Anya doesn’t speak, her whole body still shaking. “But she could die. Today. At least if we don’t—”
“Yes, you might have her for a few months, if you’re lucky, a few years,” my mom says, still rubbing Anya Auntie’s back. “But if you give her this chance—if you make this choice for her now—she could live a long, fruitful life. That’s what you want, right? That’s what we all want.”
Anya Auntie nods. But I know she’s not ready.
“I know you don’t think I’m capable,” I say. “And that’s okay. But I promise you this: The team here is. And they’ll take care of Pinky like she’s one of their own. Because she is. Did you see the way she connects with Cho? Even I couldn’t believe it. So you don’t have to trust me. But trust them. They can do this. They can help her.”
There’s a long silence before she speaks again. “Okay,” she says. “But I do want you to be there. Not as Dr. Sehgal. As Saira Didi. Watch over my baby. Make sure she’s okay.”
My mom nods, and Ramesh Uncle pats me on the back, his hands shaking.
“I will,” I say, giving them a hug before I step away. “I’ll let them know to start prepping her again now. I’ll be back as soon as there’s news.”
A full three hours later, José and Cho roll Pinky’s bed into the surgical suite. She already looks a bit sedated, but her little hand has a hold of Cho’s tie, and he leans down to give her a quick hug.
It’s so weird, standing in the galley, Dr. Cho by my side, watching the monitors and the surgery through the windows. Like watching a scene on Grey’s Anatomy or one of those other doc dramas my dad likes—“It’s like I can see inside your head,” he always tells me, even though I’ve told him a thousand times how not real they are—except hopefully things here will be way less dramatic.
And things go smoothly for a while. Dr. Stevenson makes the incision into the base of her skull and then begins to drill. I can barely watch it, but I force myself to be present.
My task is simple. Keep my eyes open, my mind sharp and focused. Learn and be useful, so that one day, I can save someone’s life, too. This is what I’ve been training for. This is why I chose to do this.
He’s drilling right into that tiny little skull, and part of me wants to cry, to rage. How is this fair? But I know we’re giving her a fighting chance.
Then there’s a wave of frantic activity, and I can’t figure out what’s happening.
“Her pressure’s dropping,” Cho says, worried. “There’s definitely a bleed. They have to catch it fast.” A bleed could cause Pinky’s little body to start convulsing, ruining any chance we have at removing the tumor—and causing further damage.
But just as quick as it started dropping, her pressure stabilizes. And for what feels like hours, Cho and I stand there, rapt and frantic, and watch the surgeons cut and cut and cut and cut. And then, in the end, there, on the little metal tray, sits the tumor. The size of a walnut, really, a bloody, pulsing thing. A tiny monster that would have, could have, taken a child’s life. But it won’t.
CHAPTER 39
It’s past one p.m. when they finally walk out of the surgical suite, triumphant. And exhausted. And starving.
The prep nurses help us scrub down, but they can’t move fast enough. My mom embraces me as soon as I step into the galley, and Howard does, too. We’re a weeping, grinning mess, and my mom just keeps repeating, “She’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay,” into my hair. I’m not quite sure if she’s talking about me or Pinky.
We head as a group to the family room—and it’s filled with people. Anya Auntie, Ramesh Uncle, my dad, Dadi, Taara, a troupe full of aunties and uncles and cousins. All holding their breath.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sharma,” Cho steps to the front, and he can’t help it. He’s beaming. “Pinky’s going to be just fine, as far as we can tell. We got every last trace of that sucker, and if I have anything to say about it, it’s never coming back. She’ll be sleeping for a while, but should be awake and alert within twenty-four hours. If you’ll come with me, we can get her settled into the PACU and you can see her in a bit, though she’ll still be sleeping.”
But Anya Auntie’s not listening anymore. She’s thrown her arms around me and Cho, and has latched on, soaking his Seuss tie and designer shirt with her tears as she sobs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”
Cho pats her back, gently, and lifts her away a bit. Howard offers a tissue.
Arora steps forward. “I think you should be aware. There was a moment of tension during the surgery. Things could have gone awry.” He clears his throat, knowing he’s treading worried territory. “But you made the right decision by letting us operate today. You really did save Pinky’s life.”
“No, you and your team did,” Anya Auntie says. “I’m just glad that I could bring myself to listen, at least this once.” She turns to me, and I must look panicked, because she laughs. “And that Saira could be there today, as both a doctor and as family. We needed her.”
I nod. That’s a lot, but coming from the woman I used to call “Dragon Auntie,” I’ll take it.
“Now,” my mom says, “who’s hungry? Because I ordered Pizza Hut.”
* * *
I’m eating a slice of pepperoni, peppers, and onions when the lady I recognize as Davis’s assistant shows up in the family lounge. Uh-oh.
“Ms. Sehgal,” she says, tapping me on the shoulder.
“Dr. Sehgal,” my mother says testily, glaring at her over her veggie pie.
“Dr. Davis has requested your presence in her office.”
This can’t be good.
Mom raises a brow, an offer to come with me. But with Davis, that’s just about the worst idea ever.
I follow the lady—Ms. Clayton—to Davis’s office like a prisoner being led to execution—in silence, focusing on the clack, clack, clack of her heels against the linoleum. When we get to the office, she waves me in, bustling off to find her next victim, no doubt.
I stand in front of the door for a minute, composing myself, trying to prepare myself for whatever wrath is about to descend. Maybe it’ll be good news, magically. Like, maybe she heard about me helping move things forward on Pinky’s surgery, or about how well Brendan’s doing on the trial, or that Alina’s doing, well, okay at the moment.
But somehow I doubt it.
I take a deep breath and rap on the door.
“Come in, Sehgal.”
I push the door open, and Davis is sitting at her desk, tapping away on her keyboard. She’s grinning to herself, too, which worries me to no end.
“Have a seat.”
I sit.
“So I’ve noticed that there have been some updates to the patient lounge.”
“Yes, doesn’t it look lovely? The patients are already enjoying it.”
“I told you that was a no-go.”
“But I didn’t use hospital budget or resources to do it—and everything was done after hours, so it wasn’t even on the clock. And Dr. Charles said it looked great.”
“Strike one.”
I nod. I should’ve seen it coming. “Won’t happen again,” I say, and rise to go.
“We’re not done here, Sehgal.”
Oh. I take a seat again.
“I also noted that your team proceeded with the second phase of Brendan Jackson’s trial, despite my reservations.”
“Yes, but that was a decision made by Dr. Arora. We all thought it’d be best for Brendan to continue, since phase one was clearly so successful for him. And Dr. Arora thought—”
“I don’t want any justifications, Sehgal.”
“I just—”
She puts a finger to her lips to shush me, like I’m a misbehaving toddler. I do my best not to suck my teeth. Because that would just prove her point.
“Strike two.”
“Okay. Noted.” I start to rise again. But the smirk playing on her lips tells me we’re far from done.
“So you are suspended.”
“Oh, don’t I, though?”
She gestures with her finger—again, like a pre-K teacher beckoning a four-year-old—for me to come to look at her computer screen.
It’s an email file from custodial services.
“I don’t get it.”
She happily clicks on the file attached, and a photograph pops up.
It’s grainy, blurry, and hard to decipher. But then I see the ambulance. And the van. Link’s van.
Gleefully, she zooms in close up, and you can just barely see two figures inside the car. Not what they’re doing or anything. But that doesn’t matter. Because I know exactly who the two figures are. And exactly what they were doing.
“So now, Sehgal. Here’s your opportunity to deny.”
I open my mouth to say something. Anything.
“But I wouldn’t, if I were you. Because there’s plenty more where that came from. And I’m not afraid to use it.”
All I keep thinking is, Please don’t tell my mom. But of course, I can’t say that.
“Strike three, Sehgal. Which means you are most definitely out.”
“Please, Dr. Davis—”
“You’re not very bright, Sehgal, for a purported genius. Sloppy, even. You’ve got absolutely no regard for authority—a genetic trait, I’m presuming—and that’s going to cost you this time. A lot.”
“He wasn’t my patient—”
“And now I know why. But I do question why you’d ‘hook up,’ as the kids call it, with someone who doesn’t care about ruining your career. I didn’t understand the initial complaint, to be honest, but for sure, things make more sense now, knowing what I know.”
“I don’t—”
“Save it, Sehgal. You are suspended without pay until further review. I’ve already set up a meeting with Dr. Arora and Dr. Charles. And trust me, there’s plenty to review.”
I nod.
“Well, don’t just sit there, Sehgal. Get your stuff and go. And if I see you on the hospital grounds during your suspension, I’ll have no choice but to make it permanent.” She grins with glee one last time, then waves me off.
I stand, trying to stop my knees from locking. Focus, Saira, focus. Get yourself together. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
But as I walk away from Davis’s office, aware of all the curious eyes on me, I can’t stop the tears from falling.
CHAPTER 40
The hardest part of this: explaining to my parents exactly why I’m suspended.
The car ride home was absolutely silent, and now we sit in the tearoom, Dadi puttering around, serving up chai and pakore, oblivious. Or maybe not. “Ki hoa?” she says every so often, but no one has said a word to her. Yet.
My body’s still shaking with sobs, but I try to compose myself. Taara, who was already headed home to check on Pinky, rubs my back every so often, and Papa paces while Mom analyzes the situation.
“Yes, so the clinical trial, the lounge and Anya’s antics, but what of it? There’s nothing there that would warrant this,” my mother says again for the third time. “Something does not add up.”
My hands shake, and my heart has sunk into my toes, and I can’t quite quell the tears. But I have to get it together. I take a deep breath. It’s better they hear it from me, right? Taara nods, encouraging. “There was an incident,” I say tentatively. “With a patient.”
“What kind of incident?” Papa asks, his voice wary. “Did someone say something to you? Do something?”
I shake my head. “There’s this boy,” I start, and Papa’s already frowning. “Link. Lincoln Chung-Radcliffe.”
A little light goes off in Mom’s head. “The one who’s tape you got onto the reality show? That was smart thinking, no? They should be thrilled with your proactive nature,” she says.
“Yeah, but…”
“But what?” Papa says. “You were not on the case, and you still went above and beyond.”
“Way beyond,” Taara cracks then, and both my parents to turn to glare at her.
“What do you mean?” Papa says, and I can see him working to control himself. “Did that boy … you and that boy?”
All my words come out in a whoosh. “We were caught kissing in his van. Someone took a video.”
“Kissing?” He looks so confused. “In the van? A patient? But what about Vish?”
Then it really hits him. The implications. Exactly what kind of girl the world will think his daughter is.
Papa stands, and I kind of expect him to slam his hands on the table, like Amitabh fighting some injustice in Coolie, but instead he just sits again. And glares at the mug Mom puts in front of him, the chai masala swirling in the cup like a little hurricane.
I melt into a puddle of shame. I know what he’s thinking. I’m his too-American, pushy, loud, and decidedly disobedient daughter. Log kya kahenge? How will he ever explain this to his brothers, the rest of the family, all the people at the gurdwara. Vish’s family? His daughter, the Girl Genius he was always bragging about, has been banished from her hospital for hooking up with a patient. A patient.
And just wait till Dadi actually finds out what happened.
“How could you do this to us?” Papa says, once, twice, repeatedly, in a daze. But the look on my mother’s face silences him with a warning. I will be dealt with, make no mistake. Maybe she’s just seething with anger and saving her explosion for later. The thought makes me shudder.
She looks at the box of stuff I’ve brought from my locker—my white coat sitting on the top of the box, gleaming white and pristine, unblemished. Unlike my actual medical career.
“She’s young,” my mother says, her voice eerily calm. “She has made mistakes. We all do. But my concern, beyond the boy—which was certainly ill-advised, Saira, and will be addressed—is that Dr. Davis has had a clear agenda against you from day one. And I do think that no matter what else may have happened, she has created a hostile work environment.”
I nod, but I’m just waiting for my mother’s wrath. But she’s still focused on Davis. “Taara, open your laptop.” She does as instructed. “Saira, we need to note every single altercation you’ve had with Davis, and include the names of coworkers who may have witnessed the incidents, as well as patients.”
My mother takes my hand, which is still shaking. “Beta, I know you have made your mistakes and you will no doubt atone for them,” she says. “But this is your career at stake—and something like this, if not addressed appropriately, can kill it. Do you understand me?”
I nod, although I can’t imagine Davis will change her mind. She seemed pretty determined to tank my career, and she didn’t even have to fight dirty. My actions with Link—which were completely wrong, and I knew it—gave her just the ammunition she needed.
“Once we have documented that, Saira, I will call a meeting for you with the board, where you will apologize—and you “will apologize—take responsibility for your actions, and lay out everything you have contributed to the hospital in your short tenure there. Because it has been a lot, and I know the patients—including Lincoln’s family—appreciate it.” She squeezes my hand. “Get ready, my girl, because it’s time to fight. And I will fight with you.”
I still can’t stop crying, but luckily, my mother is by my side, her face worried and fierce, ready to lead me into battle. Even if it takes down both of us.
CHAPTER 41
When it finally happens, the confrontation with my mom, it’s not at all what I expected. Rage, fury, screaming. None of that. It’s the silence, first. She’ll talk to me about the work stuff, about getting my suspension annulled, about figuring this Davis thing out. But no casual chats around chaitime, no discussions of new medical innovations or going to med school in India. No real conversation. At all. For days that turn into weeks. Until I can’t stand it anymore. Until I’m the one who triggers it.
“Don’t you want to know what
happened?” I ask her one night, leaning into her bathroom door as she rubs her Olay into her skin.
Her eyes are trained on me in the mirror, and they are cold as she shakes her head. “I don’t think I’m ready yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”
“But I want to tell you.” About the way he sends those lightning bolts of electricity shooting up my skin, about the little gap between his teeth. About the way he hums when no one’s listening or everyone is, the way he talks about life like he’s lived so much of it, even though he’s only sixteen. The way he calls me Starshine.
But that would be a whole ’nother can of worms. Or whatever that phrase is.
“Well, Saira Sehgal, that’s one decision you don’t get to make,” she says. “You don’t get to tell me what could make you do something so very foolish, Girl Genius, that you almost ruined everything. Everything you’ve worked so hard for all these years. Everything “we’ve worked so hard for all these years. No. You don’t get to confess and be forgiven for that. Not now.”
Maybe not ever. That’s the part she doesn’t say.
But she closes the door then. And I’m left standing there.
* * *
Not only am I suspended, but I’m grounded to boot.
Like, really, truly grounded. With no phone, no outside contact, no aloo ke paranthe, even.
I’ve spent my minutes, hours, days, staring at the walls, pretending to study for the boards, and thinking about Link. I don’t know if he’s texted me, because my mom took away my phone. I don’t even know if he knows what happened. My cousin Arun told Vish, though, so maybe he does. Vish told Arun his parents are taking the “rumors” super hard—because he still hasn’t told them the truth about us. Or about himself. Maybe he should. But he has to do what’s right for him. Even if it makes me the bad guy. Right?
The only reason I know any of this at all is because of Taara, who’s been trying her best to feed me information. And spending way too much of the beginning of her fall semester here at home instead of at school, where she should be.
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