by Saumya Dave
Dad’s voice is low, almost inaudible, as Anuj gets closer to the television. If only they could see how Natasha kicked ass tonight.
“You should tell her,” Dad whispers.
“Absolutely not!” Mom says, not whispering back (Mom doesn’t ever really whisper). “What makes you even think that would be helpful?”
“It could be a way for you to come closer together. Maybe she’ll understand you better.”
“Psh, she will not at all. Trust me, she’s different with me than she is with you.”
“I know, but if you maybe shared what it was like to be in the hospital and take that medication, she mi—”
“She might what?” Mom has an edge to her voice. “Not ever look at me the same way again?”
“Um, hey,” Anuj says as he plays with the strings on his red hoodie. His eyes travel to the amorphous silhouette of his parents cuddling on the couch. It’s moments like these that remind Anuj that Mom and Dad are the only ones in their friends’ circle who did not have an arranged marriage. None of the other uncles and aunties ever cuddled, kissed, or even held hands.
“Anuj!” Mom immediately perks up. “I thought you were upstairs.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Anuj says. “What have you been up to?”
Two bowls of melted chocolate ice cream are on the coffee table in front of them. Ice cream soup, Anuj used to call it.
Dad yawns. “Just watching a movie. Before I forget to tell you, Bipin Uncle is coming over tomorrow morning, you know, in case you want to talk to him about med school applications.”
Bipin Uncle recently joined the admissions committee at Emory med school. The dude is everywhere, on the board of the hospital, involved with the national Gujarati newspaper, and now, with Emory med school. He’s also scary as shit. Anuj always liked his wife, Kavita Auntie, but Bipin Uncle was the one parents brought up as the quintessential disciplinarian desi parent. Oh, you think we’re strict? Bipin Bhai sent his kids to boarding school in India when they behaved like this!
“Dad, I don’t need to talk to him. I’m in the architecture program.” Anuj points to his sweatshirt, which just reads cornell in block letters. If only it read cornell architecture. Then this would be the perfect moment for a Friday-night family sitcom.
“I’m just suggesting you keep an open mind. You only completed one year of college and you can apply to med school with any major,” Dad reminds Anuj for the fifteenth time this week.
Anuj sighs. Maybe he shouldn’t have chosen a summer internship in Atlanta over staying in Ithaca. Dad could be so progressive: telling Anuj it was okay to cry and show his emotions, buying him poetry books from independent bookstores, encouraging him to watch foreign films.
Dad could be so old-fashioned: insisting Anuj be a doctor, believing it’s always a man’s role to court a woman (hence, he doesn’t know Anuj is on Bumble), viewing America like some stern parent who has to be both respected and feared.
In therapy, the therapy only Natasha knows about, Anuj learned that the contradictory expectations and underlying message that no achievement is ever enough prevent him from fully opening up to his parents or even to his friends, no matter how supportive and easygoing they are. Despite everything Dad’s said, Anuj still doesn’t ever feel that he can truly be vulnerable with anyone outside of Natasha.
As if hearing his thoughts, Mom asks, “And how is your sister?”
Whenever she’s mad at Natasha, she refers to her in relation to other people.
“She’s fine. Going to bed,” Anuj says. “What were you both talking about before I came in here?”
A flash of worry crosses Mom’s face. But then she smiles. “Kai nai.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing,” Anuj says. “Everything okay?”
“Of course it is, beta. You should get some rest,” Dad says.
He and Mom shift their focus back to the movie. Anuj lingers by the edge of the sofa to see if they’ll retract their words or at least elaborate. When they stay silent, he turns around and heads to his room, telling himself he didn’t hear a thing.
Seven
Suhani
Our moms are going to kill us for eating out,” Zack says as he thumbs through the large menu at Highland Bakery.
“Well, tomorrow we’re eating out with yours, so she can’t get mad at that,” Suhani says, referring to the Sunday-evening tradition of going out for Chinese food, the same one Zack’s family had growing up.
“Oh, she’ll definitely get mad if she sees our fridge. Let’s make sure to meet her in the lobby,” Zack says.
One Indian mom plus one Jewish mom equals a fridge that’s constantly full of food. Suhani feels a twinge of guilt as she pictures the untouched Pyrex containers full of paneer, chole, babka, and matzoh balls. She’s in awe of how much patience both their moms must have to spend so many hours stirring and sautéing and seasoning. She gives herself a pat on the back for just cutting a pineapple. It takes so much more effort than she realized when she was a kid, just like a lot of things Mom did and Suhani didn’t notice because she was too absorbed in her own life.
While both their moms cook to show love, Barbara’s desire is also partially rooted in a survival instinct. Zack’s dad, a family med doctor with alcoholism, used to come home and break things in a fit of rage. He walked out on them when Zack was six, and since then, Barbara splits her time between working double shifts as an ER nurse and cooking for her children. Ever since he left us, she’s been obsessed with making sure we’re never deprived, Zack told Suhani on their first date. Barbara lives alone in East Cobb and splits her time between Atlanta, New York, and Portland, where Zack’s three older sisters live.
When Suhani first met Barbara, she immediately liked her hot-pink scrubs, silver curls, and I-don’t-give-a-crap attitude. Sure, she guilt trips Zack for not calling enough and gets aggressive about wanting a grandchild, but all in all she’s a great mother-in-law. Everything she does is coated with a consuming and unwavering warmth. Though she has a lot in common with Mom, she also does things Mom would never do, like taking Suhani to dimly lit cocktail bars, sending someone to clean their apartment every month, and cheering Suhani when she kept her name as Suhani Joshi instead of changing it to Suhani Kaplan.
A waitress approaches their table. “Hi, I’m Meg. Can I take your drinks order?”
“I’ll have a coffee and mimosa, thank you,” Suhani says.
“Great.” Meg scribbles the items on a thin notepad. She does a double take at Suhani and Zack. “How about, er, your, uh, how about you?”
“My husband will have a Bloody Mary.” Suhani puts her sparkling engagement and wedding rings on full display. “Thank you so much.”
When Meg walks away, Zack leans forward and rubs Suhani’s hand. “I love how you said ‘husband’ like you were saying ‘Mr. President.’”
“I had to. Don’t tell me you didn’t see the look on her face. She didn’t think we could be together.”
“You think everyone feels that way,” Zack says.
“Because they do!” Suhani shakes her head. “We could have this conversation a million times and you still don’t get it.”
“I do get it. I really do.” Zack lets out a loud sigh. “You just get so worked up.”
They’re interrupted by Meg, who puts down a mimosa, a large mug of coffee, a Bloody Mary, and two glasses of ice water. Zack keeps his hands over Suhani’s and smiles as if to say, See? I’m showing her!
Of course it’s easy for Zack to not notice how people look at them. He’s a cute white guy. He’s never had to feel like an outsider or wonder whether he belongs somewhere. And then when he’s conscious about his privilege, he gets to be the considerate, cute white guy!
“So, are we going to talk about Thursday night?” Zack asks, referring to his work event at Canoe, where Zack’s company reserved a table with a stunni
ng view of the water.
“I think we have to,” Suhani says. “I’m so sorry . . . again.”
“I know you are, honey. And I’m really sorry for overreacting,” Zack says as he cuts a cinnamon roll down the middle.
“You never overreact.” Suhani scoffs. “That’s really more my area of expertise.”
Zack hates yelling because of how much his dad used to do it. Sometimes, when he and Suhani get into their most heated arguments, Zack shuts down, while she can keep going and going. Her mind drifts to a couples’ therapy point she highlighted in one of her textbooks: “The person who marries you really sees the worst of you in a way nobody else does.”
Confusion passes over Zack’s clean-shaven face. “I still just don’t understand how you could fall asleep while my boss was talking to us.”
“I didn’t want to!” Suhani says. “I was on call the night before and got to the hospital at six that morning so I could prepare for my presentation. And I didn’t have time for a power nap, so I even chugged an espresso before having a cocktail. All I remember is that one second, I was laughing about everyone calling you the ‘office dad’ and the next, you were nudging me to wake up.”
“I’m sorry you were so tired.” Even though Zack’s words are innocuous, his clenched jaw gives away that he’s not over this.
Sure enough, he adds, “You’re always exhausted and this is the only work event of mine you’ve made it to in months. I guess I was just surprised you couldn’t be a little less tired for those few hours.”
“You’re still annoyed,” Suhani says matter-of-factly as she prepares to apologize again. If she doesn’t get her act together, she can picture Zack twenty years from now, sprawled across a psychiatrist’s couch, some senior man who trained her at some point. Yeah, everything started going to shit when my wife embarrassed me at a work dinner. . . .
“I’m not,” Zack says. But one glance at him tells her otherwise. Zack has one of those honest and open faces that make people in coffee shops ask him to watch their laptops when they go to the bathroom.
Suhani takes a sip of her mimosa. “You are and it’s fine.”
Sometimes they have the exact same fights over and over again. Suhani’s lost count of the number of times her exhaustion has been a topic. She sees herself through her husband’s eyes and feels a twinge of guilt, then frustration. It has to be difficult for him to come home to someone who is always so drained.
Don’t let this job ruin what matters in life, Dad told Suhani the day she started as an intern at Atlanta Memorial Hospital. It’s too easy to take the people who love you for granted.
“Hey, look, it’s okay. I really am sorry for getting upset and I know things are hard for you. I want to be there for you.” Zack wraps his hands over hers.
“I want to be there for you, too,” Suhani says.
“You are,” Zack says. “And your schedule will get better. I’ll be so happy for you when you finally get a chance to just breathe.”
Suhani doesn’t tell Zack that as much as the long shifts drain her, she’s also tired from the undercurrents of pressure and judgment that simmer below the surface of each day. The awareness that being in medicine means she’s evaluated every second not only by her performance but also by her appearance. The having to smile whenever a patient asks her when the doctor is coming in. The mansplaining from male attendings. The fear that she can screw up and get criticized or, worse, lose it all at any given moment.
Sometimes Suhani wonders if she only exists in two extremes: either she’s moving at max speed, able to accomplish everything, or she’s stuck on the couch and can’t even respond to text messages. The last time she remembers feeling free and fully absorbed in the present was during their honeymoon and, before that, when Natasha came to visit her once in med school. They packed a cooler with bottles of wine and spent an entire morning doing handstands on the beach. The day ended with dinner and cocktails with Devi Auntie, Mom’s closest (and coolest) friend from Bombay, whom Suhani visited every few months when she was in med school.
“And within a matter of weeks”—Zack does a light drum roll on the edge of the table—“you’ll be a chief resident! By the way, did you tell Dr. Wilson you’re definitely running?”
“I’m sure he already knows. Everyone does.” Suhani shrugs.
She can’t imagine walking into her program director’s office and announcing that she wants to be a chief. Despite getting a perfect GPA year after year throughout middle and high school, then excelling through four years at Emory, there’s always a voice in her head telling her she got lucky.
“Even if he does know, he needs to hear it from you,” Zack says. “I’m sure all the other residents who are running have already gone to kiss his ass. But none of them have made a partnership between the psych and OB departments or been the head of so many committees. You have to own all the work you’ve done.”
She pictures Zack putting this all on a note and sticking it on their kitchen counter. Zack’s a big note leaver. Sometimes, after a tough day, she’ll find a yellow Post-it on the bathroom mirror: I love my hot doctor! Congrats on finishing yet another hard call shift!
DO NOT CLEAN THE APARTMENT! JUST RELAX!
“You make a good point, as always, Ben Wyatt,” Suhani says. They nicknamed each other Ben and Leslie after noting the similarities between them and the Parks and Recreation couple.
Zack shakes his head and smiles. “You’re so funny sometimes.”
“What do you mean?” Suhani asks, even though she knows what he’s going to say.
“You’re so type A about everything except advocating for yourself. I really don’t get it. If you were a guy, especially a white guy”—Zack winks—“you’d be puffing out your chest and bragging about all the work you’ve done.”
“You know I’d love to walk around all day with that type of confidence. But you also know that I’d be punished for seeming too aggressive at work,” Suhani reminds him.
The rules are always different for people like us, Mom told Suhani over and over again when she was younger. Mom was right. She always has to prove herself, let her work speak for itself, and not risk being seen as too greedy, too presumptuous, too anything.
“Oh, hello!” Zack exclaims. “Where are your parents?”
A chubby little girl, around three or four years old, is standing at their table. Her curly hair is held in place with a sparkly white butterfly clip. Zack waves at her and puffs out his cheeks. She erupts into a fit of laughter.
“My dress,” she says as she points to her sky-blue dress.
“Like a princess!” Zack’s voice says at a higher than normal pitch.
The girl smiles, pleased with his approval. Zack spots her parents in the back corner and walks her to their table.
“She’s so cute,” Suhani says when Zack comes back.
“Cute enough for you to change your mind about wanting one?” Even though Zack has a lighthearted smile, Suhani can see something on his face that looks a lot like hope.
“Why?” Suhani says. “Do you really want one?”
For most of her life, Suhani could see herself having kids as equally as she could see herself not having them. She waited for a flash of longing or the classic pang of baby fever so many of her friends had. But it never came. Instead, her future was a split screen, and she thought either side had its plusses and drawbacks. Accumulating scholarly or professional achievements never took away the gnawing sense that something about her was inadequate, not normal.
And then what happened in med school only further increased the divide between the two options. A psychoanalyst would have many theories about why. Despite how much she’s accomplished, the one place where she constantly felt inadequate and unsure is when the topic of motherhood came up.
“If you do want one, we should talk about it.” Suhani reaches across the table a
nd brushes his hand. “Really.”
“No, I mean, it crosses my mind sometimes, but it’s not like I need to have one at this second,” Zack says. “But I guess it would be good to revisit the idea sometime.”
“We should,” Suhani agrees. “Do you want to now?”
“No, no, definitely not now,” Zack says.
There are a few seconds of silence, which Zack breaks by saying, “So, moving on . . .”
Zack draws out “moving on” so it sounds like “mooooving on.” It’s one of his go-to phrases and the only thing he says with a southern drawl. His middle school health teacher, who also taught sex ed, said it whenever things got really awkward. Zack has used it ever since as a lighthearted way to change the subject.
“Have you seen Roshan around at work?”
The question is both so innocuous and so surprising that Suhani freezes. She pictures the unread text message on her phone. His number hasn’t changed since med school and she hates that she has it memorized, lodged in her limbic system.
“I haven’t seen him.” Suhani pictures Roshan’s bushy eyebrows, the earth-tone button-down shirts he always wears, his long face that’s darker from hours spent outside, building things and hiking with his old Australian shepherd. He has the interests of Aidan Shaw from Sex and the City with the aloofness of Mr. Big. Not exactly the portrait of a dream boyfriend. How could she not have realized that years ago? It still takes her by surprise how one person can go from being a stranger to being the most important part of your life, then back to being a stranger.
“Why did you guys break up again?” Zacks runs his fingers through his cinnamon-colored hair and sweeps it across his forehead. “I mean, you told me that you drifted apart and felt disconnected and all that, but was that it?”
Early in their relationship, when she and Zack dissected their romantic pasts, she kept the details about Roshan vague. And even though her husband’s tone is now curious, not accusatory or jealous, Suhani flinches at the question. “Pretty much. We weren’t right for each other.”
