The Rearranged Life (27 page)

“I don’t know what to do next,” I say after a long silence.

“You will figure it out.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you.”

“I don’t even know where to turn.” I send those words into the air like a wish.

“Nithya, perhaps this is time for introspection. Think about whether you still want to be a doctor. If you do, then chase it. Or write a new story. This is your book. Just because medicine did not pan out immediately does not mean it never will. Or maybe this is an opening to a new chapter.”

“What should I do?”

“Relax. Think. Graduate. We will all figure it out together,” he says again.

For a flash, the bleakness of my new reality fades. A blank slate waits to be written on. Maybe I’ll be a writer. Perhaps I’ll research. Maybe I’ll go to India for a few months and work in healthcare there and apply again.

“Do you have friends who support you here?” He slows his efficient pace to match my mopey one on the walk back to my apartment.

“I have Sophia and James.” I omit Sejal’s name. I know he knows I don’t count her among my sympathizers.

“Who is James?” he asks, interestedly. “I don’t think I’ve heard you mention him before.”

In a dream world, I would have an acceptance letter in my hand as I told my dad happily how much I adored James. Because of the general contentment of achieving this goal, any feelings of disappointment would fade quickly. I wouldn’t feel so bad about breaking my parents’ rules because I would have made everyone’s dreams come true. Now, looking at my father’s sweet, concerned face, I can’t bring myself to tell him I failed him in every way possible.

“He’s a friend,” I mutter.

He looks doubtful, but doesn’t press the issue.

“Why don’t you come home for a few days? It’s Friday. You can come back on Sunday night. Amma would be happy to see you.”

“Why didn’t she come, anyway?”

“Because even Amma knows when you need Nanna time. Besides, she is a little worked up right now.” He smiles sheepishly. I grate out a laugh. Amma has to be worked up. Not only have I been out of touch, her shrill voice deafens me one hundred-fifty miles from home.

They didn’t accept you! What were they thinking? They are such idiots. What else did they expect? You will show them. You are my
daughter, after all.
Then after a few hours of steam coming out of her ears, she would shuffle to my side to give me a hug and go through other options, all the while muttering snide remarks about the schools that dared to say no to a Kolluri. I agree to come home for the weekend and head inside to pack a bag.

ow’s it going at home?
James texts while I watch my mom fry potatoes on the stove.

“Sometimes, you have to eat starchy foods to feel better!” my mom says.

I can’t say I disagree. The smell of carbs seasoned with chili pepper, salt, and cumin makes my mouth water.

I’m okay. It’s good to be back,
I answer.

“You look too skinny!” Amma exclaimed when I had exited the car in our garage. “I’ll make your favorites today.”

I told her it was fine, she could make what she wanted, so she decided she wanted potato curry, spiced eggplant chutney, and mango pickle… Which, of course, has been my meal of choice since I could speak for myself.

The flavors of home soothe me, but it still feels like a large rock has settled where my stomach used to be. Every time I laugh at a joke Anisha makes about an old teacher she has now who I used to despise, or when my father mentions his new project at work, my emotions only reach the back of my throat, not my belly.

“Nithya, you have options,” Mom says as we eat.

I haven’t spoken a word, just the odd, “That’s good,” or an attempted smile.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“But you do. You can research, you can apply again next year, you can go to India, you can travel, you can pursue a master’s degree… There are so many things.” My dad becomes louder as he grows more passionate.

“That’s not what I wanted,” I mumble.

“You were never taught to have everything you want, kanna, you were taught to make the best of the things you have.” Amma sees options where I see dead ends.

“She’ll be fine. What’s the big deal, Akka? It’s just medical school. My English teacher always says there’re as many options in life as there are fish in the sea.” Anisha is also optimistic as we all sit in the quiet living room. Her words inadvertently sting–now I’ve been reduced to an eleventh grade English teacher’s metaphor about life.

“You wouldn’t understand, Anisha,” I snap, more sharply than I should. She looks wounded.

“You know, Nithya, she might be on to something. There are many fish in the sea to chase after, so to speak. There’s one more option you can consider…” Amma begins.

“Priya, not now,” my dad warns. He senses where this conversation is going. I don’t like this direction.

“If you’re unsure about your own future and need time to sort it out, you could connect with someone who has theirs set already. You could get married, Nithya.”

My nose stings, the surest sign tears are on their way. Not having a separate future,
my
future, makes me feel worthless. To talk about marriage and proving to someone I’m a good catch seems unreachable. Marriage was something I saw coming in a few years. The accelerated pace that it has become doesn’t sit right with me. A tiny part of me, an optimist who wants to rise from the ashes, roars with indignation at the idea that I would settle for someone else’s dreams instead of my own.
You haven’t sunk that far,
I protest in my mind.

And then, there’s James. The lies have finally caught up. This was supposed to be the weekend I told my parents our dreams came true, to mitigate the part where I didn’t do what we planned. Now, none of this is happening the way it should. I don’t know how to strike the balance of risk and reward.

“Nithya, don’t cry. You put too much pressure on yourself. It’s okay that you didn’t get into medical school. You will succeed at whatever you do, anyway. But if the road is open, why not look at this option too?” Amma offers gently.

“Priya, she needs some time. She should sort out her mind first.”

“What is there to sort out? She didn’t meet one goal, so she’ll meet another instead. She can build on some dreams while she works on the others. She has always imagined being married.”

She doesn’t mean it flippantly, but the change in trajectory of my life angers me. Anger replaces the despair. My parents argue back and forth about whether this should be brought up now or later. Their words cause the pressure to build. Anisha chimes in to emphasize that she doesn’t see a big deal in any of this, and we all need to calm down. The cross-conversation is overwhelming.

“I’m dating someone,” I blurt out.

The conversation stops. Silence.

sychologists say the first four stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, are followed by eventual acceptance. The argument can be made that the same five stages apply to any adversity in life. I’ve been in the middle of depression about medical school for the last week. Amma, now with her own shock to handle, is about to start her cycle. Both my parents sit across from me in the living room, their eyes on my face. My medical school interviews were less intimidating. Now that we’re here, however, I know I can’t go back.

“You can’t date someone, Nithya,” Amma tells me so gently, I’m surprised. This is going much better than I expected.

“I know I’m not supposed to. It just happened.”

“You can break up with him,” she says lightly. “It shouldn’t have happened anyway.”

“What’s his name?” My dad approaches it practically.

“James.”

Their faces contort as it dawns on them this name isn’t Indian. They must have believed I was dating an Indian, still a no-no because I claim I’m not ready for marriage. This is unprecedented. Nanna’s face goes from calm to surprised. Amma’s shifts from forced cheerfulness to anxiety as deep as it is immediate.

“He’s
American
?” they exclaim in unison.

“He’s American?” Anisha shouts from the top of the stairs, where I knew she’d be when she was sent to her room so the three of us could talk about this. I’d react to her nosy interjection, but the corners of my mouth feel too heavy from the unexpected turn this evening has taken.