Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  “It almost seems easy in comparison,” Jack admitted, picking his cocoa back up. “I went first last time. What do you think?”

  “It would be the most dangerous thing we’ve ever done. We have to assume that we won’t be the only ones searching for the dragon. Her handlers—the ones that survived, anyway—will want her back. There is a reason they didn’t unveil her when she was born. We are missing a large amount of data, and that kind of thing can get you killed quicker than any dragon.”

  “Definitely. And we don’t have a badass bodyguard to save us this time.”

  “Gods, what I wouldn’t give for Fujioka’s help. However, even though she is still in physical therapy, she could shed some insight on what we’d be getting ourselves into. If we agree to this, it must be on our own terms. Our safety comes first. However, what concerns me is that we aren’t in control of choosing our team members. Did you get a read on Agent Fry?”

  “Yeah. He doesn’t seem like the type we should mess around with. The tension between him and Agent Dunham was astronomical. I don’t know if it’s because they have professional differences, bureaucracy problems, or if they’re just ex-boyfriend and girlfriend, but it smells bad whatever it is. He reads like a mercenary for hire, and the kind that the government wants to spy on us rather than help us out. He’ll have his own agenda and it might put us in further danger.”

  “Right,” Kamala said. “Same as her suggestion of a dragon-hunting historian. Her terminology was very careful. I know about those nut-job cultists who worship their dragon-slayer ancestors. I won’t work with someone who thinks they are just a sport. He’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “The odds are certainly stacked against us.”

  “Certainly. We’re as likely to be killed as we are to catch the world’s deadliest dragon.”

  She stared at him. He stared back. Then she grinned fiercely.

  “I’ll start packing.”

  Jack beamed. “Atta girl. I’ll help you, but not right now.”

  Kamala stood and put a hand on her hip, scowling. “Why not?”

  “I have a date.”

  The only place Kamala felt more comfortable than a lab at MIT was a hospital. Given her background, it made sense. It was as if the air itself made her shoulders relax and her whole nature seemed to click into its own familiar mode. She inherently could tell how many nurses were on shift, what kind of doctors there were on the wing of the hospital based on their posture and disposition, what kind of medication the patients were on as she passed by the charts outside their rooms. She’d spent most of her childhood and adult life in one hospital or another. It might as well have been a second home.

  It also made sense why she hated being a patient in one.

  The OB-GYN’s office didn’t particularly make her hate it. It was harmless looking, which she was sure was the intent. There were framed photographs of happy mommies and daddies with their infants. The walls were salmon-pink. The cream-and-pink checkered carpet had the soft look of being treaded upon often. The chairs actually had lower back support. The air didn’t have the same harsh lemon-scented cleaner in the air, but rather a vaguely floral scent like fabric softener. Everything about the office had been carefully chosen to instill a peaceful mood onto the expectant mothers.

  Kamala immediately remembered a quote from Scrubs about the vagina having an eighty percent chance of tearing during childbirth. She shuddered.

  “Dr. Anjali?” The twenty-something black girl at the counter was standing now and smiling at the scientist. “She’s ready for you.”

  “Thank you.” Kamala stood, adjusting her purse over her shoulder a bit unnecessarily, and followed the girl into the exam room on the right.

  “Well,” the girl said brightly. “You know the score. Change into your gown and she’ll be in momentarily.”

  “Thanks,” she repeated, accepting the flimsy garment. The door closed. Kamala frowned and sighed at the gown.

  “Never liked these things,” she muttered, disrobing slowly. “Would it really kill the industry to make them less awful?”

  She redressed and plopped down on the side of the exam table, eyeing the stirrups. She still thought it looked like a torture device, even after all these years.

  The door opened and a short, elderly black woman marched inside, already frowning down at the chart in her hand. She arched a silver eyebrow at Kamala, her wrinkled hand on the door knob. “Did I read this correctly? Dr. Anjali?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  The woman heaved a sigh. “Goddammit. I hate treating doctors. Let alone famous doctors from equally famous families.”

  Kamala blinked. “I’m…sorry?”

  “Not as sorry as I am,” she said, letting the door swing shut on its own. “There is nothing more tedious than trying to treat a fellow doctor. They second-guess you constantly, try to override your prescriptions, or insist that they can treat themselves.”

  “I will try my best not to do any of that, doctor…?”

  “Farris,” the woman said briskly, taking a seat on the rolling stool by the computer desk across from where Kamala sat. Kamala noted that she didn’t offer a handshake. Bitter, party of one, she thought to herself.

  “Now then,” Dr. Farris said after perching a pair of square-rimmed glasses onto her nose. “Even though I know you were Internal Medicine before you left the fold, I’m sure you still know the long, boring list of questions I’m about to ask you. We’ll start with if you know who the father is.”

  Kamala gritted her teeth, her ears practically ringing at how blunt the woman’s question had been. “Yes.”

  “Care to tell me his name?”

  “It’s confidential.”

  “Everything’s confidential, you know that.”

  Kamala offered her a cold smile. “I don’t know you or the people in this hospital, and unfortunately as of right now, I’m a public figure. It’s confidential and it’s staying that way until further notice.”

  Dr. Farris rolled her eyes, but moved to the next question. “When was your last period?”

  Kamala checked her watch. “The 21st of the month before last.”

  “Mm. Must’ve been intuition, then. It’s so early you’re probably not exhibiting many signs yet, if any at all.”

  “Correct. My cycle has always been consistent. I haven’t missed one since I got mine when I was fifteen.”

  “I see. I only know your parents from a professional standpoint. What’s your family’s medical history, starting with your maternal side?”

  Kamala rattled off the hereditary traits and diseases she knew of and then her paternal history next. Once she finished and Dr. Farris was scribbling away at her chart, Kamala ventured to ask, “How do you know my parents?”

  “Taught at Columbia for a spell in my youth,” the old woman said without looking up. “Your father’s sharp as a scalpel and about as warm and cuddly as one.”

  She flicked her grey eyes up at Kamala this time. “I take it he doesn’t know about the kid, huh?”

  “Yes,” Kamala answered, her honey eyes narrowing. “I expect it to stay that way.”

  “I’d rather tap-dance on broken glass and lemon wedges than hold another conversation with your father. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Kamala’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Ah. I see he still has a way with people.”

  “The man’s a walking colostomy bag.”

  Kamala coughed, hiding a laugh. “Colorful.”

  “Given your medical history, I’m going to recommend that we do a noninvasive prenatal test. Do you consent to having one performed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. I’ll add it to your schedule. It won’t be performed until you’re ten weeks out into your pregnancy, assuming you’re going to keep it.”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Farris pursed her lips slightly. “Hmph.”

  “What?”

  “Not the reaction I was expecting. I thought with you
r lifestyle—”

  Kamala crossed her arms. “And what lifestyle is that, exactly?”

  “The jet-setting, the long lab hours, and the fame and fortune that come along with resurrecting an extinct species. Not a lot of room for a baby.”

  “We’ll make it work, I assure you.”

  Dr. Farris bared her teeth. A couple seconds later, Kamala realized it was the old doctor’s version of a grim smile. “A lot of women say that.”

  A frosty little thread of fear wormed its way through Kamala’s belly and wound around her spine. She shook it off. “Weren’t there other questions you had for me?”

  “Mostly just about other tests you’d like us to run once you’re further out into the pregnancy.”

  “Run them all. Better safe than sorry.”

  Dr. Farris checked some boxes and stood, gesturing towards the exam table. “Alright, then let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. The pelvic exam is first, then we’ll do a pap smear, urine culture check and analysis, and finally some initial blood tests.”

  Kamala flattened herself as much as possible on the exam table, trying not to fidget as she stared up at the white-and-grey speckled tile ceiling. Her heart fluttered erratically against her sternum. She chided herself for being scared. She knew precisely what would be done to her and why. She knew it would in no way harm her or the baby.

  So why was she so damned scared?

  Kamala shut her eyes and breathed deeply, reaching inside herself to find that calm spot she traveled to during her morning prayers and meditation. After a moment or two, it became clear why she was so distressed.

  Jack wasn’t here.

  Kamala frowned a bit. It wasn’t as if the two of them were with each other at all hours of the day. Still, she felt as if she had some sort of phantom limb now, as if she expected to open her eyes to see Jack standing to her right, smiling softly down at her with his long, thin fingers intertwined with her own short, dainty ones. Perhaps she hadn’t consciously realized how much time they’d spent together. He was her touchstone, in some ways. She’d been relying on him more than she knew.

  Is that wise? A flat, suspicious voice asked in her head. You don’t exactly have an excellent track record with the male species.

  Kamala grimaced. Don’t be ridiculous. I trust him with my life.

  Do you trust him with your child’s life?

  Absolutely.

  Sure, for now. Let’s see what happens when the morning sickness starts.

  Kamala growled to herself and banished the voice from her head as Dr. Farris spoke up, having finished the physical and the pelvic exam while she argued with herself.

  “Alright, feet in the stirrups. Time to ride the pony.”

  Kamala squirmed and reluctantly lifted her legs into the metal contraptions. Now she really wished Jack were here, if only because he’d make an inappropriate comment that would make her laugh and distract her from the utter discomfort of letting a total stranger stare intently into her vagina.

  One thing was pretty universal, whether the expectant mother was a doctor or not: no one enjoyed a pap smear. Kamala shut her eyes and tried to think about pleasant things to keep her breathing from getting elevated during the awkward procedure: trips she’d taken back home to Islamabad and Bangalore to see family and friends, the wind whipping through her hair as she rode on the back of her dragon Pete, the warm sunrise atop her favorite hill in Danehy Park, that sleepy grin Jack gave her when he woke up in the morning next to her.

  “Why did you quit being a doctor?” Dr. Farris asked, still working.

  Kamala frowned. “I still am one.”

  “Why did you quit the practice?” Dr. Farris asked in an exasperated tone.

  “It wasn’t what I wanted to do, not really.”

  “How did you not figure that out until after you’d already finished and started practicing medicine?”

  This time, Kamala rolled her eyes. “I had gotten wrapped up in the work and in the expectations on my shoulders. My parents drilled the desire into me from day one. Then one day I was walking down the hallway after my shift and I realized how relieved I was to go home and be alone with my thoughts. I shouldn’t have felt so eager to leave the hospital, not when the work I did was so important. It wasn’t just your normal ‘glad to be off’ attitude. I didn’t want to go back. I knew what would happen if I stepped inside that hospital the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. I could see my entire life like some bizarre alternate timeline, laid out in front of me like a tapestry. It wasn’t a bad life. It just wasn’t mine.”

  “Hmph,” was all Dr. Farris had to say.

  “It’s funny you dislike my father so much,” Kamala said dryly. “You’re using his favorite phrase.”

  “Comes with the territory. I’m old. I’m supposed to be disgruntled. What’s your father’s excuse?”

  “Strict parents. They disowned him for marrying my mother. It wasn’t until I was born that they ‘forgave’ him. He doesn’t know how to process human emotion as a result.”

  “That had to be fun growing up.”

  “My mother picked up his slack.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Anjali was much easier to deal with of the two of them. The woman must have a strong stomach.”

  Kamala snorted softly. “Do you always insult your patients’ family members or am I just special?”

  “I call it like I see it. Alright, you can relax now. We’re done.” Dr. Farris stood and went to store her tools and sample. She handed Kamala a little plastic container with a lid and jerked her head at the bathroom across from the exam table. “Hop to it.”

  Dr. Farris collected a blood sample as well afterward and let Kamala get redressed, as the physical part of their appointment was over. “How much do you know about the first month of pregnancy?”

  “Pretty well-versed in it,” Kamala answered.

  “Then you know the drill: take your prenatal vitamins, avoid strenuous exercise, remember which kinds of food and drink you can’t have, keep up with your appointments, and call me if you notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  Dr. Farris checked the calendar on the wall. “We’ll see you a couple weeks to see how you’re doing.”

  Kamala smiled. “Won’t that be special.”

  Dr. Farris snorted. “I’ll wait with bated breath.”

  With that, the OB-GYN made her exit. Kamala shook her head and left to checkout at the front desk. She returned to her Beetle in the parking garage and slipped inside it, letting out a long breath. She leaned back on the headrest and settled her hands on the steering wheel. When she opened her eyes again, she could see her fingers trembling.

  “Bloody hell,” Kamala muttered. “Get it together, Dr. Anjali.”

  She focused on her hands, couldn’t get the shaking to stop, and then sighed. She reached into her pocket for her cell phone and dialed a number.

  Half an hour later, Kamala sat in yet another room that made her rather uncomfortable: her psychiatrist’s office.

  To be fair, it wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with it. In fact, Kamala found it to be one of the more welcoming offices she’d seen before. Dr. Bruno Washington was a big fan of poetry, so the walls were framed with some of the greats: Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, Pablo Neruda, T.S. Eliot, and Paul Laurence Dunbar, to name a few. The furniture was all a perky-looking light wood and the couch was a soft sea-foam hue. The cushions on the chairs in front of his desk matched as well.

  A tall black man in his early forties walked in a moment later, smiling fondly at her as he shut the door. “How are you, Dr. Anjali?”

  “Been better,” she said, scrubbing her hands on her slacks a bit. “Sorry for the short notice appointment. I hope I’m not over-packing your schedule.”

  “Not at all,” he said, walking around to his file cabinet to snag her file. “How’s your dragon?”

  Kamala smiled faintly. “The real one or the one I take home with me every night?”

  Dr. Washingto
n laughed. “Either.”

  “Pete is fine. She’s still not terribly friendly, but she’s healthy and we’re learning new things about her practically every day. I’m eager to get her a more permanent home so she can relax and be herself.”

  She sipped water from the little Styrofoam cup she’d gotten in the waiting room. “As for the other dragon, he’s…understandably stressed. Hence why I called for a session.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Washington said, plopping down in his comfy loveseat to her right and opening a new page on his legal pad. “Hit me. What’s going on with you?”

  Kamala let out a shaky breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  Dr. Washington’s brown eyes widened. “You’re what?”

  She almost smiled. “Pregnant. You know, the thing where there’s a baby inside me?”

  He cleared his throat. “Oh, boy. Kamala, I…wow. Where do you want to start?”

  “Wherever you think is best.”

  “Talk to me about what your initial reaction was when you found out.”

  “I panicked,” she said. “But I got a handle on it after a little bit. Panic isn’t really in my nature, so that’s why it didn’t last too long.”

  She swallowed and made sure her voice sounded even as she kept going. “I…just came back from my first appointment at the OB-GYN’s office. I have noticed that I’m off-balance, and I don’t really have time for that right now.”

  “Of course you are,” Dr. Washington said gently. “Please don’t be hard on yourself, Kamala. First of all, you’re still taking this amazingly well. Second of all, why do you feel like you don’t have time to deal with your gut-reaction to finding out you’re pregnant?”

  She frowned. “You’ve seen the news, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m caught up.”

  “We’re working around the clock to try to find a solution. I can’t stop to wring my hands about it.”

  “Kamala, that’s not a good idea. Bottling up something as huge as motherhood is an extremely dangerous thing to do. That’s why there aren’t any clocks in my office. Time can be a huge burden to the mind. Don’t think about what you’re dealing with in those terms. Let’s unpack it. What’s the first thing you did after you found out?”