Chapter 3 #2
“But still….” She wiggles her eyebrows mischievously. “He’s a…doctor. And you know how much the Desi aunties love a doctor.”
“He’s not Indian…so that’s a mark against him,” I point out. “And in any case, he didn’t say when or where and…you know what, maybe it won’t happen…. And, I don’t know if I’ll even go.”
I have no idea why I’m bullshitting Latika, especially since she knows me, but I do want to have dinner with a handsome doctor. I mean, who doesn’t?
“Don’t kid a kidder, yaar*,” Latika says in an exaggerated put-on Indian accent. She was born and raised here; she doesn’t have a Desi accent, unless she wants to.
I groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “I don’t even know what to wear.”
Latika gives me a wickedly pleased look. “Oh, this is my favorite part.”
She launches into instructions like she’s prepping me for battle. “No scrubs. No flats that say, ‘I work twelve-hour shifts and have given up.’ Soft hair. Minimal jewelry. Something that says, ‘I am competent but also kissable.’”
“First things first, you think I’d go on a date in scrubs?”
“I have no idea,” she says sarcastically. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
I sigh. “This isn’t a date…I don’t think so.”
“Oh, it’s a date. The man asked you out.”
“For me to accept his apology.” I shake my head, focusing on her instructions. “And what do you mean I need kissable lips?”
“Look, I know you want to get rid of your hymen—”
“You know the hymen is a myth, right? And if it did exist, Oscar would have taken care of it.”
She shakes the Jacques Bardlot bottle and finds it empty. “You’re such a cliché, naming your vibrator.”
My rabbit is called Oscar…as in Oscar Isaac.
Charisma, depth, and that voice.
“What can I say, I like an older man.”
Her grin is feral. “How old is Dr. V?”
I toss my shoulders. “How would I know?”
She gives me a knowing look.
I sigh. “He’s thirty-six.” Of course, I looked him up…and down and sideways on Google.
Dr. Evan Vincenzo, MD.
World-renowned neurosurgeon
Recent transfer to Bayview Summit Medical Center from New York Presbyterian Hospital.
A graduate of Harvard Medical School. Obviously!
Member of the Vincenzo family of Tuscany and Napa Valley.
More research told me the Vincenzo family is a big deal, as in they have a shit ton of money. They own olive groves. Vineyards. They export internationally. The company is old and sprawling. The current CEO is Rodolfo Vincenzo. And Dr. Evan Vincenzo is listed as a member of the Board of Directors.
They have headquarters in Florence. Secondary offices in Napa. Global distribution. Generational money.
The latest headline about the family concerned Rosa Vincenzo, the matriarch, who passed away. The one before it was about the family buying an oil company in France.
“Does he give you silver fox vibes?” Latika, who is lately binging age-gap romances, muses.
“Don’t make this weird.”
“Imagine the scandal? You marrying an older Italian doctor?” She claps her hands. “I think you should have the wedding both in Italy and in India.”
I give Latika’s nose a friendly flick. “Madam, I just met this guy today, and you’re getting me married to him, already?”
“Arrey, you know what they say in India. If a pair of pants and a skirt meet on a clothes line, someone gets pregnant.”
I laugh at that. “As a nurse, I can tell you that’s not how it happens.”
“And you’re better off not getting married, anyway.
” Now she’s being serious. I know she loves Rohan, but I see the exhaustion in her eyes when she talks about family dinners and whispered judgments.
It’s hard to live in the Indian community where everyone is watching everyone… all the freaking time.
What car do you drive?
What school is your kid going to?
What was your kid’s SAT score?
Did you get laid off again?
And so on and on and on.
Latika is being pressured to get pregnant, and she doesn’t want to. She’s only twenty-six, and she feels it’s too early. Her parents, his parents, and Rohan all think she’s being difficult—not giving up contraception.
“You want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head. “Coming here is my vacation,” she admits quietly. “No one is asking when I’m having a baby. No one is commenting on my weight. No one is analyzing my marriage.”
Before I can say something about how I want to kick-in Rohan’s balls, she picks up the remote control to increase the volume. “Oh, this is the best scene.”
It’s the end of the movie where the heroine’s father finally tells her to claim her love and live her life. The hero is on a moving train. She runs. He holds out his hand, she grabs it, and he pulls her in.
Love reigns supreme.
It’s a classic.
Latika wipes a fake tear. “Love like that….”
“Only happens in the movies,” I tell her.
“Cynic,” she protests.
She stays the night, sleeps in bed with me, like we always do.
We talk about this, that, and nothing and everything, and fall asleep as the sun creeps up the bay.
* Turmeric (Hindi)
* Spice mix (Hindi)
* Incense stick (Hindi)
* Candle (Hindi)
* Indian (Hindi)
* The Brave-Hearted Will Take the Bride (Hindi)
* The one who comes in my dreams (Hindi)
* Oh (Hindi)
* Love is crazy, my beloved (Hindi)
* Love (Hindi)
* Friend (Hindi)