Counting Down with You(97)

“It’s miserable here,” my dad adds, even though my mom swats him on the arm. “I’ve never missed home so much.”

I smile, but I’m worried they’re a ticking bomb. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

God, I need to calm down.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Okay. Okay. If they’re in a good mood right now, I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Looking a gift horse in the mouth is bad practice, after all. “I’m excited to see you both again, too.”

“Mashallah, our beautiful girl,” Ma says, holding a hand to her heart. “How have you been doing? Are you eating enough? Sleeping enough? Doing all your homework?”

“Yes,” I say, trying not to fidget. “How about you guys?”

“Don’t worry about us,” Baba says. There’s a faint look of nausea on his face, but he’s clearly fighting past it. “You guys are what’s important. Is there anything specific you want from Bangladesh? Gifts or anything? Your mom already bought you a lot of clothes, but is there anything else?”

“Uh. A pillow?” I say. I definitely prefer the pillows from Bangladesh to the ones from America. They’re much more sturdy, yet still comfortable. I didn’t think I was going to be able to ask for one with the mood they were in last time we formally spoke. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” my mom says, laughing. “We’ll make sure to leave room in our luggage.”

My smile is painful to hold, and I keep counting backward in my head. “Thank you.”

My dad nods. “And how’s your Dadu? Samir?”

“Good and good,” I say. Tick, tock. I really don’t want to be here when they lay down the law again. “Do you want to talk to Dadu? I’ll put her on.”

Without waiting for a reply, I slip off my bed and take the phone to my grandma’s room. She raises her eyebrows at me when I hand off my phone, but she doesn’t question it.

I go back to my room and pull out my janamaz for the Isha prayer, before I falter. I sit down, staring at the patterns woven into the prayer mat, my brain whirring. I always tell everyone my parents aren’t bad people, but sometimes I forget it, too. I’m always on edge around them, trying to please them and do what will make them proud, and sometimes I forget they’re my parents and they’re supposed to look out for me. I forget they might not love me as much as Samir, but that doesn’t mean they don’t care about me at all. They wouldn’t be so invested in my success if they didn’t want me to do well.

Maybe I can try telling them again. Maybe they won’t react badly this time.

But then again, maybe they will.



44


T-MINUS 4 DAYS

Ace and I are in line at Pietra’s Sweet Tooth when Pietra squints at us from behind the counter and says, “There’s something different about you two.”

A flush starts to creep through my body. I didn’t realize Ace and I were so bad at fake dating that someone could tell the difference when we started really dating. “Maybe it’s Ace’s lack of jacket,” I say, gesturing to where it’s settled on my own shoulders.

Now that I’ve started to associate the scent of cinnamon with relaxation, it’s almost calming to wear Ace’s jacket. I think he knows, which is why he lends it to me whenever I start looking even slightly anxious.

Pietra tilts her head, looking between us. “That’s part of it, but there’s something else. I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Karina just likes me more than she did before.” Ace pointedly pulls a lock of my hair between his fingers. “Which I’m very happy about.”

“You know what? That might actually be it,” Pietra says, tapping the side of her chin before beaming. “You two are so cute.”

My cheeks burn. “Thank you.”

“You’re making her blush,” Ace says, grinning at me. I swat his hand away when he tries to cup my cheeks.

“So cute,” Pietra emphasizes. “What’ll it be?”

“Cheesecake and coffee for me,” I say.

“Milk with three spoons of sugar,” Ace adds offhandedly, his gaze on the desserts display. “Can I get a vanilla milkshake and a cup of cherries?”

I try to contain my smile but it’s hard. I know how thoughtful Ace is, but experiencing it in the moment is different. It sets me on fire from the inside out to know he remembers the little things about me.

We go to our usual table, and Ace gestures for me to sit next to him instead of across from him. “I want to show you a playlist,” he says, holding up his earphones.

I shrug and sit by him, taking one of the earphones. “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz is playing and I shake my head at him fondly. “Wooed.”

“That’s the goal,” Ace says, winking at me before offering me some of his milkshake. There are two straws, so I’m not surprised when he leans in the same moment that I do.

I flick his nose, and he grins at me. “We’re supposed to be studying.”

“Then let’s study,” he says. “I’m not the one holding us up.”

I grumble but take out our notes. As I pull out a few discussion questions, Ace’s hand brushes against my wrist and I look up.