What a Happy Family

by Saumya Dave

  Is it possible that despite all the times she’s rebelled, a big part of her was still convinced that if she wasn’t following a conventional life, she was a failure?

  “I know this is easier said than done, but if you really wanna live on your own terms, you’ve got to be okay with disappointing people, even the ones you love,” Alexis says. “Maybe especially them.”

  They’re interrupted by a nurse asking Natasha if she’s ready to meet the treatment team. The next hour is exactly how Alexis described. Natasha goes to a big room where a dozen staff members are sitting around a table with coffee and clipboards. Thankfully, Dr. Chan is sitting in the center and encourages Natasha to take her time going back through the events that led her to calling 911.

  At first, Natasha feels like a zoo animal, trapped behind glass, solely there to be observed and gawked at. But something about Dr. Chan’s confident and warm voice makes Natasha’s breathing slow down.

  “If at any point any of this becomes too much, let me know and we’ll take a break,” Dr. Chan says. The residents on either side of her are taking frantic notes. One of them is looking through a pocket textbook that reads Synopsis of Psychiatry. Is this who Natasha is to them? Someone who can just be looked up and referenced?

  Like an idiot, she only now remembers that these people work with her sister. And they’re going to know the most humiliating thing she’s ever done!

  But everyone’s faces are unfazed as she gives them a recap. It’s obvious that they’ve heard it all. As traumatic as the last twenty-four hours have been, a part of her is relieved that nobody looks shocked or disgusted.

  The interview ends with Dr. Chan recommending therapy and a low dose of Prozac. (Spot on, Alexis!) Natasha heads back to her room. All she wants to do is sleep.

  “Natasha!” Jean, the unit security guard, stops her. “You’ve got a visitor waiting for you in the dining room.”

  “Already? I thought they weren’t allowed on the first day,” Natasha says.

  The hospital nonslip socks are way too tight around her ankles. She’ll ask for a bigger size after she sees whoever is here. If it’s Suhani, she’ll make sure Natasha knows all the patient perks. Or maybe it’s the girls. She can see Anuj or Zack telling them to check on her here.

  But when she gets to the dining room, there’s only one person inside. An Indian dude in a white coat.

  Shit.

  It’s not just any Indian dude. It’s Roshan. Suhani’s Roshan.

  “Um, hey?” Natasha says. “What are you doing here?”

  She’s instantly transported back to that weekend she visited Suhani in medical school. Roshan was stuck to Suhani the first night. Depending on who was judging him, Roshan’s furrowed brows and deep voice could be considered sexy in a Heathcliff, brooding kind of way. Yes, Heathcliff! Natasha had called him brown Heathcliff after she met him.

  “I had to see a patient here for a neurology consult and thought I’d say hi,” Roshan says. “And let you know I’m here if you need anything.”

  “Why?” Natasha tries to register his presence. It’s so weird that this is who Suhani was with before Zack. Chill and content Zack. Talk about not having a type at all.

  “Because I know Suhani’s worried about you,” Roshan says.

  “And how do you know that?” Natasha asks.

  She knows she can push someone like him because in some ways, she is someone like him. He’s also got the same dark, Scorpio energy she does, and in another life, they would maybe even be good friends. She pictures them meeting at a bar, drinking whiskey, and bitching about people who are simpletons.

  “Uh . . .” Roshan frowns. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

  “I mean, how do you know what Suhani’s worried about?”

  “Is that some sort of trick question?” His frown deepens. “She’s your sister. You’re here. Obviously she’s worried.”

  Damn, he wants my sister, she thinks. Natasha has always been able to tell when a guy liked Suhani. There was a certain tenderness in their voices, an eagerness on their faces when they spoke to Natasha. It was as if they were trying to win her over.

  But then she has a sinking feeling in her stomach. It’s the same one she had when she visited Suhani in med school and saw her and Roshan together. Something was just off. Maybe it was sisterly intuition or just his vibe, but Natasha thinks back to Suhani seeming stressed, Zack’s worries about her being more closed off, and it all becomes clear. Roshan has something to do with it. She’s not sure what but she knows it’s something. And even though he’s expressing concern about Natasha now, she senses something else under his words. Power? Dominance? Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem right.

  “Are you okay?” Roshan asks.

  “No, I’m not,” Natasha says. “Look, I know some major shit went down between you and my sister. But you need to leave her alone.”

  “Whoa, Natasha, I’m not trying to bother her, okay?” Roshan says.

  “But that’s the thing. You just being around isn’t helpful for her. You think I don’t know all about you? You think she and I didn’t talk about you guys?” Natasha tries to rearrange her face into its best I’m-ready-to-intimidate-you expression. She always wished she had a solid resting bitch face. Instead, her undereye circles and puffy cheeks give her more of a girl-who-needs-rest face.

  Natasha furrows her badly-in-need-of-threading eyebrows. “I’m sure you’re coming from a good place but whatever you guys went through is in the past. And it needs to stay there.”

  Roshan looks surprised, then hurt. Maybe Natasha is being a little too bitchy. After all, the guy is trying to check on her.

  But when she sees his clenched fists, she knows she hit a nerve. Because everything she told him is true. And if for nothing else, she has to do this much for her sister and brother-in-law.

  “All right, then.” Roshan stands up. The wooden chair screeches against the floor as he pushes it with his heel. “Good to see you. Take care of yourself.”

  Relief washes over her as Roshan walks away.

  Go, she thinks. Leave her alone. Forever.

  Now if she can only just get her own shit together. She shuffles down the hallway, ready to get back in bed.

  Twenty-Three

  Suhani

  Three days.

  Zack’s slept on the couch for three days. And she’s barely even seen him there. He’s been leaving early for work and returning after Suhani’s asleep.

  She scrolls to the text he sent her yesterday.

  ZACK: I still need time.

  She pictures him driving on I-75, the air-conditioning blasting, listening to his favorite business podcast. She should call him and ask how they could have possibly gotten to a place so low. Or maybe she can drive to his office right now and surprise him. Be the spontaneous Suhani who once existed sometimes with Zack. Only with Zack. She pictures herself wearing black stilettos, a trench coat, and nothing else. They can play hooky, get a hotel room, order champagne and room service.

  But he doesn’t want that. And she has to respect his desire for space.

  Suhani studies her reflection in their bathroom mirror, still foggy from her long morning shower. The sole perk of being unable to sleep now is that she has plenty of time to do a hair mask, exfoliate, and shave her legs. Zack’s razor is on the counter.

  After her shower, it only takes her ten minutes to apply primer, foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner, and eye shadow. She puts on a crisp white shirtdress and slings gold Mejuri hoops through her ears. Her look is complete with one coat of red lipstick. A quick glance in the mirror confirms that she looks ready to take on the day, even if all she wants to do is curl into the fetal position on the floor.

  Her gaze lingers on her platinum wedding band and three-carat engagement ring. The creepy stillness of the apartment makes her feel as though she’s suspended in a
dream. Outside, the roads swell with morning rush-hour traffic. People are clutching iced coffees and crossing streets and putting in AirPods.

  Work. She has to get to work. Natasha can take a terrible situation and inject humor into it. Take lemons and make a margarita. Mom can do that, too. But Suhani’s only way of coping is to put her head down and get shit done.

  An hour later, she’s sitting across from Dr. Wilson. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Look, I understand what you saw between Dr. Shah and me,” Suhani says. “We did know each other in medical school, but there’s nothing to be concerned about now. And it won’t have any impact on how I would be as a chief.”

  If I still even have a chance, she considers adding but then decides not to.

  “Suhani, I appreciate you sharing that, but we’ve already made our decisions.” Dr. Wilson twirls a Montblanc pen like it’s a mini baton. Suhani has an impulse to grab the pen out of his hand and yell, Tell me already! She needs to process the news and move on. Rip off the Band-Aid.

  “All right, then,” Suhani prepares to leave. “That’s gr—”

  “You are going to be one of our chiefs.”

  “Wait, what?” Suhani asks. “I am?”

  But what about what he and the other committee members saw? What about the e-mail?

  “Of course you are. To be honest, I’m dismayed that you had so much doubt.”

  “I guess I thought after everything that I was out of the running.” The truth hits her in waves. She’s going to be chief! Everything she worked for mattered!

  Zack. She has to call Zack.

  But will he even want to hear from her? She thinks back to the text. I still need time.

  “Because you have a personal life?” Dr. Wilson raises an eyebrow. “Once I realized there was some history with you and Dr. Shah, I made sure he would not have any input on our decision.”

  “You did?” Suhani asks. Did she really let her anxiety push her to assume the worst?

  “Of course. It’s my job to look out for you,” Dr. Wilson says. “And you deserved this position. May I ask where all of this self-doubt is coming from? I ask this as a program director, not a psychiatrist.”

  “Ha.” Suhani feels the tension in her shoulders melt. “It’s complicated.”

  “Can you try to explain it to me? However much feels comfortable?” Dr. Wilson leans forward and folds his hands on the desk. Regardless of what he just said, everyone knows this is his classic therapist pose, focused and ready to listen.

  Her mind jumps back to the moment her baby left her, the odd mix of regret and relief that devoured her body. Even though she told herself she did what was best for everyone, a part of her was always convinced she did something wrong and that someday she would pay the price. Shame was tricky in that way. It distorted how she saw her past and what she thought she deserved in her future.

  But maybe she needed something that poked holes in the pristine self-image that she spent years constructing. Maybe the constant pressure she put on herself would have boiled over at one point or another and forced her to reevaluate what really mattered, who she really was underneath the achievements.

  She sees everything in a blur: pushing herself to live the way her mother never could, making sure all her parents’ sacrifices weren’t in vain, setting the perfect example for her sister and brother, excelling in everything she pursued. Even her relationship with Roshan was like that, another accomplishment that checked off all the right boxes on the outside.

  All of it made her unable to deal with anything that couldn’t be controlled.

  “I guess in medical training there’s so much evaluation, and it all matters,” Suhani says. “We’re taught that a single negative comment can derail an entire career. It’s made me have this fear that I’m always just one mistake away from losing it all, that I have to be perfect and overdo everything to make sure none of this is taken away.

  “It just adds up after a while. There are the evaluations from one side and then from the other, people doubting your title or making constant remarks about your appearance. All those things, even if they may seem small, can have a really massive impact. And I think in my case, it’s made me defensive and on edge.”

  Dr. Wilson’s eyes shift as he thinks about what Suhani’s just said.

  “We are seeing this a lot. Too much. Qualified women are not going after certain things because they think they don’t deserve to. The more I’m learning about this as a program director, the more I’m seeing that we have an institutional problem with making female physicians feel that they can advocate for themselves.”

  “I didn’t know this was something you were seeing across the board,” Suhani says.

  “I wish that wasn’t the case,” Dr. Wilson says. “One of the things I’m hoping you can do as chief is think of ways we can improve this at Atlanta Memorial.”

  “I really can’t wait.” She feels a flutter of excitement. After everything she’s been through, she can be a part of change so other women don’t have to endure the same.

  She leaves the meeting and thanks Dr. Wilson for everything. For the first time at work, her thoughts aren’t racing. She’s in the moment.

  In the empty gray stairwell, she leans against the railing as she feels something in her release. Roshan didn’t ruin her. No matter how much he tries to intimidate her or show he still has control over her, she can shut him out entirely. That part of her life truly is over.

  When she checks her phone, she sees Mom has sent three texts in the last hour.

  MOM: How is Natasha?

  MOM: Tell us if we can bring her anything.

  MOM: Hope she is doing okay. When are you going to be able to check on her?

  SUHANI: I’ll see her in a couple of hours.

  Then, before she has a chance to hesitate, she sends Zack a message.

  I understand you still need time. Just wanted you to be the first person to know I’m officially going to be chief. Please know that I’m so grateful for everything you did to help me get here. And again, I’m sorry.

  She waits to see if the typing-in-progress bubbles appear. But the screen remains unchanged for a couple of minutes. His Instagram and Twitter also don’t show any recent activity, but that might not mean anything. Zack’s more of a lurker on social media.

  Her finger lingers over the call button. But before she can press it, there’s an incoming call. The first digits give away that it’s from within the hospital.

  “It’s Dr. Joshi.” Suhani keeps her voice low as she walks back to her office.

  “Hi, it’s Konny Chan,” says the calm, confident voice on the other end.

  “Hi! How’s Natasha doing?” Suhani says, relieved her sister has one of the strongest residents on her case.

  “Fine. It’s still early so I’m hoping we see progress every day. She sleeps a lot,” Konny says. “I know the Prozac will take time to kick in, but if I can encourage her to go to some therapy groups and at least stay out of bed more, she’ll start to feel better. She’s already really close to her roommate, which is good. And we’ve had a few good one-on-one talks. I think long-term individual therapy will be very helpful for her.”

  “That sounds great,” Suhani says. “I’ll stop by this afternoon to check on her.”

  “There’s also one more thing you should be aware of,” Konny says. “We recommended family therapy. And Natasha didn’t seem too keen on it but we really believe it could be helpful.”

  “For our family?” Suhani asks, even though there’s obviously no other family Konny would be referring to. The thought of all of them, especially Mom, sitting in a room and being guided by a therapist, is unimaginable. Even though her husband and daughter are psychiatrists, Mom thinks Americans focus “too much” on therapy and “telling strangers their business.” She�
�d make that poor therapist wish they went into another career.

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Suhani says. “But do you think that would be productive? Or even good for her?”

  “I do. Natasha has brought up a lot pertaining to your family’s dynamics. And it seems as though many of the ideas she has about herself are shaped by her role in your family. We really do feel even a few sessions would be useful for her,” Konny says, then adds, “for everyone.”

  Suhani thinks back to how often she and Natasha were compared to each other throughout their lives. Relatives, aunties, and friends would say things like, Look at how talkative your sister is! Then they’d turn to Natasha and remark, You should dress more like your sister! Suhani assumed both of them got used to this nonstop commentary. But now she wonders how much damage things like this caused over the years.

  Is it possible that all of them played a part in making Natasha feel inadequate? Unaccepted? How would her parents even process those possibilities? Suhani can’t imagine them taking it well. She tries to picture Mom smiling and saying, Oh! Natasha’s depression partially stems from my parenting? Thank you so much for that insight! I’m enlightened!

  Konny’s voice brings Suhani back to reality. “I know it’s especially tough in Asian American families to discuss these types of things. I’ve actually been looking into it for my residency research project. There are so many barriers to treatment, but so far, the data I’ve found shows that many Asian Americans don’t go to therapy because of the stigma.”

  “Oh, definitely,” Suhani agrees. “But I guess with both my Dad and me, we thought we were doing a better job.”

  The moment the words come out, she’s compelled to take them back. She should be professional. Pretty soon, she’ll be Konny’s chief. She should be guiding her, not sharing something so personal.