The Rearranged Life (14 page)

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 through 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.

“Funny, I was thinking the same about you.”

“You are sadly mistaken.” I shake my head.

“So are you, so I guess we’re even then.” He has me there, so, I change the subject.

“What made you choose Penn State?”

“I wanted a big school. Somewhere academic but where I could go Greek if I wanted, and have a wide range of connections. And you know, good looking girls.”

I laugh. “Clearly, a high priority. How did that work out for you?”

“I’m sitting with one, aren’t I?” he cheekily responds.

“Thank you,” I reply, bashfully.

“What was your reasoning? If the Indian thing is to be a crazy academic, why aren’t you at Yale or Harvard or something?”

“They didn’t want me,” I tell him cheerfully.

“Oh. I’m sorry. They’re idiots.”

“Really. There’re no hard feelings. I’m perfectly fine being here with people like you.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m a moron?”

“No! I just meant–I’d rather be in a place where people… I just like you. People like you. I like being with people who are like you because you’re smart and fun.” I sound like a bumbling idiot.
You deserve to be single. You really are a Nitwit.

He watches, amused, while I fumble my way through an answer. I give up stuttering and sigh; my eyes dart around for a place to hide. His, on the other hand, sparkle, and his smile gets bigger and bigger until he finally bursts out laughing, a sound that I’m convinced I’ll never get tired of hearing. “You’re cute when you’re nervous. I was going to tell you I was kidding.” He chortles again.

“Were you?” I meet his warm gaze.

“Completely. But it’s sort of fun watching your squirm.”

“You’ll pay for that someday,” I warn him.

“I hope so.” He smirks.

There it is again. That electric charge. It’s as if the air between us has solidified into a molten mass, white-hot and pulling us together like magnets. My heart pounds so hard, I’m afraid it’ll break the stone we are sitting on. His eyes stare into mine, and I am engulfed by their vibrant green sheen. James crosses his legs and straightens his back, shifting his posture. He’s closer to me now. I can see the shade of stubble on his chin and exactly where his jaw flexes. There’s a scar on his forehead near his eyebrow, and I wonder distractedly where he got it.

“You can really see the stars out tonight.” He tilts his head. I turn around, taken aback by the change of subject. The shadows of the mountains in the distance are huge waves of dark blue on the horizon. The green grass in the fields behind the pavilion appears teal in the night. There are no lights there, while the other side of the arboretum is lit by campus streetlights. The stars are brilliant, glittering specks against a dark background. Suddenly, one jets across the sky, trailing faint white light behind it. It travels so quickly, my eyes can hardly keep up.

“Hey!” James and I cry out, pointing to the shooting star. The second it disappears into the universe, I close my eyes.

“What’re you doing?” James whispers. I hold up a finger to make a wish, willing it to happen with all of my heart and soul.
I wish this night would never end.

“I had to make my wish,” I whisper back. I’m not sure why, but after the fleeting glimpse of the meteor, it feels appropriate.

“What did you wish for?” He has shifted his weight again, his position mirroring mine perfectly.

“I can’t tell or it won’t come true. Did you wish for anything?”

He shakes his head, smiling.

“It’s not too late. You still have time. Give it a shot.”

He closes his eyes, and the vision of him with his eyes serenely closed, cross-legged on the stone floor inches away from me, is seared into my mind. He looks so peaceful, like a child. A wistful smile lingers on his lips–until his eyes flutter open, and his smile turns playful.

“Are you going to tell me what you wished for?” I repeat his question.

“It won’t come true,” he echoes my response.

We are inches apart. Our faces tilt toward one another, our images reflecting in each other’s eyes.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he whispers.

“I really want you to,” I reply, breathlessly.

He moves in closer, taking his time. The world has stopped. There are no passing cars, no breezes blowing through the trees, no ties binding us to anyone but each other. When his lips finally touch mine, it is as if a fire bursts to roaring, glorious life inside me–it is flaming, reaching for any way to free itself from my body. Though I’ve never done this before, I have no worries. I am a lost soul, and he is my lifeline.

“You taste like chocolate,” he whispers to me, grinning.

“Is that a racial reference?” I ask him, smiling.

He laughs softly, his forehead pressed against mine, his hand still grazing my cheek, fingers entwined in my hair. “I guess I got what I wished for.”

“You wasted a wish. I would have kissed you anyway,” I tell him playfully.

“I didn’t want to take any chances,” he murmurs and kisses me again.

I am in heaven, and there is nowhere I would rather be.

month and a half passes. James and I have spent every Friday together like clockwork. Sometimes we go out to eat or see a movie. Other times, we stay in and laze around on the comfortable red sofa in my living room, chattering about everything from politics (which we hardly ever see eye to eye on) to whether the last few seasons of House and Scrubs (the only TV shows we seem to have in common) were as good as the first. He is the most stimulating person I’ve ever met, always asking
Why?
or
What makes you think that?
I don’t ever feel defensive, but I have learned to defend my position with more than
I just think so
. He’s rational, almost too much so, and logic and reason are qualities he values.

Sophia’s heated arguments, the ones where she’d yell, “What an asshole!” as she hung up on the unfortunate person on the other end of the line come to mind as the perfect antithesis to the debates James and I have. He doesn’t lose his patience… like the day I stewed about missing a few points on a test I shouldn’t have blanked on.

Sitting on my couch that night, his arm around my shoulders, when I finally laughed at a joke on Scrubs, he looked at me and asked, “So are you ready to talk now, or do you want to watch another episode?”