I didn’t sleep well, not between the constant waking up and tossing and turning and being hyperaware of every movement. Plus, ya know, cramps, which came roaring to life. At some point, I must’ve hit REM and hard. Because the next thing I knew, in the miserable restlessness of the night, my alarm went off.
I barely registered blindly searching over the nightstand, grabbing the phone, hitting snooze, and passing out again. Until the phone’s muffled alarm both rang and vibrated under my cheek.
First off, gross. There were tons of bacteria on any given cell phone surface.
Second, what was the pleasant heaviness pressed against my back? That smell of deodorant? The warmth of a heated body? The friction of a hand running up my side, along my arm tucked beneath my head, and searching out the noisy contraption?
The alarm turned off. The hand stayed on the bed beside my face. The delicious weight of a warm body stayed snug against my backside.
“You’re going to be late, Doctor,” a deep, gravelly voice muttered in my ear.
“Stop…” I moaned.
“I’m not doing anything,” he said, and although he hadn’t moved and was literally just lying against me half-asleep, I felt his hardness pressed against me.
“Oh!” I gasped and scurried out of bed. “Well, you have to stop doing that with your…that!” I grunted. Smooth. I didn’t sound like a preteen who didn’t know how to use words at all.
He chuckled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Control yourself!”
“It’s not like I planned it. Stuff happens while a man sleeps.”
“Yeah! Well,” I grumbled, then announced, “I’m on my period. Take that, you morning enthusiast.”
He laughed even harder, holding his hands up in surrender.
After a shower, I opened my laptop on the counter and practiced my presentation, ready to focus. I was going to knock them dead.
A short while later, Daniel emerged from the bedroom looking utterly adorable, rubbing sleepy eyes and walking to the bathroom in baggy sweatpants.
“What are you doing?” he asked when he emerged. He started a pot of coffee and leaned against the counter across from me.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m practicing my presentation.”
“Show me what ya got.”
I crinkled my nose. “Really?”
“Yeah. I need to wake up anyway. And a few ten-minute practice sessions will do wonders. Helps to have a live audience.”
“Putting together a visually stunning presentation might’ve been difficult, but presenting is my jam,” I said and gave my presentation.
Daniel watched intently as he sipped coffee, his gaze so intense that I lost my train of thought once or twice but bounced back.
“Why are you watching me so hard?” I asked.
“Isn’t an entire audience going to be hanging on your every word, attached to your every movement? Did I distract you?”
“A little.”
“Good, I couldn’t tell.” He walked around the counter. “May I offer a few observations?”
I nodded, prepared for the worst. They taught us as interns to watch ourselves in the mirror or video-record to see what we were missing, but no one had time for that these days.
Daniel touched my hips. “You shift from foot to foot, like nervous energy. It’s a little distracting.”
“Oh. Never noticed that. Thanks.”
He gently pushed my shoulders back. “You tend to slump when you have a lot of attention on you, as if maybe you’re trying to make yourself a little smaller. Be big and bold. Own that stage.”
I smiled. “Right.”
He tilted my chin up a fraction with a knuckle. “Look authoritative, but also speak from your diaphragm. It’ll come across as confidence and make your words clearer, louder in an auditorium.”
He brushed a finger across my cheek. “Try not to touch your face or fidget with your notes or clicker. Keep the audience glued to your words, not your movements.”
I gulped, trying to remain focused on my presentation and less concerned with the wonderful flutters his touch sent through me. My gaze darted away from his face. “Yep.”
“And slow down your intro a bit. You sound rushed, which can come off as nervous.”
“Thanks.”
“One more thing?” He leaned down and pecked my temple. “Knock ’em dead, Dr. Patel.”
I laughed. Daniel poured coffee into my mug and indulged me with one more practice session.
We had a quick breakfast of cereal and toast, and off to work I went.
I had meetings all morning. Afternoon came, and despite my nerves and trembling voice with a small auditorium full of residents and physicians staring back at me, I presented my case study on infections.
There were a number of reasons I’d agreed to present. One, I might not like attention, but I loved presenting. Two, I volunteered not only to share my findings, but to showcase my strengths to my colleagues and potential future boss. Three, accolades. In a world where so many things went south and negativity was a suffocating cloud, being told you did something amazingly was a great balm.
My presentation was met with applause and the exchange of impressed nods between Dr. Wright and the other physicians.
If there were ever a mic-drop moment in my life, this would’ve been it.
The first person I told was Daniel.
* * *
Since I had a short workday, Reema had invited me and Sana to her place to catch up. Our weekends were so warped with personal commitments that Monday night wine had to be it.
Sana fluttered around the living room helping Reema, excited for her upcoming trip to India. “I can’t wait to meet this guy,” she said, on cloud nine. It was wonderful to see her opening up and getting excited about things other than work and family.
I twirled my phone on the coffee table as Reema brought over ice cream and a tray of fresh homemade french fries. Because what was better than dipping hot, salty potato strips into a bowl of sweet, cold ice cream?
Sana had set up her giant tablet so we could video-chat with Liya. As soon as Liya popped up on-screen, she waved gleefully and raised a glass of wine.
“Meeting of the sisterhood can now commence!” she said.
“I have to confess something,” I announced.
“What!” the girls said in unison.
“You getting it on with Daniel?” Liya asked as naturally as asking how my day was.
I bit into a fry. “Um. I was going to tell you about Yuvan. Remember him?”
Liya snorted. “Let’s be real, shall we? You’re just now mentioning having dated this guy, you’re living with Daniel and sending us bedroom pics, and I bet Yuvan hasn’t even gotten a kiss from you. Methinks you’re not going to marry this guy. Boy, bye.”
“You’re right,” I replied bluntly.
Everyone quieted, waiting for me to expand.
“He’s nice and good on paper and all that, but he doesn’t get me. I told him it wasn’t going to work.”
Silence. Sana and Reema sat on the edges of their seats and Liya had leaned so far into her screen that all I saw was her forehead.
“Well?” Sana demanded, surprisingly the first to slash through the quiet.
“He told me to calm down.”
“Oh, hell no!” Liya said.
“Then he got pulled away by mandir duties and I left mandir afterward,” I explained.
Liya rolled her eyes and dramatically threw herself against her couch.
“Are you okay?” Sana asked.
“I’m fine. I feel like the weight of the sun is off my shoulders,” I confessed.
She smiled. “Then it was the right thing to do.”
“Do your parents know?” Reema asked.
“No. Yuvan must not have told his parents, otherwise his mom would’ve called my mom right away and my mom would’ve chewed my ear off by now. Honestly? He hasn’t said or done much other than a call I missed and some texts asking if I was okay and wondering when we could talk.”
Liya shot me a dry look. “B-freaking-S. If I’d said that to Jay…well, he’d first want to know exactly what I meant, and then try to talk it out, and then give me space but also make sure I knew he was thinking of me and that I had no doubt he wanted to be with me.”
“Wait a minute,” Reema said. “Think about long term. If you leave Yuvan, and for good, solid reasons, how will this impact you and your parents? Talk to them first.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I was planning on telling my mom after I got my presentation out of the way. I just don’t want to hurt them again. She got so sick before, and the gossip mill is harsh.”
“Well, they can all cram it,” Liya stated. “Seriously. Who the hell cares about them? They aren’t one bit worried about your happiness.”
I nodded. “I know. Heard my fois talking trash at mandir and I had to put a stop to it.”
“Good! Let those biddies suffocate in the dumpster fires they create. They couldn’t care less about you. It doesn’t matter what you say or do, they’ll hate on you for anything. And this time, Preeti”—Liya wagged a finger at me through the screen—“know it’s not your fault and do the right thing.”
Reema nodded. “I concur. No winning with that part of your family. But if you decide to let Yuvan go, make sure it’s what’s best for you in the long run, too. This is your life.” Reema regarded me for a minute with understanding and empathy.
“I’m terrified of hurting my parents again,” I said, tugging at the pillow beside me.
“Did you hurt them? Or did all those idiots butt their big noses in and give racist opinions that no one asked for?” Reema said.
“She’s right, Preeti,” Liya added. “You’ve never done anything to hurt your parents. You’ve made them proud since day one. Have you even asked if marrying Yuvan will make them happy if it makes you miserable? This whole thing isn’t a matter of heart or reason or anything else. It’s all muddled together. You want to be logical, but is it logical to be miserable the rest of your life? You don’t want to hurt your parents, but won’t they hurt if they know you’re in pain?”
I tapped the pillow. “I know. I’m going to tell them this week when we have dinner.”
“This Yuvan guy is done. Back to Daniel. Have you tried shower sex?” Liya asked so casually that I choked on my fry.
“No! I am not having sex with him.”
“Ahaha! The sex text joke was a lie,” she declared while Reema and Sana quieted their laughter.
“You all knew it was.”
“Because shower sex is the end all,” Liya added with a new energy and wild gestures.
I mentally went over the visual, tilting my head as my brain attempted to wrap itself around the logistics and physics. As sexy as it looked, especially in the movies where sudsy bodies writhed against each other with slick skin-on-skin contact, it seemed like an awfully dangerous adventure. Slippery floors and walls, angled tubs, annoying swaying shower curtains, water slapping us in the face and in the back of the head, trying not to drown in aforementioned water, trying to keep our eyes open in the aforementioned water, and, of course, the positioning.
It seemed like a lot of work, especially for the woman. Not slipping, standing up, staying balanced on one foot because the other leg had to angle out. And where did that one leg go? Was the woman supposed to practice yoga? Did the guy hold her up?
“You’re going over all the ways it doesn’t work, aren’t you?” Liya asked.
“The physics of shower sex is not conducive to safety, nor is it romantic.”
She groaned. “Until you try it. Then suddenly it’s the hottest thing in the world.”
“Successfully try it, you mean. I’m more likely to slip and break a bone. Then drown.”
“One day, Preeti…and I’m sure Daniel would show you how it’s done.”
I sucked in a breath, suddenly bombarded with a hundred images of us naked, wet, covered in bubbles, and all over each other in a steamy shower. I could almost feel him touching me.
Liya regarded me and slowly grinned. “His naked body is all up in your thoughts, huh?”
I shook my head. Meanwhile Reema was laughing her butt off and Sana had the worst episode of blushing.
Liya went on, “It’s all over your face! You’re such an open book. Flushed cheeks. Wide eyes. Averted gaze. And you do this thing with your nose.”
“What!”
“Yeah. Your nostrils get all big.”
I frowned but had to laugh with her.
The girls went quiet all at once as Reema asked, “So, what’s up with Daniel? Sex text jokes and fake bedroom pictures aside.”
I sighed, attempting to be serious so that my girls could offer critical feedback. But when I spilled the beans, a collective scream erupted. Reema and Sana ambushed me with hugs, tackling me against the couch.
Yes. I was still in love with Daniel Thompson, perhaps more than ever.
Yes. I wanted to be with him, definitely more than ever.
Yes. I was determined to consider every angle and see where a second chance could lead us.
