BooksBarbecue
Back Counting Down with You Save as PDF
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise
  4. Booklist
  5. Dedication
  6. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  7. Part 1
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. Part 2
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. Part 3
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. 49
  59. 50
  60. 51
  61. 52
  62. 53
  63. 54
  64. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Then I think of Dadu in the next room, and her unwavering support of me, and I adjust that thought. I’m not alone. I have her.

I have to believe that if she can support me, my parents can, too.

I hope.

I stumble into Dadu’s room. She’s sitting on a chair, praying. Her knees are too creaky for her to pray on the prayer mat, so an allowance is made for her to do her rackats from a chair. I blink in surprise, but then grab a janamaz, joining her for the Maghreb prayer.

When I finish, I look from side to side, murmur a few surahs, blow out a long breath into my palms—asking Allah for guidance in the next few days—and turn to look at Dadu.

“Are you okay, Myra?” she asks.

I nod. “Just thinking.” Being around her is enough to make me breathe easier. Having someone in my corner—having her in my corner—is more than I could’ve ever hoped for.

Yet I still can’t bring myself to make the definitive decision to tell my parents about wanting to study English.

Nine days to decide.

I technically have until college applications in the fall, but I know if I don’t do it when my parents come back, I probably won’t do it ever. Especially because Dadu will go home to New Jersey and I’d have to do it on my own.

And facing my parents alone about this? Just the thought makes me want to walk into traffic.

No, if I do this, it has to be the day they come back.

But I don’t know if I have the strength. I don’t know if I can throw all my parents’ hard work back in their faces.

“Dadu, why is life so hard?” I ask, flopping onto her pillows.

She squeezes my ankle. “Your Dada used to ask me the same thing.”

“Did you have an answer for him?”

My grandma laughs lightly and looks at her bedside table. A photo of her, Dada, and the rest of our family is framed there. “Of course not. I don’t think he was ever genuinely asking. Life is hard because it is. There’s no easy answer. It’s just a matter of whether we’re willing to face the hardships. Even when life was hard, your grandpa was always willing to face it with me.”

“It makes sense,” I say, smiling. “Everything is easier with your support.”

“Easier,” Dadu echoes, her gaze still focused on the photo. “But not easy.”

I sigh wistfully. “Yeah. But not easy.”

40

T-MINUS 8 DAYS

With only eight days left, Ace and I agree to make the most of our time.