Chapter 4
SIMRAN’S STOMACH IS full of knots as she enters the doctor’s office. The reception area smells like rubbing alcohol, pressing against her nose, making it difficult to breathe.
It doesn’t help that her dad was so cryptic on the phone when he asked her to come. It’s almost four o’clock—the office should be closing soon.
The only people in the waiting room are her parents. Her father waves unnecessarily. His turban is speckled with sawdust from the mill. He must’ve just come. Her mother, meanwhile, is buried in a pocket copy of Sukhmani Sahib, which she often reads when she’s stressed.
She doesn’t acknowledge Simran, so Simran sits beside her father. “What’s going on?”
“Dr. Tran has some results for your mother today,” her father replies, running his fingers through his greying beard. “She asked us to come, too.”
He sounds casual. Too casual. “Dad,” Simran says slowly. “What’re the results about?”
Just then, the secretary calls Simran’s mother’s name. “Tarleen?”
Automatically, all three of them stand. They follow the secretary into an examination room. The secretary gives them a careful look as she leaves. “Dr. Tran will be along in a minute, okay?”
Her voice is very kind. Too kind. Simran rubs her eyes as if that might also rub away the horrific thoughts forming behind them. She refuses to even entertain them, because...that can’t happen to her. This must be about something else—
The door opens. They all straighten.
Dr. Tran sits at her computer. “Nice day, isn’t it.” No one responds. She swivels to look at Simran’s mother, who’s finally closed the Sukhmani Sahib. “The endometrial biopsy results came back.”
Simran’s mother grips the book tighter. “And?”
“I’m very sorry to tell you this. You have cancer.”
There’s a long silence. Simran stares at the anatomy poster on the wall. The colours seem too bright. Perhaps she’s dreaming; she’s had nightmares like this. When did she fall asleep?
Her mother speaks first. “How is this possible? There’s no cancer in my family. I—I eat right and exercise. This shouldn’t be happening.” Her voice is flat. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking.
“You can do everything right and still get this,” Dr. Tran says, with the weary tone of someone who knows every beat of this conversation. “But there’s always a small chance the biopsy could be wrong. That’s why we’ll do more tests.”
It feels placating. The anatomy poster blurs in front of Simran’s eyes. She leans forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. Breathe.
Her father asks, “How bad is it?”
“We don’t know yet. The scans will show if it’s...spread.” Her voice is regretful. “I’ll refer you to an oncologist. There’ll be a surgery later. Other things, too.”
And as she launches into all the possible procedures and treatments, medications and outcomes, Simran wills Dr. Tran to stop. Stop talking. Please.
But Dr. Tran goes on relentlessly. Simran barely hears a word. She only jars back into reality when Dr. Tran sends them off, promising to get in touch with next steps.
Simran’s the last to file out, but Dr. Tran stops her.
“You’re a smart girl, Simran. You can help your parents read through this.
” She presses a stack of brochures into Simran’s hands.
“I know it’s a lot to take in. I know your life will never be the same again.
Trust me, I know.” A shadow passes over her face.
“But you’ll get through it. Your mom has everything going for her.
A prompt diagnosis. No systemic symptoms. A healthy lifestyle.
” She pats Simran’s shoulder. “And, of course, you.”
If someone asked Simran how the next few hours passed, she wouldn’t be able to say. All she knows is they got home and suddenly it was dark outside.
Her mother sat on the couch and stared into space. Her father sat beside her, holding her hand. Simran couldn’t bring herself to do the same.
Instead, she memorized Dr. Tran’s brochures, reading the important bits aloud. Her mother didn’t acknowledge any of it. Her dad nodded encouragingly as she read out the good prognosis statistics. She finally understood he wasn’t listening when she asked him what he thought, and he only nodded.
Now that she’s read all the brochures, she feels useless. “It’ll be okay,” she says to the silence. “We just have to get through this.” Her own words feel empty.
But her father looks up and strokes her cheek. “You’re right, sher putt.”
Sher putt. Lion daughter. Brave daughter. He says it admiringly.
Simran straightens. That, she can do. She can be brave for them. “I’ll make dinner,” she announces, and when her father smiles again, it bolsters her to do more, be above all this. After all, someone has to function.
Newly determined, Simran heads into the kitchen. She takes out an onion, garlic, ginger, and chilies. While chopping, she calls her sister. Three times. She finally leaves a message. “This is Simran. Call me back, okay?”
She can’t keep the annoyance from her voice. Kiran rarely picks up.
She turns on the kitchen fan as she works.
It’s loud, but she finds herself glad for the noise.
Anything to drive the thoughts from her head.
How strange to think how the day began—worrying about assignments, gossiping with her cousin, and Rajan—Rajan, but she can’t even digest that encounter yet.
She has no right, with her mother in the next room reeling from a cancer diagnosis, to think about her old friend or her grades or. ..or...her transfer to Vancouver...
She nearly drops her wooden spoon. She’d totally forgotten her resolution to tell her parents about it tonight.
Her hopeful self from six hours ago seems stupidly naive now. Of course Simran can’t go to Vancouver. Her family needs her. Staying in Kelowna will be fine—more than fine, actually. Moving to a new city would be tedious.
Decided, Simran pulls out her phone and finds Dr. Maxfield’s email. Standing in the kitchen, she composes a reply.
Dear Dr. Maxfield, thank you for your email, but I’ve decided not to transfer...
She writes a few lines about how she appreciates the opportunity and maybe they can work together later. After proofreading, it’s ready to send. Her thumb hovers over the button.
But she can’t seem to bring it down. Her brain keeps whispering: What if? What if you did go?
The frying onions on the stovetop sizzle distractingly loud, stinging at her eyes. She blinks the tears away, but they’re unrelenting. She hates it. No crying allowed today. Not even from onions.
Frustrated, she turns the heat off and heads to the bathroom to wash her face. As the loud kitchen fan fades behind her, she faintly hears a conversation taking place in the living room. She slows. Her parents are murmuring to each other. What could they be talking about after hours of silence?
Simran creeps closer. The first thing she catches is her sister’s name.
“...Kiran’s made it a point to do the opposite of everything I wish for her. I think I’ve lost her forever.”
“That’s just Kiran being Kiran,” her father replies. “Let her be.”
“But Simran...” Simran freezes at the sound of her own name. Her mom sighs. “I’ve always had hope for her. I’ve lost every one of my dreams, except her.”
Why are they talking about this? About her, and Kiran, after the day they’ve had?
“I’ve kept myself going, hoping I’d at least see one thing I wanted for Simran.
I hope she can get a stable career, on this path she’s on now.
Of course it would’ve been better if—Well, it doesn’t matter.
If nothing else, I thought, I’d get to see her grow up.
” She grows quieter, so Simran has to lean in.
“I’d get to see her become an adult, get married, have children, and be settled.
And now I’m learning I won’t even get that. ”
“You can’t say that,” her father says. But his voice is rough, too. “No one knows what will happen.”
“But we do know this. I’m old.” Her voice is bitter.
“We both are. We knew it when we had Simran. That we wouldn’t be like the younger parents.
They didn’t have to try for ten years. They didn’t have to learn a new country before they could even get started with their lives.
Sometimes I wonder if we ever should’ve left home. ”
“Hush, Tarleen. We did it to give our family a better life.”
“Maybe.” Her voice cracks. “But I don’t think I made a better life for anyone. I think I just wasted mine.”
And then, Simran hears the most dreadful thing she’s ever heard: her mother crying.