by Swati MH
But even as I walk out of the elevator and onto my floor, all I can think about is turning right back around and showing her exactly what she’s missing.
Hey cuz. How’s it going? I text Avni in the evening after getting back to my place.
She responds a minute later. Hey! Want to call me? I’m in the middle of cooking so texting is hard, but I can talk.
Yeah. Give me a minute. I text back before ordering dinner using a delivery app and pouring a finger of scotch into a glass tumbler. I don’t usually drink during the week, but today was an especially unusual day and I need something to take the edge off.
After leaving the NICU floor this morning, I went upstairs to prepare for a five-hour surgical procedure. We had a pediatric patient who had a giant cell tumor on her knee that required both me, Dr. Hammonds, and an orthopedic oncologist in the OR. It was a complicated procedure that luckily went well but had drained all my energy.
Avni picks up on the second ring. “Hey, Vik! How’s it going?”
“Hey, what are you cooking up over there?”
“Oh, I’m making chole, Clark’s favorite. I’ve been trying to get it to come out like my mom’s but it never tastes quite the same.”
“I’m sure it’ll taste great. Though, it’s pretty hard to replicate the Kapoor sisters’ cooking,” I refer to our moms by their maiden last name. Now I wish I would have asked Mom to pack me some leftovers for the week because I’m suddenly not in the mood for whatever is on its way here.
“I know. You’d think I would have gotten her cooking sense but nope.” She sighs. “Anyway, what’s up? You sound kind of tired. This fellowship is pretty rough, huh?”
Taking a sip of my scotch, I roll it around my tongue before letting it spill down my throat. “Yeah, today was a little more tiring than usual, but I knew it would be this way when I applied. I’m still loving it, though.”
Cringing when I hear a kissing noise through the phone, I almost take it off my ear. Avni speaks again, but not to me. “Hey, babe. I’m talking to Vik.” I hear Clark’s voice in the background before Avni comes back. “Clark says hi and asked if you’ve had a chance to go surfing yet.”
I grin, thinking back to when I’d just received confirmation that I was accepted into this fellowship program in San Diego. I remember being so excited that I’d be close to the beach and be able to surf whenever I felt like it. Little did I know that this fellowship would kick my ass backward, forward, and sideways, and how I’d have an irregular schedule, apart from being on-call pretty much full-time. “Tell him no, but I’m hoping to get at least one weekend to surf before I have to go back.”
Avni relays my message to Clark before bringing her attention back to me. “So, I heard you ran into my best friend again recently.”
“Wait, she already told you about today?” I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised since Cassie is practically like a sister to Avni.
“Today? No, she didn’t. What happened today?”
So much and not enough. “Well, long story short, we happened to be with the same patient--a preemie--when he stopped breathing and--”
There’s a gasp from Avni and I hear the clattering of something. “He stopped breathing? Oh God, please tell me he’s okay.”
“Yeah, the baby is fine now, and Cassie and his doctor are monitoring him but it really shook Cassie up, I think.”
“I bet. She’s incredibly emotional about her patients. I’ll call her as soon as I hang up with you.”
I clear my throat, knowing this is the part where I’m going to have to use my stellar charm and negotiation skills. “Well . . . so, that’s partly why I called. I was wondering if you could give me her number.”
Silence. Avni doesn’t respond for so long that I take the phone off my ear to look at it, wondering if the line has cut out. “Avni?”
“Oh, hmmm. I don’t know, Vik,” she stammers. “I should probably ask Cass if she’d be okay with me doing that.”
“Come on, cuz. I just want to check on her to make sure she’s okay. It was a rough event for the both of us.” When she doesn’t respond, presumably weighing out her answer, I continue, “Look, I know you think I’m just trying to get into your friend’s pants,” I mean, I wouldn’t mind, ”but I assure you, my intentions are good.”
Somewhat.
She hums into the phone again. “When have your intentions ever been good when it comes to beautiful women, Vik?”
“This time. My intentions when it comes to this beautiful woman are good.” Even though they don’t want to be.
“Why?”
That’s the million-dollar question. “Because she’s your friend and all I want to do is make sure she’s okay. That’s all.”
She weighs it a little longer and I’m thankful she isn’t able to see me impatiently tap my fingertips against the armrest of my chair. “Okay. I might get in trouble for this, but fine. I’ll text you her number.”
I smile into the phone. “Great. Thanks, Avni.”
“Don’t make me regret it, Vik. You know I’ll kill you if you step out of line with her.” I don’t need to see her to know she’s jabbing a finger into my imaginary chest.
“Noted. Thanks again, cuz.”
9
Cassie
As the moon and Venus intersect in your ninth house of adventure, you’ll be compelled to try new things. And why shouldn’t you? Change isn’t always easy for you but the outcome may make life more interesting.
I walk into the house, ready to collapse. My feet, my head, my entire body scream through the tension, in desperate need of a vacation. Avni’s wedding feels like a century ago, which was the last time I took any real time off.
There’s little I want to remember about today, but I’ll forever lock away a few little memories for safekeeping--my head pressed against the chest of an impossibly gorgeous man, his solid frame against my cheek. His protective hands comforting me, pulling me into him. Cedar and geranium invading my nose, forcing me to stand still and inhale him. I need to bottle up his scent somehow and spray it on my pillow each night and bury my face in it. That’s how crazy it makes me--and that’s saying a lot because I’m a rather sane person.
Which is why I am going to evict Vik Bedi from my thoughts. Right. This. Second.
Dad texted me earlier, saying he was going to eat dinner at Paula and John’s house today. Paula invited me over too, but I told her I wanted to come home and just sprawl out in front of the TV with leftovers, shut my brain off, and stop the slideshow of images from the day.
Settling on the couch with my plate, I change the channel to HGTV. The show where a family searches for their next house and picks one from a few homes shown to them is on. I rarely ever agree with the house the prospects choose, but I’m always strangely invested in them, as if their choice affects me personally.
“Ugh, house number two is hideous. Think about all the renovations,” I voice out my objection, wishing they’d hear me and move on to house number three.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table as I’m taking a bite of the grilled chicken on my plate. The text is from a number I don’t recognize. Sleep tight tonight, sweetheart. Though it can’t be easy knowing you have a mountain of unpaid debt.
I stare at it thinking it must have been sent in error, though my spidey sense is tingling. Something about the way the text is worded makes it sound familiar somehow. I look up the area code--Santa Monica--to confirm my doubt. There’s only one person whom I’ve recently met from Santa Monica. One person to whom I owe said imaginary debt.
One person who might as well be Lucifer incarnate.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, weighing out my response before sending it. Though, now that I’ve sent it, I chide myself for seeming over-eager. I could have waited a few minutes to write back, or maybe I should have ignored it altogether and played it off as never having seen it. I don’t indulge fraudulent debt collectors or their deceitful practices. Who did you swindle to get my number?
I scoff at the phone, even though he can’t hear me. Waiting for him? Pfft, he wishes. How do you even fit in a room with your enormous ego?
What can I say, I’m an extra-large in all the right places. If you’re ever curious, I would be more than happy to show you. He adds a winking emoji to the end of the text.
Boy, does this guy know how to make my eyes roll. I’d rather get an elective tooth extraction, but thanks for the offer. Pray tell, why have you graced me with texts this evening?
I wanted to see how you were doing. You know, after this morning.
Oh.
Try as I might to not let it, a little warmth spreads over the block of ice I’ve encapsulated my heart in, but I resist letting it thaw my resolve. I’m fine. Thanks for checking.
I’m doing okay, too. Thanks for, you know, not asking. But going out for a drink might help soothe my nerves.
Is that an invitation? I know what’s good for me and spending more time with Vik tonight is definitely not it. He’s figured out how to weasel his way under my skin and lodge himself somewhere deeper every time I see him, and I need to do whatever I can to keep him at surface-level.
A twinge of guilt emerges at the bottom of my ribcage as I type out my dismissive response. Ah, you should go do that. Have fun.
After clearing my plate and putting away some things in the kitchen, I look at my phone again. No new messages. Maybe my brush-off made him think I wasn’t grateful for him checking on me.
I am grateful, of course. In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised by his concern. Every time I want to shove him into the box I’ve created for him, he finds a way to cut through its walls. From the way he helped fix my car, to the way spoke about visiting his family every month, to the way he held me today, siphoning my fear--he’s compelled me to see layers that I never saw before. He’s breaking my resolve, calling into question all the truths I’ve clung onto for so long--about him, about me.
When another fifteen minutes passes without a response from him, a weird panic rises inside me. Maybe I’ve pushed him away for good. Maybe he thinks I’m a thankless bitch and he’s had enough of my high and mighty attitude.
But isn’t that exactly what I wanted? Isn’t it best to keep it this way?
The answer to those questions is yes, of course. I should be happy that he’s finally decided enough is enough and that I’m not worth the effort.
Just like others in my past.
So why am I not happy about it? Why do I want him to respond and push a little harder--to crack the icy surface? Why do I secretly enjoy the tug of war we play with our banter?
With my patience running thin and my anxiety running high, I decide to apologize for my boorish text when a new message comes through from him, sending unexpected relief through me. I was hoping for some company but since you’re being difficult, how about we figure out a way for you to pay me back for the innumerable favors I’ve done for you, so you don’t have to sit on the huge pile of debt?
Glad that he can’t see the smile on my face, I respond. Right. Is this the part where you give me a way to ‘pay’ you back and then change your mind about collecting payment afterward, again?
I mean, even you have to admit that the one hasty drink you had with me can hardly be considered repayment.
I shake my head as I type out my response, my bottom lip curling into my mouth. This guy is incorrigible. You’re the one who asked for it!
And now I’m asking you to consider a new payment plan. It might actually be something you’ll like.
My stomach twists like a wrung dishrag, bringing the nausea back. My gut tells me that this plan, or whatever he is about to propose, is going to get me into the kind of trouble I won’t be able to see myself out of. Whatever this plan is, it’s not something the rational and practical Cassie would ever entertain.
So why am I considering it now?
Deciding to take a little break from our back and forth, I get ready for bed and text Dad instead, letting him know that I’m turning in for the night. Maybe sleeping will help release the knot in the pit of my stomach.
Flashes of Jack play through my mind as I lay in bed, staring at nothing in the darkness. He’s a bead on my rosary of penance, a prayer for forgiveness. A familiar pang in my chest ensues again as my thoughts rewind back to years ago. I can still picture the puke-green stall, the same color as my skin. It only takes an instant for me to remember the emptiness and desolation as I sat there with tears streaming down my face. I knew. I knew exactly what was happening.
With my heart oscillating between flying high in the sky and buried deep underground, I hear my phone vibrate on my nightstand, hurling my mind back into war.
Don’t pick it up. Nothing good will come of it.
Pick it up. What if it’s important?
Telling myself that it could be Dad texting me back--though I am certain it isn’t--I open my messages, the light from my screen illuminating the blanket I’m tucked under. Ahem. Aren’t you going to ask what it is?
Sighing loudly and praying silently--for what, I’m unsure--I type out my response to Vik. Why does hope keep making its way to the surface when I think about him? What exactly am I even hopeful for? I know how dangerous it can be, especially when it's attached to someone like him. Fine. What is it?
My phone buzzes again a few seconds later. Go surfing with me this weekend. I’m on-call, but Dr. Hammonds said I could come in a little later both days. I also happen to know that you’re not working this weekend.
What? How do you know that? You freaking stalker!
Nevermind that. So, Saturday at 8 a.m. at Oceanside beach? I’ll pick you up.
Say you’re busy.
I type out my response, erase, and then type out another, and I repeat the process several times. My mind changes lanes like a drunk driver--vehemently begging me not to give in one moment and then shrugging at me in a have-a-little-fun sort of way the next. Even as I send off the message, I feel like I’m watching someone else do it--someone less cynical than me. So, if I go surfing with you for a couple of hours, you’ll even the score? No more taunting me with debt-collection threats?
Unsurprisingly, his response is non-committal. Let’s not get bogged down with the specific number of hours, but otherwise, yes. You’ll be debt-free. Think of how well you’ll sleep after that!
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Why am I doing this?
There’s no “debt” to be paid, but I still want to settle it. There’s no reason to continue this conversation with him, but I don’t want to stop, either. Pressing a fingertip to my mouth, I feel a smile bud underneath the surface. I need to take back some control in this conversation. Fine, but the best time to surf is early in the morning because the waves are less choppy and there are less crowds. So, it’s either 6:30 a.m. and I drive myself, or you’re going on your own.
Fine. And, Cassie?
I stare at the use of my name on the screen as if seeing it for the first time. In his case, it might actually be the first time. Yes?
Don’t suppress that smile when you’re imagining me tonight. Because I know you will.
I inspect my phone to see if I’ve inadvertently turned on the camera. I haven’t.
Arrogant bastard.
I have a new standard for normal since Tuesday’s events. And thankfully, the rest of the week stays within the normal range. Both my preemie patients are doing well and are on their way to making good progress to be able to go home with their parents in a couple of weeks.
I am just filling out the paperwork on Friday for a new patient, who is severely jaundiced, when I see Becca walk into the nurses’ station--her mouth working overtime to chew her gum. She sits next to me and starts banging on her keyboard, oblivious to the rest of us working or the clear sign in front of us that asks for
silence.
Getting ready to set the new patient under a phototherapy light, I’m more than happy to get some distance between Becca and me when she turns. “So, I heard there was an issue with one of your preemies on Tuesday.” She pops a bubble. “Heard that gorgeous new surgeon from Ortho was able to save him, though.”
My teeth grind together momentarily before I speak. “It was a joint effort, and yes, we were able to save him. Everything is fine now.”
“Well, that’s good.” She takes out chapstick from the pocket in her scrubs before uncapping it and circling it repeatedly around her lips. “I hope I get a patient that needs an orthopedic consult. Maybe Dr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome can have a joint effort with me, if you know what I mean.” She winks coyly.
