Haunted | h.s

eight » rima

I stand by the door, fidgeting, not knowing exactly what to do.

"Arima, where have you been?" my grandmother asks me patiently.

"Uh...my car broke down," I explain. "So I got a ride from a friend." I don't know if I could call Niall a friend, I'd just met him today, but I don't bother correcting myself.

I feel exposed as my grandmother watches me carefully. She's assessing me, deciding whether or not she can trust me. She always puts her faith in me, I don't understand what has changed.

She glances at Grace, who's still standing by me, gripping the hem of my shirt. Grace looks up with wide eyes, and wordlessly scurries out of the room.

"Sit down Arima," my grandmother orders. "We need to talk."

I gulp, plopping down on the nearest couch. My grandmother sits on the one opposite of me.

We sit in silence for a few minutes. My grandmother gives me that look again: a distrusting look, like I'm a rapid animal in a cage.

"I thought you were on a business trip," I blurt out when I can't take the silence anymore.

"Well," she starts. "I left Boston earlier than I anticipated. I was planning to make it a surprise."

A surprise? My grandmother hates surprises. She is actually very organized, down to the fact that she orders her whole closet by color.

"But as I was leaving the airport I got a phone call from Grace's babysitter. She said it had been two hours later than the normal pickup time, but you still hadn't bothered to show up."

I wince. I know my grandmother is going to blame me for this, even though I can't help that my car is shitty.

"She tried calling you," she continues. "Arima, why didn't you answer your phone?"

I think back to when I shut off my phone because of those texts. I feel utterly stupid, but my grandmother wouldn't understand if I told her the truth.

"It died in the middle of the day," I lie.

My grandmother nods. She looks tired. My grandmother isn't very old, compared to some grandparents who are well into their sixties or seventies. But right now she looks older. Her eyes have dark bags underneath them and the wrinkles etching her face are more prominent.

"I'm sorry Ma," I say softly. And I truly mean it. My grandmother always trusts me; I don't want to screw that up.

She nods again. "All is forgiven Arima," she says. "I just need you to be more responsible. Especially when we leave and you're left on your own..."

"Wait, what?"

My grandmother must realize what she just said, and her eyes look watery and sad. "I'm so sorry Arima."

"Sorry for what?" I squeak out.

"I was planning to tell you later," she says.

She's dodging the question, and all of a sudden I feel sick. "Ma, tell me."

She sighs tiredly. "We're leaving Arima," she explains. "Grace and I. I got a very good job offer in Boston."

I suck in a breath. I feel even more sick now. They're leaving?

"But I can come with you!" I exclaim suddenly. I might laugh because of how easy the solution is.

But my grandmother immediately shakes her head. "You can't come with us to Boston, Arima," she says sadly.

"But-"

"No buts. You need to finish your studies at Berkeley."

I gulp, realizing she's right. It's stupid for me to be scared or worried or sad. I should be happy they're moving out. But Grace and Ma are my only family, and it might be really clingy to want them to stay, but I just don't want to lose them.