by Swati MH
But our elation was short-lived.
I can still recall the chaos inside the room when a nurse told Ma that she’d like to have the doctor check a protrusion at the bottom of Vinnie’s spine. She took Vinnie from Ma’s arms and I still remember the flash of fear that crossed Ma’s face, like she found the entire thing to be a big misunderstanding. Pops held her while I sat next to her on the hospital bed, feeling helpless.
When the nurse came back with Vinnie and the doctor in tow, they told us that the X-rays had confirmed that Vinnie had a severe form of spina bifida and would likely never have full mobility. Thankfully, his cognitive function wasn’t impacted. The entire scene was a blur after that, made up of loud screams from my mom holding onto my dad in disbelief and my aunt holding me, crying for her sister.
My other childhood memories consisted of our extended family--not including Avni and her family--treating my brother either like he didn’t exist or like he was a complete invalid. It pissed me off listening to them talk about him in his presence as if he was mentally incapable of understanding. They applied his physical shortcomings to his mental aptitude. They had no fucking clue how incredibly smart he was, and how much it gutted him to be reminded of his disability as if it wasn’t something he lived with every day of his life.
It was during one of those observed exchanges that I knew I wanted to help kids like my brother. At that time, I wasn’t sure how I would do it, but I knew I wanted more kids with debilitating diseases to have as normal of a life as I could help them achieve.
After several surgeries, various infection scares, and thousands of therapy sessions, Vinnie has some mobility, though his legs are still weak. Woe be the person who tells Vinnie he can’t do something, though; he’ll make them eat their words. Over the years, he’s signed up for various sports, learned to dance, and gave motivational talks in schools around the area. I follow his lead--never letting him feel like he’s different from anyone else and keeping him in line by teasing and irritating him like only a big brother can. In fact, there were many times I fought with my parents on his behalf when they thought something he’d signed up for, like rock climbing, was too dangerous.
I step farther into my parents’ home and can already smell the spices of Mom’s cooking in the air. There’s nothing like the smell of home cooking after the long drive from San Diego. Ma told me she was making masala dosas, my favorite kind of crepes with the potato filling. I would have been home earlier if I wasn’t on-call until the afternoon.
“Why are you all dressed up? You got a hot date tonight?” I ask Vinnie, noting his black polo and khakis. Since he has had to use his arms to compensate for the weakness in his legs and works out like a beast, Vinnie’s arms and shoulders are ripped under his shirt.
He gets a nervous look on his face. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I can’t help the excitement that runs through me. “My baby brother, the runt of the litter, has a date! Damn, bro! Do we need to have a conversation about the birds and the bees?” Now I know why he was nervous when he told me.
My brother looks down to one of his hands holding a crutch. I follow the movement, only to find that he’s lifted his middle finger at me. A laugh rumbles through me in the way only he can elicit from me.
He walks toward the door. “I’ll see you tonight. Maybe we can play the new Call of Duty. You know, if your ass hasn’t passed out by ten, old man.”
“Ten is when my night begins, young Padawan. Are you taking an Uber?”
“Yeah, it’s already here.”
“Have fun and keep your shit wrapped, we don’t need any illegitimates running around.”
My brother furrows his eyebrows. “It’s the first date. I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
Clearly, he and I have different definitions of first dates.
After I watch Vinnie get into the Uber, struggling only a little as he wobbles into the seat, I walk into the kitchen to find my mom. She has Hindi music playing softly on the Alexa device and is spreading the dough for the dosa on a hot round pan. “Hey, Ma.” I walk toward her to wrap her in a hug. “Smells so good in here. I’m starving.”
She unwraps from me and hurries back to the food before it burns. “As you should be. You work too much and don’t take care of yourself, Vikas. Who knows what kind of food you’re eating during breaks.”
She knows that when it comes to taking care of myself, I don’t skimp, but Ma is Ma. She refuses to believe that her boys can actually take care of themselves the same way she would take care of us. I keep my mouth shut because who would argue against getting a good home-cooked meal?
Ma has always been dedicated to me and my brother, but she’s been a little lost ever since Pa died of a heart attack a few years ago. Since I don’t live with her anymore, Vinnie gets the brunt of her coddling and overprotectiveness. I know it grates on his nerves sometimes, especially since he lives with her and she pours all her energy into him, but he loves her just as fiercely. Ma stopped working at the tax firm after Vinnie was born and has spent pretty much every waking minute since then taking care of us and my dad when he was alive. I know she struggles inwardly as she watches us grow more independent because she hasn’t quite figured out what to do with herself. I worry that if and when Vinnie gets married or has a serious girlfriend, Ma’s going to have a mental breakdown.
I sit at the bar after washing my hands. “So, Vinnie has a date tonight, huh? I’m glad to see he’s getting out there more.”
Ma purses her lips for a moment and hands me a plate with a steaming dosa. It’s clear, even from that slight body language, that she doesn’t quite approve. “He met her on some online app. Who knows how she is.”
Her mention of the online app reminds me of my conversation with Cassie last night. I tried not to flinch when she said she was going out on a date with someone she met on an app. In fact, that’s probably where she is right now--enjoying dinner with some douchebag who doesn’t deserve her. I don’t know why I felt a surge of protectiveness toward her when she told me. I didn’t like the idea of her meeting someone she didn’t know. What if he’s a psychopath? Hell, I don’t like the idea of her meeting any guy . . . besides me. Period. In a way, I could empathize with Ma’s concern for Vinnie.
I take a bite of the savory stuffed crepe and almost moan aloud. “Aren’t you happy that he’s at least meeting people instead of being anti-social like he’s been for most of his life?”
Ma shrugs. “I am happy that he’s showing interest in women, but I worry about him. He has a softer heart than he lets on, and I don’t want anyone to hurt him. He also has a good-paying job, and I don’t want any woman taking advantage of his weaknesses for her own gain.”
I could understand my mom’s perspective. Vinnie is definitely more heart than I am. He’s always been emotionally observant and extremely empathetic. Even though so much of our extended family has treated him like he was invisible, he’s never held it against them. It hurts him when he feels ignored or shunned, but he always forgives them, saying they don’t know any better. And he’s proven all the assholes in my family wrong by making something great of himself. Today, he’s making a great salary as a web designer for a large software company in Santa Monica. Thankfully, he’s able to work from the comfort of home, which works well for him since he needs the special facilities my parents built around him, like his room and bathroom.
“He’s a smart kid, Ma. He’s proved it over and over again. You have to give him space to figure these things out.”
“I am giving him space,” Ma says defensively. “I give him plenty of space. He didn’t even ask me for permission to go out tonight; he just told me an hour before you got here.”
I nod, knowing that telling Ma that she shouldn’t expect her grown, twenty-three-year-old son to seek her permission or approval would probably mean I wouldn’t get my next dosa. There are some battles I’d rather stay out of for my own self-preservation.
“Enough about Vinnie.” S
he puts another hot dosa on my plate straight from the pan. “Tell me, when will you finally settle down?”
“I’m thinking twenty-thirty-five.” I deadpan.
Ma isn’t amused. “Vikas, don’t make a joke about this. It’s high time you get married. In fact, you should have been married five years ago, but with medical school and residency, I understood that you had no time to devote to any woman, but now you’re almost thirty-three years old. It’s time that you settle down.”
Oh, I was devoting time to women alright . . .. She just didn’t need to know how.
I sigh like I always do when Ma brings this conversation up. At this point, it’s become a usual topic with every visit. “What do you want me to say, Ma? When I meet someone worth settling down for, you’ll be the first to know.”
She comes to sit next to me at the bar with her own plate, along with another dosa for me. “But are you even trying to meet anyone? Are you even exploring?”
There’s definitely some anatomical exploration happening on the daily, Ma.
“Yes,” I say simply.
“And. . .?” she implores. “No one has piqued your interest?”
My mind drifts off again toward the short, tawny-eyed spitfire I’d recently reacquainted with. For being almost pocket-sized compared to my six-foot-two inch frame, she has more fire in her than a loaded gun. Every word that comes out of her pouty mouth is a challenge, daring me to prove her wrong about what she thinks she knows about me. In fact, I’ve never had to work so hard to get a woman to go out for a drink, let alone show me interest. But Cassie avoids me like a contagious disease, and somehow, I seek her out like she’s the cure.
Why has that little spitfire piqued my interest?
I couldn’t help checking out her tight ass as she walked out of the bar last night before launching her last statement at me like a missile. Her curves and the cinched waist perfectly nestled between palm-sized breasts and a round ass had my mouth watering. If she could make scrubs look so sexy, I’m positive I’d have a near heart attack if I saw her in anything else.
Or without anything else.
“Vikas?” Ma shakes me from my musing.
“I’m just trying to focus on this fellowship right now, Ma. Between the long hours and being on-call, I don’t have much time left. I’ll let you know if someone comes along who I want you to meet.”
Ma huffs. “Do you know how many of my Indian friends have asked about you for their daughters or relatives? You’re a good-looking doctor from a good family. How long can I push them off and say you’re busy?”
Luckily, I don’t have to respond because my phone rings. I’m so used to jumping at the sound of my phone, being that I’m on-call so much, that I pick it up on the first ring without seeing who it is.
“This is Dr. Bedi.”
“Dude, are you in town this weekend?” It’s my childhood friend Tim. He, my friend Wes, and I all grew up in the same neighborhood. While I get to see Wes often when I'm in New York, I only hang out with Tim occasionally when I'm visiting Santa Monica.
“Yeah, I’m eating dinner with my mom right now. What’s up?”
“Come over for a drink then, it’s been too long.”
I eye the clock. It’s only eight, but I promised Vinnie I’d hang out with him later, and going all the way to Ocean Park would mean I wouldn’t get back home in time. “Why don’t you come over here? I’m supposed to hang with Vinnie after he gets home.”
“Cool, see you in a half hour then.”
Sitting in Ma’s game room, Tim and I both take sips of our scotch while he updates me on his life. After Ma said hi to Tim, she went upstairs to talk to Asha masi on the phone. She’s probably complaining to her about how I dodged the question about relationships earlier while Asha masi tells her how disappointed she is that Avni and Clark still haven’t given her a grandchild.
“How’s Lana doing?” I ask. Tim is in film production for a local studio and lives with his girlfriend near Ocean Park.
“She’s good. Staying busy with her masters,” he responds with a look on his face that’s both resigned and confused. “I’ve barely seen her over the past few weeks.”
I hesitate a moment but since Tim and I have been friends since the fifth grade, I decide to probe a bit more. “Is everything okay?”
He sighs before taking another sip from his glass. “I don’t know. It’s just . . . I feel like we’re on different schedules or maybe even different planets sometimes. She’s young and wants to go out during the weekends with her friends, and I’d rather stay home after a long week. She gets home late each weeknight from her college group meetings, so the last thing I want is to not see her over the weekends as well. But it doesn’t feel like we’re on the same page anymore.” He uses his hand to rub his chin for a moment. “Do I sound like a whiny douche?”
“Maybe a little.” I grin. “It seems like she goes out on the weekends to burn off some steam from the week. Why don’t you just join her?”
“I don’t know. I’ve already been there, done that. Going out with a bunch of twenty-somethings who are getting hammered and talking about life as if they’ve had so much experience just doesn’t appeal to me.”
“Yeah, I get that. But your girlfriend appeals to you, right? So, do it for her. Unless you want to come to the dark side with me and widen your horizons without committing to anyone in particular.” I smile at him, taking a sip of my scotch.
He chuckles. “I can’t decide if I envy you or think you’re crazy. I don’t know how you do it, man. New women, night after night. Doesn’t it get exhausting, not having any level of commitment or depth with someone? I mean, it’s been six years since . . . her.”
“She’s not Voldemort, Tim. You can say her name.”
“Fine. It’s been six years since Sunita, right? Don’t you think you’ve manwhored your way through most of the metropolitan cities since then?”
Sunita. A name that rarely crosses my mind anymore and is associated with two wasted years of my life. A name that--when I do remember it--still has the power to incite a slow-burning rage inside the walls of my chest. A name that brings back all the cringeworthy visuals--with her hands down some guy’s pants, mauling his face like a ravenous animal--that I’d like to delete from my memory. My anger has dissipated considerably in the last six years--largely because I drowned myself in detached affairs to douse the pain--but I won’t claim I’m completely zen. I can still get riled up if I allow myself to take a stroll down memory lane.
Weeks after seeing Sunita in a compromising position with another man and feeling like I couldn’t put the tattered pieces of my life back together--and barely being able to get through my residency--I decided enough was enough. That, and my brother, Wes, and Tim basically told me to get my head out of my ass and get my shit together. I decided soon after that I’d never get so attached to a girl that I’d let her rip the floor from under my feet again. That’s when I decided that if I wanted someone, it would be for a night. I’d keep the personal questions and the getting-to-know-you to a minimum, and then send them off on their merry way once the night was done. It kept things simple and mutually beneficial. No expectations, no commitments, no problems. We’d get everything we required physically and keep our fucking hearts out of the process.
Problem solved.
I shrug in response to Tim, turning the glass in my hands. “I don’t think I’m the type to be with one person all my life. I might one day . . . maybe when I’m older, but right now, even the idea of meeting someone else’s expectations, getting attached only to find out they were never as attached to me, seems . . . I don’t know . . . stupid. No offense.”
Tim smirks. “None taken. But not every girl is like Sunita. Yes, relationships take . . .” he lets out a breath, possibly considering his situation with Lana, “patience and effort. But they’re worth the work when you find that person who lights a fire in, out, and under you every day.”
Maybe it’s Tim’s use of the wo
rd ‘fire’ but my mind goes back to Cassie. She definitely knows how to make my blood run mercury-grade when I’m near her. But I can’t understand why my mind keeps getting stuck on her like a pop song with a catchy beat. No matter the conversation or the context, somehow I’d end up linking it to her.
Sure she’s beautiful with her gorgeous pink lips that always look like they’ve just been thoroughly kissed and those playful freckles on her button nose, betraying the untrusting scowl she reserves just for me. But I’ve met many beautiful women before. What is it about Cassie that has me so rattled, almost starstruck? Is it that I know she won’t give me the time of day and the chase makes me thirsty for her? Or is it that I’ve finally found someone interesting enough, feisty enough, and strong enough to tether me? It has to be the former because, as previously established, I don’t get attached or fixated. I don’t pine for or dream about long-lasting and fulfilling relationships. Instead, I quench my thirst on random women like they’re cocktails on an extensive bar menu.
But Cassie . . .. Cassie might prove to be more like a fine aged scotch. So smooth going down my throat that one taste of her could forever relinquish my desire for watered-down drinks.
“Maybe.” I change the direction of the conversation back toward Tim. “So, I guess what you’re saying is Lana is worth the effort, and that you’re going to stop being an asshole and go have fun on her terms once in a while to save your relationship.”
Tim chuckles again. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
I sit on the couch and check my work email after Tim leaves and wait for my brother to get home. He texted from the Uber asking if I was still up, giving me a hard time about being an old man. I just sent him the middle-finger emoji as a response.
I hear the front door close and the telltale sounds of my brother’s shaky footsteps and crutches. He walks into the game room a few minutes later. “I’m impressed, bhai. Awake past ten.”