to veer off that bitter road. It doesn’t lead anywhere good.