Counting Down with You(96)

“I do,” he says, unfaltering. “I’m sorry if I helped contribute to...the situation. I’ll be careful in the future, and if there’s anything I can do to help, tell me. If you need me to cover for you again or make up an excuse to get us out of the house, or you just need to, I don’t know, vent, I’ll figure it out. I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

A tear slips down my cheek and I use my sleeve to wipe it away. “Thank you, Samir.”

“Oh, don’t cry,” he says, looking disturbed. “It wasn’t that deep.”

I laugh hoarsely. There’s the brother I know. “It was definitely that deep.” I stand up and walk over to him, holding my arms out. He sighs but doesn’t move away, which I take as invitation to wrap my arms around him from behind.

“It’s no big deal.” Samir looks up at me and winces slightly. “Hey listen, I’ve got your back and all that, but uh...is this thing with Ace really worth it?”

I freeze. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, shifting his gaze to the ground. “You know Ma and Baba are never going to approve. Is this worth it? Have you really thought about it then?”

Ya Allah, if Samir is concerned about this, there’s no way I’m going to get out of this situation unscathed. I swallow down the fear coating my throat. I can’t afford to be worried about this right now. There’s nothing I can do. This is a problem for future Karina. “It is what it is,” I say. “He makes me happy. I don’t want to throw that away.”

Samir nods as if he expected that answer. “Okay. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

I offer him a strained smile. “Trust me. I understand. I’ll worry about it when I’m in college.”

There’s a moment of layered silence, a million things left unsaid. “I’m sorry,” Samir finally says. “I’m sorry you understand.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, and I mean it. “Thank you for looking out for me, though. You have no idea how much it’s going to help, having you in my corner.”

He squeezes my arm. “Sorry I wasn’t there before.”

I close my eyes and hold on to him tighter. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Samir nods before giving me a curious look. “Does this mean you’ll help me with Leah now, too? Tit for tat or whatever?”

“Oh my God, you ruined it.” I drop my arms, but there’s a genuine smile threatening to split my lips. “You’re so annoying.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Don’t say anything. Ever,” I suggest and leave his room. The smile finally breaks free. My brother is an absolute mess, but when it matters, he listens.

My parents call that night, and I grimace at my phone. I’m on FaceTime with Ace, who’s curating his end-of-month playlist while I finish reading a new book I got from Two Stories.

“Can I call you back?” I ask, drawing his attention away from his laptop. “My parents are calling.”

Ace frowns. “Of course. Are you going to be okay?”

I huff fondly. “I’m good. Thank you for checking.”

“I only wish I could do more,” he says under his breath but raises two fingers to the camera again, his sign of a kiss.

I raise two back and answer my parents’ call. For once, my mom is smiling at me. “Myra!”

“As-salaam alaikum?” I say and it comes out like a question. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Ma gives me a strange look, like I’m weird for questioning her optimistic mood. “Your dad and I just got home from a going away party. We had to leave because he wasn’t feeling well.”

“Don’t blame me,” Baba says from off the screen. “You’re the one who threw up.”

My mom glares at him but turns back to me with a smile. Now that I’m paying attention, she definitely looks ill. “We leave so soon, it’s strange. It feels like it went by so fast.”

You have no idea, I want to say. “I know. I can’t believe you come back on Sunday. What time does your flight get in?”

“We come at night.” Her face is warm and welcoming, even though it’s slightly ashen and there are dark circles under her eyes. “I can’t wait to see you and Samir again.”

My dad comes into the shot, loosening his tie, and a smile takes over his face, too. Both of them? Maybe they’re drunk. We’re not supposed to drink alcohol because it’s haram and we’re Muslim, but I can’t think of another explanation. “Myra!”

“As-salaam alaikum,” I repeat, scratching my head. “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“It was okay,” he says, sitting next to my mom and squishing his face into the frame. Oh, he looks sick as well. I should probably be less surprised, since I also fell ill last time I went to Bangladesh. Even though visiting is always lovely, the air pollution is difficult to handle. The food also sometimes affects our stomachs, which sucks because my relatives always put so much effort into making extravagant meals that look and taste fantastic. With that in mind, I discard my drunk theory. They’re definitely being nice because they’re sick.

“I can’t wait to get home,” my mom says, rubbing her eyes. “And hug you and Samir.”