The Rearranged Life

by Annika Sharma

  “Well, since we’re being honest, how many girlfriends have you had?” I’m being nosy, but I’m not sorry. Isn’t this the usual stuff you talk about in a relationship? My mind asks. My heart shrugs in response. There’s a silver lining to my inexperience–I don’t have to make apologies when I break the rules. James gives me a knowing smile before he indulges my inquiry. Three, he answers. The first wasn’t serious.

  “She was ‘the first girlfriend’, the one who you could go to movies with and kiss between classes, and tell your friends you’re dating,” he says, before adding for good measure, “it really wasn’t serious.” When he says he dated her for two years, I tell him that does sound serious.

  “It was un-serious enough for me to break up with her after junior prom and date someone else for my senior year,” he says with a sheepish shrug.

  I have a tough time envisioning James being heartless enough to break a high school girl’s heart. I can imagine her face when she found out he was dating someone else a few short months after they broke up. High school was funny that way. My friends always thought their relationships would last forever, and there was a special kind of heartbreak that came with finding out your ex was dating someone new, even if you were the dumper. And I guess some things don’t change even once in possession of your diploma–because Sophia came hurtling into my room a few months ago telling me her high school boyfriend from Illinois was now engaged to a girl he started seeing during his freshman year.

  “I don’t want him, but sometimes you don’t want anyone else to, either,” Sophia had mumbled. “Not when they were yours first.”

  It sounded childish to me then, but now, as I sit across from James, I can’t imagine him doing the same thing with someone else. Except… You can hardly count this as a relationship, Nithya.

  “So, wait, you broke up after freshman year?”

  “Mm-hmm. She was pretty traditional. Wanted to get married really young. She didn’t have much drive of her own, she was in school for the sake of being there and doing what you’re supposed to do after graduation.”

  “You didn’t like that?”

  “It’s one thing if you want to be a stay-at-home mom. I respect it if that’s your goal. My ex just blindly went along with whatever I said. She didn’t have goals at all. I like driven girls, ones who won’t always take a backseat. Relationships are compromises, you know? I’ll take the backseat sometimes. My girlfriend can do it other times. I don’t want to date a doormat. Anyway, I was too young to call all the shots. It felt like it was just going to become more weighted with choices like that if I kept going.”

  “And now? You could handle it?” I ask. Maybe because he’ll have to make a heavy choice with me soon… or maybe he won’t, if I don’t tell him.

  “I’m in a better place to, yes. I’m older, and I think I’ve learned more about life. And girls.” He chuckles. “I was more of an idiot then, anyway. No one would have wanted me.”

  Somehow, I doubt that. What were those girls like? Were they anything like me? Did he pin them to walls and cause a short circuit in the air between them? Did he ever save them from anything bad? I might be the sole member of an exclusive club.

  It takes two more hours before the frazzled-looking blonde behind the counter clears her throat as she puts away ice cream toppings. We’re being swept out of a second place, surely a good sign. James offers to walk me back to my place, but I tell him it’s okay, the one block to my apartment is a piece of cake. On a crowded Friday night, a walk with my thoughts is exactly what I love. The entire way home, as the idle chatter of other students buzzes around me, our conversation replays over and over.

  You’re so going to fall for him.

  I tell my mind to shut up. Just like my heart, it shows no inclination to listen.

  here is no question anymore about whether James and I can become something. There is a spark, an undeniable chemistry that both of us feel. It’s intense, dangerous, and comfortable. Being with him is easy, like we have no boundaries.

  But I should. It’s foolish to think I could disappoint my family, even for James. I have never let them down. I consider them in each decision I make, but maybe this risk is worth it. Maybe James is worth it. And I want, no, need to find out if I’m right.

  I have always made good choices: deliberate and conscientious. If dating James becomes a reality, my parents have to take that into consideration. They would have to realize I wouldn’t make a rash decision. To even attempt this makes James an exception.

  “I saw James after your date yesterday. He’s really into you!” Sophia practically sings.

  “Really? Did he act weird?”

  “Why would he act weird? What did you do?”

  “Why does it have to be me that did something?” I mutter, indignant.

  “Because you’re the neurotic one.” She sticks out her tongue.

  Sophia is good with the opposite sex, and follows all the rules to ensure things proceed on schedule. She made sure not to book her first date with Luca until three days after he called.

  “I don’t want him thinking he can have me whenever he wants!” she declared. She knows what to say to keep a guy’s interest, and when to pull away to add to the mystery.

  I’m still trying to master the art.

  “I told him I’ve never been kissed.” I literally cringe, that moment of mortification after admitting my inexperience still heavy on my mind.

  “Did you feel comfortable?”

  I give her a look.

  “You know what I mean. Did you feel like you could trust him?”

  “Completely.”

  “That’s all that matters.”

  She heads into the bathroom, and I continue to distractedly read my textbook. I debate for an hour whether I should call him or text him and ask him to meet up tonight. Is that too forward? Should I wait for him to make the next move? Nithya, you’re a strong girl, and he asked you out twice. Grow a pair.

  Ten hours later, I wait at the Berkey Creamery for James to join me for some hot chocolate and a walk. The sun sets slowly in the distance. The sky turns deep blue with strips of pink and gold splashing across the darkness like a banner on the horizon. A few alumni come out of the creamery–I know they’ve already graduated because they carry enormous dry ice packages containing their treats, something countless people do when they live far away but want the taste of ice cream from the department where even Ben and Jerry learned their craft. I’ll be joining their ranks in a few months. A giddy jolt is followed by a pang of sadness. It amazes me that I plan everything–my outfit for tomorrow sits on the chair in my room and some medical textbooks already bought secondhand to read ahead are on my bookshelf–but I couldn’t have predicted this thing with James at the end of my college career. Who knows where I’ll be in a year? Who knows what’ll happen?

  A smirk crosses my face as I reread this morning’s texts. After countless drafts, I’d fired off the first volley to James, and his response had made me so glad I’d taken initiative. For someone who tries to take every opportunity, I sure did freak out over nothing.

  Thanks again for last night. I had an amazing time, I’d sent.

  -So did I. Next time, we need to find a place that’s open all night :)

  Who says there’s going to be a next time?

  -Please. There will be.

  Getting cocky, I see.

  -Not cocky. Just confident, he corrects me, and using deductive reasoning.

  Always the lawyer, counselor. You’re right on the money.

  -I do my best, doc. I’m glad you want to see me again.

  I was hoping to, tonight. Do you have plans?

  -I do, now, with you.

  “You look pretty,” he says as he walks up to me.

  My jeans and tunic top suddenly feel like a ball gown. He kisses my forehead, and I can still feel the soft pressure there as we pay for our drinks.

  Time freezes as the sky turns from periwinkle to deep blue to black. We walk
toward the stadium with no destination in particular, talking about everything from why fall is my favorite season to the fact that he is a Penn State football fan, and used to go to all the games with the colors painted on his chest.

  “My mom told me she wouldn’t pay for my funeral when I died of pneumonia,” he tells me with a chuckle. Sports are a difference in our interests. He thinks I’m funny for not being a fan of the big football program here, and I tell him he’s beginning to sound like Sophia, who moped for three days when she was unable to purchase student season tickets because they sold out in minutes.

  “Our senior year is going to suck!” Sophia had cried, clicking the refresh button on her browser like it would change the outcome.

  “Soph, I’m pretty sure the success of our senior year isn’t dependent on whether we’re cheering on a football team,” I told her patiently, but she whined about it anyway. Before James and I know it, we’ve come full circle.

  He proposes going to the arboretum so we cross the street toward the law school and soccer fields. Walking along Park Avenue is like balancing two worlds–cement dorms and all the classroom buildings on the left, and farms and greenery on the right. The arboretum glows in the distance, its neat pathways and plants lit up by the soccer field lights a block away.

  James catches me watching him and gives me a shy, faint smile. His eyes travel down my arms, and his right hand slowly makes a move toward my left. I hold my breath, and the clouds of moisture I’ve been exhaling into the atmosphere dissipate as I wait for him. Every millimeter closing the gap between us is in slow motion, and the tingle in my nerves intensifies, reaching a peak where I want to scream just to break the anticipation. His fingers skim the inside of my forearm and leave a trail of sensation behind them. As his hand travels slowly down my wrist, mine responds. My fingers find his and twine with them. It takes all of two seconds, but feels like much longer.

  The stars, twinkling in all their glory, brighten and align themselves in perfect concentric circles as if the universe is creating the perfect setting for an epic romance. Everything around us, from the breeze to the shifting grass, has a softly whispered undertone: This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Let it happen. The charge between our hands ignites and feels like it’s bursting out from within me. Or maybe that’s just my heartbeat. I have never felt such contentment or wonder. This is where I am meant to be.

  “So, um, thanks for coming out tonight…” I start breathlessly. It feels as though he’s come to my lame party and made it incredible by simply showing up. “I mean, I hoped you would, but I’m glad you did.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He gives my hand a quick squeeze as if to illustrate his point. “I’m always looking at the clock, like, ‘hurry the hell up, I’m seeing Nithya.’”

  It makes me happy. How many times have I done the same thing? Hundreds? Thousands? He mistakes my giddy giggle for mockery.

  “That’s probably not a really manly thing to admit,” he adds as an afterthought.

  “It was sweet!” I giggle again.

  “Exactly. So much for being cool.”

  “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I never thought you were cool in the first place,” I tell him, deadpan.

  “So this was a pity date?”

  “Totally. I felt sorry, so I made time for you.”

  “Well, I’m sure the guy you bumped off the schedule to fit me in is crying into his drink at the Phyrst right now.”

  “Him and all the others. I mean, you can see the line waiting to date me.” I gesture into the empty night air. He lets out a bellow of laughter at my self-deprecating humor and squeezes my hand again.

  “They probably thought you were out of their league.”

  I shake my head in wonder of his assessment of me. It’s not the fact that he sees me as out of someone’s league–it’s extremely flattering but not what catches me. He has seen me at my most vulnerable, in a disorganized mess in class and in a heaping ball of tears on his floor, yet he sees greatness in those experiences. It’s like he feels something for me because of the moments of vulnerability, not in spite of them. There is no sign on the dotted line contingency. There’s me. There’s him. It really is that simple.

  We’ve already ignored the signs saying the grounds close at dusk. Our trespassing doesn’t bother me–not only because we aren’t going to do any vandalizing, but because somehow, tonight feels safe. Like nothing can go wrong. The pavilion, a contemporarily styled structure, looms before us. It’s similar to a Japanese tea garden pagoda, but for the angles of the roof that make me think of the Sydney Opera House. Billowing white curtains encase the terrace, our destination.

  We sprawl out on the floor, a mosaic of stone, which feels cool in the autumn chill.

  “Why do you want to be a lawyer?” I ask.

  “You know, my dad is a lawyer. My grandfathers, both of them actually, were before that. It’s the family trade.”

  “Is tradition really important in your family?”

  “No, it’s more than that,” he says. “I love the idea of tradition, don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of upholding this business. My dad is the strongest man I know, and he has an innate sense of justice. I’d love to be like him. But eventually, maybe I could get a Ph.D. in bioengineering, and that’s something a firm could pay for, too. Then you can testify as an expert in trials and things.”

  “You sound so sure of yourself.” For the first time, I wonder what it would be like to do something other than medicine, but I draw a blank. I wouldn’t know where to start.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Well, yes… but… No. I don’t know. You have so many options.”

  “Why do you want to be a doctor?” He shifts his weight forward and brings his knee up, his posture a more relaxed version of mine.

  “I want to help people,” I usually say.

  It’s the textbook answer, the same one you’d give a stranger on the street. I’m aware of how it sounds. People who don’t know me always say, “That’s so noble,” or “That’s wonderful!” I, on the other hand, inevitably feel like a fraud. Like I couldn’t come up with something… just mine. James would make a better doctor. His experience with Max would give him some credibility or drive for wanting to help people. My response sounds bland, even to my own ears. You’re going to have to do better than that in your medical school interviews. But it’s still easier than the truth, the truth I find myself wanting to tell James.

  “I don’t know anything else.” It is the first time I have ever said those words aloud.

  “You never thought about anything else as a career?” Like before, his tone is not judgmental or even surprised. It is inquiring.

  “I think medicine is the right thing to do. I have to work at the sciences a little bit, but I find them interesting. I want to help the people who can’t help themselves, the ones who are suffering and who struggle. My grandfather got really sick in India once… and the doctors said there was nothing they could do. We told them money was no object, and suddenly, they had all these other treatments. I don’t want to be corrupt. I just want to guide a patient and their family through the options. I want people to trust me, to put their faith in the fact that I know what I’m doing. And I want to live up to that trust.”

  It occurs to me then that I’m talking about life, not just becoming a doctor. I want people to trust me. My parents and their arranged marriage ideas, Sejal when she tells me my plans need honing, my professors who expect everyone to fail their class… The obstacles are constantly stacked, but I want people to trust in my ability to rise above them. I need them to know I can make decisions for myself.

  “That’s noble.” James scratches his chin. “Given the option, do you think you’d do something else?”

  I look at him questioningly. Did I not answer his question?

  “Medicine sounds like it’s the perfect option for you. You’re a caring person, and you want to be able to guide people throu
gh the diagnostic process.”

  “So what did you mean by, ‘given the option’?”

  “Well, you also said you didn’t know anything else. It didn’t seem like you had much choice.”

  “Oh, that…” I think for a second. “The competition in India is really tough. Our parents had to choose their career paths really early. Most of my friends’ parents went into engineering, medicine, business, or law. I guess it’s sort of ingrained. I never bothered to consider anything but those four options.”

  “No wonder my Indian TAs always look so amazed when people major in art here.” James says, with mock pensiveness. I can’t help but giggle.

  “Well, for Indian immigrants, I’m sure it is bizarre you can do something so creative and sort of risky. Things are changing now though, so who knows?”

  “If medicine wasn’t your dream job, what would be?” He leans in slightly, waiting for my answer. He doesn’t pressure me, but I know he cares.

  “I’ve never even thought about it. I may have to get back to you on that.”

  “Take your time.” He winks. “We’ve got plenty.”

  “Is law your dream job?”

  “For now. Sometimes, I think it’ll change, but right now, I’m content. Secretly, I always wanted to be in the NBA.”

  “Do you play basketball?” Is there anything this guy can’t do?

  “I’m terrible.”

  “Are you messing with my head? Are you really, like, Michael Jordan in disguise?” I frown at him disbelievingly.

  He shakes his head at the look at on my face. “No, I actually stink. I played in middle school and got cut in high school. So did Michael Jordan, but he could shoot a three-pointer. I play for fun, like pickup games, but football was more my thing.”

  “I was beginning to think you were too good for me.” I giggle.