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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

I stare at her face, earnest and warm, and look away in shame. In the end, even Dadu’s support isn’t enough. I love her so much, but I don’t see how she can stand against my parents. I don’t see how anyone can.

I know my choice. It’s not one I’m proud of.

In the end, I will always care more about making my parents proud than my own happiness, no matter how much I wish I didn’t.

If they want me to be a doctor, I will be. Their expectations have shaped me too much for me to disappoint them in this. I can’t do it. I don’t have the strength.

48

T-PLUS 0 DAYS

My mom hugs me when she arrives. It’s nice but so unbelievably strange.

She still smells like roses and citrus shampoo but also like jasmine. In Bangladesh, there’s a garden in my grandparents’ backyard with jasmine shrubs. It seems she brought the scent with her. I’m wistful for half a moment, wishing I’d gone to Bangladesh with them.

“We missed you so much,” Ma says, squeezing me in her arms and peppering me with kisses. I grimace at the amount of lipstick she probably just smeared across my face. Then her words register and my mouth falls slack. They missed me?

“It’s great to see you again, Myra,” Baba says, patting me on the shoulder. “How was the ride here?”

“The Uber driver had nice music,” I say, unsure how else to answer. Having my parents greet me warmly has thrown me into a state of confusion. Samir is smiling as if this unprecedented change makes sense when it doesn’t. “How was Bangladesh?”

“Good,” my dad says, and then begins speaking to my grandma in quiet murmurs. Dadu isn’t coming home with us. Uncle Mustafa is already here to pick her up and take her back to New Jersey. My stomach twists at the thought of not seeing her for weeks when I’ve become used to seeing her every day.

“We went to a mela almost every week, and we got to see a lot of our relatives. So many of them sent back gifts for you and Samir,” my mom says, gesturing to their luggage before coughing into her sleeve, clearly still sick. “We also went for fancy dinners and visited carnivals. Also your little cousins said hello. I have videos of them to show you.”

“Your mom did lots of shopping,” my dad adds, rolling his eyes. He’s not much better off than my mom, judging from his pallor. He’s more pale than when he left, which is the opposite of what should happen when going to Bangladesh. “Half our luggage weight is just the things she bought.”

“It’s less expensive over there,” Ma says, sniffing. She takes a tissue from her bag and wipes her nose. “Both of them needed new clothes anyway.”