Can't Always Get What You Want (13 page)

Samira and I can’t contain it any longer, and we break out into roaring laughter. It seems to cut the tension. Once we recover ourselves, Ravi leans toward Sam and roughly kisses her on the forehead.

I think Ravi just says things like that to wind Nita up. The argument forgotten, Nita reaches for a bowl of spiced chickpeas and begins to dish us all another spoonful.

“Although,” Ravi continues, munching and looking thoughtful, “it will look rather confusing on the wedding invitations. Will Narayan’s family think he’s marrying an Arabic girl?”

And the fight is on again.

—

Being in Nita’s house is a bit like living in a rainbow. We walk from the bright yellow kitchen, through the lime hallways, and into the cobalt living room, everything accented with hints of fuchsia and gold.

Nita, Samira, and I arrange ourselves on the plush sofa and I clutch a fluffy oversized pillow to my chest. The opening song starts, and Nita, who is seated between us, reaches over to grab Samira’s and my hands.

“Oh, listen! Listen!”

The song is beautiful. Samira tilts her head toward the TV, trying to decipher the words.

“Mom, you know I don’t speak Tamil…”

“Shh!” Nita commands.

Nita can speak English, Hindi, and Tamil. It reminds me of another multilingual person…

Whoops. Didn’t mean to go there. I focus all my energies onto the challenges in Pi Patel’s life, and forget about my own for a while.

“I don’t get it,” Ravi confides once it’s over.

“What don’t you get?” Nita asks.

“The story was about animals. But then Pi said that there weren’t any animals, but people. Which is it?”

“That’s the point, Dad,” Samira replies. “It’s up to you to decide which made the better story.”

Ravi’s dark eyebrows pinch together.

“Well, does that mean that Pi was Richard Parker? Was there no tiger on the boat? And what about the meerkat island?” He rises and shakes his head. “What a stupid movie.”

He leaves the room, mumbling to himself about watching wrestling in the den.

“Do you have any plans for Canada Day?” Samira asks as I gather my purse and shoes.

“No. That’s next weekend, right?”

“Yeah. Nar and I were thinking about going out to a bar, having a few drinks, and then watching the fireworks in the river valley. You and Brett should come along.”

“Fireworks? Drinking? Sounds like a great combo. I’ll ask Brett what he’s doing, but I’m sure he’ll join us.”

“Trust me, he’ll be there,” Samira says, giving me a secret smile. “He looks at you like a fat kid looks at cake.”

I climb into my car and check my phone before I take off. There’s a text from Brett.

How’s your day going?

Aww, what a sweetheart. When did he send this…at 10:50
A.M.
? I feel kind of guilty. I haven’t talked with him at all today. Maybe I can work this to my advantage. Yes. I am mysterious, cool, and way too busy with my glamorous life to notice texts from gorgeous hotties.

Yes. That is me.

Great, thanks! And yours?

I start up my car, and hear my phone buzz. He always seems to text back right away. Is he the one waiting by the phone, while I’m the typical “dick” not calling him?

How can it be great if I’m not there?

Oh. My. Gosh. Is he
text-flirting
? What sort of witty response can I send back? Something playful and humorous, something that lets him think I have a quick mind.

My mind draws a blank.

Obviously, it would be much better if you were keeping me company ;) Want to hang out tonight?

There. The wink smiley face is about as flirty as I can get tonight.

Oh crap, did that sound like a booty call? Erm, booty
text
?

On the drive home, my phone buzzes again. It takes all my willpower to not pull over to the side of the road and check it. As soon as I am parked in my driveway, I fish out my phone.

Was that a booty text?

I knew it, I knew it!

If so, I’m incredibly flattered (and more than a little tempted). Unfortunately, I can’t. Big day tomorrow with our new contract. This summer is going to be insane. Heading to bed soon. I’ll dream of you.

He’ll dream of me?

Pleasant dreams, I hope.

Of course they will be. You’ll be in them.

Oh! I’d better ask him about next weekend.

Do you have any plans for Canada Day? Sam and Narayan have invited us to join them for drinks and fireworks.

Sure. Count me in. Goodnight, beautiful. xx

Brett’s words envelop me like a warm blanket as I climb into bed. I drift off with a smile on my face, and, for the first time in a week, sleep soundly.

Chapter 11

Honky Tonk Women

I just tried to unlock my front door with my car remote.

I think I may need a nap.

Stupid understaffed night shifts. This is a whole new level of fatigue.

Hopefully I won’t nod off during the Canada Day celebrations today. I’ve been looking forward to hanging out with my friends all week. Well, especially with Brett. He and Narayan have been really busy with their new contract. Save for a few texts, we haven’t hung out at all.

That means that I need to dress nicely tonight (which loosely translates as “hot”). Normally, I quite like dressing up. Wearing scrubs all the time means I don’t often get the opportunity. It is one of the many reasons I hate my job. It’s hard to be a fashionista when you are required to wear a single color from head to toe (à la an Easter egg), or sport the latest SpongeBob print.

Oops. What? No. I love my job, I love my job.

Right. Now what do I wear tonight to knock his socks off?

Okay, let’s see. The little black dress makes my boobs look great, but perhaps it’s a bit formal. Maybe I should just wrap the Canadian flag around me, toga style? That ought to get his motor running. On second thought, no. Patriotism shouldn’t be slutty.

I flip through the contents of my wardrobe, becoming frustrated. If only my Pinterest wardrobe were real.

A light, long-sleeved denim shirt catches my attention. I push up the sleeves, pair it with a cream-colored lace skirt, and top it off with leather sandals and a braided leather belt. Country chic. Yes. This will do. Fun, flirty, and it shows off my killer legs. Eat your heart out, Brett.

We’re meeting downtown for drinks and dinner first. The sun is oppressively hot, and I am starting to regret my wardrobe choice a teeny, tiny bit. My look, which originally was cute, country chic, is now sweaty, city freak. My hair is hanging limply, my thighs are starting to rub together (eww), and despite using antiperspi
rant, I’m paranoid that sweat circles will show under my arms.

Thankfully, the bar is air-conditioned. Casting all thoughts of sweaty legs and armpits aside, I allow my eyes to adjust to the dark interior. I see my friends sitting on the left-hand side of the room, close to the stage. Posters announcing “Karaoke To-nite!” are taped to every available inch of wall space.

Samira and Narayan are cuddled up together on the side closest to the wall, while Brett is on the right, reclined with an easy, confident casualness that I’d thought only Dolce & Gabbana models possessed.

Damn, has he always been this handsome? A week without seeing him has made me forget a little. Muscular, blond, and that lovely square jawline and cleft chin. Mmm.

“Hey, you,” I say, leaning down to give him a friends hug. We haven’t “officially” said we’re anything other than friends, so I’m trying to play it cool. “Long time no see.”

He grins and takes a subtly appreciative glance at my tanned legs.

Country chic: 1.

Sweaty freak: 0.

Perhaps I look better than I thought? Either that, or he’s just that into me. Or, after a two-year dating sabbatical, he’s getting desperate and willing to look past limp hair and a few pit stains.

He pulls my chair out for me, and I mentally make a note to send his parents a thank-you card for raising their son so well. A pitcher of beer takes center stage on our table.

He casts a furtive glance my way, and hesitates to fill the empty glass in front of me. What’s he waiting for? Oh no, he’s probably thinking about my foolish wine bender last week. I cringe when I recall him asking Samira if I drank like that often.

“Don’t look so worried, last week was just a one-time thing,” I say, laughing.

Oh yeah? What if you run into Aaron’s look-alike again?

Oh shut up, snarky inner voice.

“I don’t know, you were a rather charming drunk,” he says.

We settle into conversation about our week. Narayan and Brett have been predictably busy with their new contract. A whirl of doing business deals, drafting blueprints, and hiring more staff.

Yeech. On days I wonder if nursing is “my thing,” I should remember that it could be worse. I could be a boss somewhere, or planning entire communities from scratch.

Not for all the shoes in Italy, thank you very much.

At one point, conversation halts. Samira is only too eager to jump in.

“Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for…” she exclaims, while drumming the tabletop. I know where she’s going, so I join in.

“…Shriek of the Week!”

Narayan covers his eyes with his hand.

“Shriek of the Week?” Brett asks.

“It’s something Sam and I do,” I say. “We started it in high school, where we’d share the strangest thing that happened to us that week. The goal is to make your friend shriek in horror or laughter. You’re going for the best reaction possible. The only rule is that the story can’t be made up, it has to be real.”

Samira points at me. “You go first.”

I’m mentally scanning the events of the past week, when Brett speaks.

“What’s your problem, Nar? Don’t you like this game?” he teases, nodding in Narayan’s direction. Narayan raises his head from his hand.

“Oh, just you wait. The stories have gotten much worse since they became nurses.”

“Okay, I’ve got one,” I say. “So I’m at work, checking on my patients before I go home for the night. The hallway lights had been dimmed, so I couldn’t see very well.”

I pause and look around the table. Everyone is listening intently.

“I was checking on my last patient, when I saw that he was moving around in bed quite a bit. I asked if he was okay, and he stopped moving. I assumed that perhaps he was just repositioning himself in bed, and so I went to leave. I said, ‘Good night,’ and that’s when I heard it, like wet balloons rubbing together.”

Everyone looks puzzled.

“Naturally, I was curious and starting to get a little weirded out, so I turned the light on. And hanging out of his mouth was…”

I pause for effect.

“…his catheter.”

Samira lets out a shriek. Hurrah! Victory is mine!

“He’d ripped it out, and was chewing on it. The balloon that’s supposed to hold the catheter in place was still in his bladder, so we had to send him for surgery to remove it. There was some blood on the bedsheets, and you could see a small bit of tube coming out of his penis.”

I shoot a triumphant look at my comrades. “And that is my Shriek of the Week.”

Brett looks more horrified than curious. Was that too weird of a story to tell over drinks? Oh well, too late now. I suppose if he’s going to like me for me, then I’d better act like myself.

“Okay, okay, that was pretty shriek-worthy. But, I’ve got an even worse one!” Samira brags.

Narayan scrunches up his nose, as if he can already tell what’s coming.

“We have a little boy on our unit with a new colostomy. He’s three years old, and the sweetest little guy you’ve ever seen. Anyway, since he’s going home this week, we’d been teaching his parents how to change the wafer, clean the stoma, empty the collection bags, and so on.”

Samira pauses, while Narayan cringes.

“Yesterday, I went in to feed him lunch, and noticed the air smelled a bit, umm, ripe,” she says, trying not to laugh. “He looked a little suspicious, lying there in bed with the sheet up near his neck. I drew back the sheet and saw that he’d taken his ostomy clip off. He must have been watching me teach his parents how to do that. He innocently looked up at me and said, ‘
Look! Play-Doh!
’ ”

“Eww!” I shriek, while grimacing. “Okay, you win that round.”

“Can anyone play?” Brett asks.

“Can you top Play-Doh poop?” Samira mocks.

“I caught an employee on his phone at work.”

Samira and I stare at him. “Well, that’s not too bad.”

“He was watching clown porn.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence before Samira and I shriek loud enough to attract the attention of the entire bar.

“I think Brett wins this round,” I say, still giggling over the idea of clown porn. “That is, unless you want to share anything, Narayan?”

He silently shakes his head, and frowns at us with mock scorn. It’s not very effective, though. He’s half smiling, which leads me to believe that despite his protests, he actually likes our weird antics.