Ch. 11 – Prem
P rem walked into Junkyard Dogs on Monday morning. The gym was small, the equipment old, and the layout about as feng shui as a discount motel. A nearby elliptical gave an emphysemic wheeze as an older woman began moving its pedals.
The ramshackle gym did have two things going for it. The place was close to Prem’s barebones apartment, and it never seemed to have more than 10 people inside at any given time. Compared to the globo gyms filled with grunting meatheads near his last place, Junkyard Dogs was practically a haven.
As Lynyrd Skynyrd sang about being free as a bird over the tinny speakers in the corners, Prem glanced around and noticed a knot of men huddled near the two squat racks in the back. He recognized the gym’s owner among the bunch. Hard to miss a blond-haired, blue-eyed giant who looked like he could hop onto the Mr. Universe stage, bounce his pecs a few times, and whisk away the trophy.
The gym owner, Cam, had been surprisingly genial when Prem had signed up for a membership last week. He’d even invited him to lift with “the boys,” but that wasn’t really Prem’s style. He’d always preferred to keep to himself. Especially now, when his brain was nothing more than a continually repeating checklist of preparations for next week’s soft re-opening.
Prem walked over to a stationary bike and began an easy 10-minute warm-up. As always, his right hip complained, and the muscles around the screws and plates in his femur resisted the movement. Prem gritted his teeth, knowing the pain would ease as his body warmed.
“Thirty air squats, gentlemen,” Cam ordered his small cadre, his voice easily carrying across the room. “Really make sure to activate those glutes.”
A burly red-headed man with an unshaven jaw and battered ball cap snorted. “What are the glutes again?”
“That’d be your ass,” answered a slimmer man with wavy brown hair. Gray-framed glasses bounced on his nose as he performed fast, graceful squats.
“And exactly how am I supposed to activate my butt?” the bigger guy demanded. “I mean, I’ve got an idea, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
Cam sighed and crossed his massive arms. “Hue, don’t even think about taking a shit on my floor.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that gets you banned for life,” added the man in glasses.
Hue shrugged. “Just wanted a clarification.” His squats were slower, more wobbly than his companion’s. Might have had something to do with the work boots and jeans he wore.
Prem finished on the bike and moved to a set of mats in the corner. Slowly, he began the stretches he’d committed to heart over months of physical therapy. First up, the pigeon stretch. His right hip hated pigeon stretch. Prem sank more deeply into the pose, breathing through the pain. He held the stretch for a full minute, feeling his joints and tendons gradually loosen.
“Okay, let’s load up for front squats,” Cam said to the two men. “We’re going to do pause squats. I want to see sets of five, three seconds down, two second pause at the bottom, then drive up out of the pocket.”
Prem looked up from the mat, his eyes drawn to the men at the squat rack.
“I understood exactly zero of that,” Hue said, scratching at his cap.
“Lift bar. Squat down, real slow. Stop at bottom. Stand up,” Cam replied while the man with glasses set a barbell into the hooks on the rack.
Cam zeroed in on him. “Sully, have you popped the big question to Alanna yet?”
Even from across the gym, Prem could see Hue roll his eyes. “Man, can’t we just lift heavy shit? Why do we always have to talk about feelings, too?”
“The heaviest lifting comes from in here.” Cam jabbed at his left pec. “And it’s just as good for your health as strength training. Well, Sully?”
The man in glasses seemed suddenly very interested in pulling weight plates from the stacks in the corner.
“Yeah. I asked her to move in,” he admitted.
“And?” Cam demanded.
Prem shifted to pigeon stretch on his other leg. Even after six years, it still dismayed him how much farther he could sink into the stretch on his left side.
“She said she’d think about it.” Sully slid a weight plate on each side of his barbell.
“Oh man,” Hue groaned. “She’ll think about it? Kiss of death, right there.”
“Not necessarily.” Cam shoved huge plates onto his own bar. “It’s certainly a setback, but did she give you any reason for her hesitation?”
Sully nodded as he pulled the bar from the rack. “She doesn’t want her mom living alone.”
“That’s fair,” Cam said. His barbell looked cartoonish, packed with multiple massive weight plates on each side. “Her mom has had health issues.”
“Nah, she’s just afraid,” Hue said. “Same old Alanna. She doesn’t want to get tied down. Can’t say I blame her.”
Sully slowly sunk into his squat, sat at the bottom, tried to rise, then dropped the bar. “Shit,” he hissed.
“Give her time,” Cam coached him. “Moving in together is a big step. Alanna’s not used to being in a serious, committed relationship. It’s not unreasonable for her to be scared.”
He plucked up Sully’s barbell like it weighed as much as a teacup poodle and re-racked it.
“But what does she have to be afraid of?” Sully threw up his hands. “We’re so good together. Each day is better than the last. And our nights…” Sully sighed. “You have no idea how naughty—”
“Stop right there,” Hue warned him. “I’ve been on a really good roll with my sex fantasies, and I DO NOT want the image of your skinny, naked ass in my head ruining everything!”
Prem snickered to himself before realizing he’d been in pigeon stretch for at least three minutes. He quickly moved his legs in front of him, then pressed his feet together, letting his knees flare out to the sides. His right knee lifted noticeably higher than the left, as he felt resistance in his right hip joint.
Over by the squat rack, Cam slowly inched downward with at least 300 hundred pounds on the bar. His face turned an impressive shade of red as he paused at the bottom of the squat.
“I just don’t get it,” Sully said, pacing as Cam burst upward with a hearty grunt. “I offered to move into her mom’s house. I mean, it’d be tough to sell my place, but I’m willing to do it. Dede and I get along great.”
“It’s not about you, dummy,” Hue replied. “Alanna’s a commitment phobe. She’s got demons, man.”
“Takes one to know one,” Sully murmured.
“Damn right I’ve got demons.” Hue unracked Sully’s bar. “Well, just one in particular, but The Succubus was more than enough to nuke my life.”
“Succubus?” Cam asked as his face slowly returned to its normal pale coloring.
“The ex-wife,” Sully explained.
“Wait, you have an ex-wife?” Cam erupted. “Why the hell am I just hearing about this now?”
“Demon, remember?” Hue shot back. “Last thing in the world I want is to talk ‘bout her.” To make his point, he lowered himself into a shaky squat.
Prem forced his eyes down to his mat as he switched stretches. He really shouldn’t be eavesdropping, especially on such an emotional convo. It was odd and a little uncomfortable to hear men speak so openly about their feelings. In his family, acceptable conversation topics included grades, extracurricular accomplishments, papers published, gossip about the extended family, and work promotions.
Feelings never entered the picture.
That might be part of the reason Prem had never developed any close friendships. Definitely not at his private high school, where the competition for valedictorian was practically a blood sport. In undergrad, he’d gotten along with his dorm-mate, Jason, well enough. Jason had even invited him to a few outings with friends. Prem, already a year ahead from taking AP classes in high school and juggling an extra-heavy course load, had never been able to find the time to say yes.
Eventually, Jason had stopped asking. Prem had moved into a studio apartment just off campus the next year. Better to focus on his schoolwork that way.
Then there’d been med school…
Prem finished his stretches and moved to the rack of dumbbells. Next to him, the men squatted, dispensed life advice, and ragged mercilessly on each other between grunts and the clang of weights.
Prem stared at himself in the mirror as he performed a set of overhead presses with the dumbbells. He didn’t want to think of med school. Most of it was a blur, anyway. Stacks of books cluttering his desk. His nightstand littered with Latin-filled flashcards. The increasing drudgery of classes. The constant tightness in his chest. The growing feeling that he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
Prem shook his head as if he could force away the memories. Why was he even thinking about the past? All that mattered was the present. He had exactly a week until the clinic opened and roughly a million things to do before then.
Forcing himself to ignore the talk of the men nearby, Prem determinedly pushed himself through his strength-training routine. By the time his watch beeped to denote the turn of the hour, sweat glistened across his forehead and his muscles burned. Thankfully, the exercise had slowed the cascade of thoughts in his brain and quieted the anxiety that constantly crawled beneath his skin. Even his right hip felt warm and loose, the ache barely noticeable.
Prem swung by the cubby to pick up his keys, wallet, and water bottle. When he straightened, he caught Cam’s eyes in the wall-mounted mirrors.
“Good work, man,” Cam called.
A little uncertainly, Prem raised his hand in acknowledgment before turning and making his way to the door.
*
At 8 AM on the dot, Prem pulled into the small parking lot behind the clinic, his hair still slightly damp from his rushed shower and a burnt piece of toast clutched between his teeth. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the first arrival.
Layla’s silver Audi SUV sat in a spot close to the back door. Prem blew out a heavy breath, almost launching his piece of toast into the windshield. She hadn’t quit then. A warmth pulsated in his chest.
Still didn’t explain why his receptionist had beat him to his own clinic, though. When Prem entered the building and made his way to the back exam area, he found his answer.
Should’a known.
“You can do it, Sunny,” Layla cooed. She crouched on the floor, her back to Prem, as she held out her hands to the skinny orange cat. Sunny stared at her, ears swiveled back in agitation. Slowly, uncertainly, he moved forward, his cart rolling.
“Use your back legs,” Layla encouraged him. “We just practiced this.”
Prem noted that the cat’s back legs weren’t held up by straps. Instead, they dragged on the floor as he used his front paws to propel himself forward.
“Back legs, back legs,” Layla chanted and mimed the movement with her hands as if the cat could possibly understand.
Prem found himself smiling at the sheer amount of willpower Layla directed at the cat. Today, she wore a pale pink top and a sky-blue skirt covered in shiny silver stars. Her long, golden braid was crooked, seeming to have been woven in haste or without much care.
“There you go, my love!” Layla gushed.
Prem refocused on the cat and almost did a double take. Sunny slowly, awkwardly pushed his back legs into position. He wobbled, then seemed to re-orient himself and stand just a little straighter. He took a shaky, hesitant step forward…
“Yes, yes!” Layla cried.
…Sunny’s back legs buckled, the wheels of the cart pushing him forward until he caught himself with his front legs.
“Ohhhh, it’s okay,” Layla immediately reassured the cat. “You did so good. You were standing, Sunny. You took a step. I saw it.” She held out her arms for the cat. The warmth in Prem’s chest turned molten. If only those arms were open to admit him.
Haltingly, using his front legs, Sunny reached Layla, and she snuggled him into her chest, planting enthusiastic kisses on his head.
“I swear you’re going to cure Sunny through sheer belief,” Prem said.
Layla stiffened, her head whipping around. “Oh!” she said. Then “Oh,” less enthusiastically as she recognized him.
“Good morning, Dr. Dhawan.” Self-consciously, she set the cat down. Bags hung under her blue eyes, and blotches of red marred her smooth, pale skin. Had the woman slept since he’d last seen her on Friday?
“I’m not doing anything for Sunny,” she said. “It’s all him. He’s determined to get better.”
Prem took a bite of his toast and swallowed before speaking. “I reviewed his file yesterday.” He shook his head, still in awe of his predecessor. “Performing surgery on a cat with such severe injuries was a big risk. I’m not sure I would have made the same call.”
“Dr. Goldman believed in Sunny.” Layla’s voice hitched with defensiveness.
“Well, either way, Goldman pulled it off. The post-op x-rays are a masterpiece.” Prem finished his toast in one more big bite. “But don’t get your hopes up. Sunny likely won’t walk on his own again.”
“Yes, he will,” Layla answered immediately. Fiercely. “He wants to walk, and he will.” She pulled the cat a little closer as if she could protect him from Prem’s doubting words.
“Just be prepared, and make sure the owner is prepared,” Prem responded, softening his voice. He leaned against the exam table and crossed his arms. “Speaking of which, I didn’t see an owner listed in Sunny’s patient file or any payments made for his care.”
Layla stood and placed Sunny on the table. Without looking at Prem, she began unstrapping the cat from the chair.
“Ms. Fiddlesticks is a very private person,” she said as she gently lifted the cat from the device.
Prem arched an eyebrow. “And when exactly did you say Ms. Fiddlesticks was returning?”
“I didn’t.” She petted Sunny’s head. “There’s no telling how long she’ll be in the African jungle.”
“I thought you said she was in the Amazon.”
“That’s what I meant, of course.” A red flush crept up her neck.
Prem bit back a laugh. He’d never met a worse liar in his life. God help this woman if she ever wandered to a poker table. But as much as he wished he could indulge Layla’s well-meaning fib, they simply couldn’t keep boarding a cat for free.
“Well, it’s time we make some new arrangements for Sunny,” Prem said. “Since Ms. Fiddlesticks isn’t able to pay for his boarding and care, perhaps we should reach out to the local shelter.”
Layla looked up at him, a surprising glint of steel in her eyes. “YHAR doesn’t have space for him. And, anyway, I’m happy to oversee his physical therapy for free. Ms. Fiddlesticks is a very close friend of mine.”
Prem sighed. “That still doesn’t cover his boarding fees. When the clinic opens next week, we’ll need that space.”
“I’ll pay for it,” Layla said, not backing down an inch. “Ms. Fiddlesticks will pay me back when she returns, of course.”
“Of course,” Prem murmured. He didn’t like the thought of Layla covering daily boarding fees for the cat, especially after he’d just cut her hourly wage by 20%. Then again, she drove a brand new Audi with all the fixings. Seemed like Mr. Layla brought in plenty of dough.
“If that’s what you want,” Prem answered.
“It’s what’s best for Sunny,” Layla answered as if that closed the argument.
Prem retreated to his office while Layla finished cleaning Sunny’s kennel. He’d come in early specifically to prepare for the full day ahead. He had a meeting with Deja in an hour to discuss her work schedule, hourly rate, and job expectations. Kate would be in at 10 for the same discussion. The thought of sitting down across from the formidable vet tech with the steel gray hair to discuss cutting her hours and overall take-home pay was about as pleasant as tweezing his pubic hairs. But it had to be done. Layla would be up next at 11 AM.
A soft, lyrical sound floated through his door. Prem looked up. Listened.
Humming. Layla was humming.
Prem tried to ignore the sound, pleasing as it was, to refocus on his schedule. After a break for lunch, he and his employees would receive training on the new payment processing system he’d contracted. Next up, the new centrifuge would arrive at 3 along with a rep to walk him and the techs through its use. The coming days would bring a parade of new equipment into the clinic: a ventilator, a refractometer, an incubator, a cauterizer, and more.
Sure, the cost of it all made him woozy, but Prem hadn’t even considered leasing the equipment. Better to buy it all outright rather than make payments every month on machinery he didn’t own. He’d incorporated the costs into his loan request, which was a major reason the monthly payments were so steep.
Prem shifted in his chair and frowned as the ancient thing squeaked in protest. If he had any money left after his equipment spending spree, he had to get himself a decent chair. Taking a breath, he tried to study his negotiation notes. Except that soft, tantalizing humming invaded his mind. He could barely read the words on his page. He looked up at his Animals Being Derps calendar, silently pleading for help. Yesterday’s page had disappeared, and today’s page showcased a donkey, its lips curled back, revealing a wide, crooked set of teeth.
Prem smiled. Groaned. Then shoved back his squeaky chair.
He found Layla sitting at the reception desk, her fingers clacking on a keyboard. The humming stopped as soon as he entered the room. Behind her, on the back wall, hung a huge collage of photos featuring a zoo of animals. Lots of cats and dogs, of course, but also guinea pigs, a rat with gray spots, several birds, a gecko, and even a camel. In the middle of the collage, a hand-painted sign said simply, Our Family.
Prem didn’t have to ask who had created the collage or the sign. Just like he didn’t have to ask who’d painted smiling cat and dog faces on the jars of treats sitting on each corner of the reception desk. Or who had strung a construction paper chain of paw prints across the front of the desk.
Layla.
Always Layla.
He should have thanked her. Instead, he paused in front of the desk and drummed his fingers on it. “You know you’re not supposed to be here until 11 today.”
She didn’t glance away from the computer screen. “I know. I just…” she swallowed. “I like being here.”
“Don’t expect to get paid for this time.” He hated the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. But he hadn’t cut her hourly wage as much as he should have. That meant he could barely afford her as it was.
Layla dropped her hands from the keyboard and looked up at him. Exhaustion exuded from her like an aura. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Consider these volunteer hours. I love volunteering.” She let out a long breath as if she were trying to expel stress, then gave him a tight smile. “While you’re here, I’d like to update our shared calendar. I already added in the clinic’s new hours.”
“Shared calendar?” Prem asked.
Layla nodded. “With, uh…Dr. Goldman, we all put our personal appointments into the calendar. That way, if there was an emergency after hours, we knew who could be available.”
Prem nodded and chewed the inside of his cheek. “sounds reasonable.”
“So…” she looked at him questioningly, “if you have any vacation planned, any times you can’t be disturbed, or personal obligations where you’d prefer not to be pulled away.”
“No vacations,” Prem answered. “And in an emergency, I can always be available.”
“Oh.” She stared at him with wide blue eyes. “You’re, um, very dedicated.”
The other implication, that he clearly had no life, hung in the silence.
“Actually…” Prem hesitated. Was this too personal? Then again, did he want Layla to think he just went home after work and stared at a blank wall until the sun came up the next day? “I do have a few personal obligations. They can always be moved in an emergency,” he clarified quickly, “but if someone requests an after-hours appointment and it’s not time-sensitive…”
“Sure, sure,” Layla nodded and moved her fingers back to the keyboard.
“On the first Sunday of the month, from 6 PM to 8 PM, put Dinner,” Prem instructed.
Her mouth quirked. “That’s the only time you eat dinner? On the first Sunday of the month from 6 PM to 8 PM?”
“Dinner with parents,” he admitted.
“Oh, that’s nice!” Her fingers tapped the keys.
“From 6 AM to 7 AM each morning, put down Gym.”
More typing.
“And on Saturdays, from 2:30 to 4:30, put down April.”
Layla’s innocent gaze drifted up to his. “April?”
Prem nodded.
“Girlfriend?”
A laugh huffed out of his throat. “Something like that.”
Her fingers danced across the keyboard. “Anything else?”
As Prem considered, a long silence stretched between them. Did he seriously have nothing else going on in his life? Discomfort stewed in his chest. Would Layla think he was a loser? Someone with zero life outside his practice?
Course, that happened to be true. Since graduating, he’d filled his hours with intense residencies and brutally long shifts at the animal hospital. And now his entire focus had to be on getting this practice off the ground and successful. He didn’t have time for a personal life.
Didn’t make it any less embarrassing to admit out loud, though.
Prem’s eyes had snagged on a massive, brightly colored patchwork bag sitting on the desk next to Layla’s elbow.
“What is that?”
“My purse?” She followed his gaze to the bag in question.
“A purse? You sure it isn’t a suitcase? You’re not secretly living here, are you?” He’d meant the words to be teasing, but Prem had never been good at teasing. The questions came out dry and punishingly direct.
Something flared in Layla’s eyes. “It’s not a suitcase!”
Prem leaned over the desk. “What do you keep in there? Bowling balls? An entire wrench set? A fruit cake?”
“Just…things!” Layla grabbed the bag and shoved it with some difficulty into the bottom drawer of the desk. “Are we done with the calendar?”
“Yes,” Prem had to admit. “For now.” He glanced at his watch. “Deja should be here any minute.”
Layla glared at him, her adorable face scrunched in clear annoyance before she refocused on her computer screen. She clicked her mouse a few times, then her fingers once again whizzed over the keyboard.
“What are you working on now?” he asked.
She sighed and sat back again. “I’m putting together an eblast for our clients announcing the reopening and introducing you.”
“Really?” Prem swung around the desk. “I was actually going to ask you to do that. I checked out the clinic’s CRM, and it’s pretty good.”
Layla clucked her tongue. “I had to work on Dr. Goldman for years before he’d let me buy customer relationship management software for the clinic. He was, uh, rather technology adverse. Would you believe he kept everything on paper files when I first started? The back was filled with huge filing cabinets.”
Prem shook his head and laughed. “Goldman was old school.” He gave Layla a closer look. “So you handle the entire CRM?”
She nodded. “Everything’s electronic. We have detailed files on all our patients with their full histories, prescriptions, and guardian contact info. I’ve set up automated emails and text messages that go out for appointment reminders and when yearly checkups are due.”
Prem whistled. He’d assumed he’d have to build all that customer management infrastructure up from scratch. In the last minute, Layla had taken about 10 things off his “Must Do Before Opening” list.
“How’d you learn to do all that?” he asked.
Layla looked down, a light blush creeping up her cheeks. “I’ve taken a few online certifications in marketing, office management, that sort of thing. There are lots of great resources available if you know where to look.”
Suddenly, Prem worried that he was underpaying her. Scratch that. He was definitely underpaying her.
“You said you were putting together an announcement email? Can I see it?” Without waiting for permission, he gazed over her shoulder, scanned the text, and immediately tssked. “Nope, we’ve got to change this up.”
Her face fell. “How so?”
“Well, look at this line.” He read the offending text out loud. “ From cat-astrophic calamities to doggone delightful moments, we’ll make sure your pets receive the same paw-some care and attention they've always known and loved. ”
Layla turned to look at him, her lip pushed into a pout. “That line’s adorable!”
And that’s exactly when Prem noticed something about her. Make that the lack of something about her. The massive diamond engagement ring no longer swallowed the finger on her left hand.
A strange, terrifying anger lit inside of him. Now he understood the bags beneath her eyes, the red splotches on her face, the invisible thundercloud that hung over her bent head and hunched shoulders.
What had that jackass done to her?
Prem wanted to hurt the man who’d given her that ring. Who had betrayed her. He wanted to slice him open and stitch his anus to his esophagus.
“Dr. Dhawan?” Layla asked. “What’s wrong with that sentence?”
“Too cute,” Prem growled.
“Of course it’s cute. Our clients like cute.”
Prem’s hands hurt. Probably cause he was squeezing them into fists of death. Breathe, he told himself. What was happening to him? How had the absence of a ring suddenly transformed him into a manic caveman with good scalpel technique?
This was going to be a big, big problem. She was going to be a big, big problem.
“I’ll write the email myself,” he said quietly.
Layla seemed to deflate in her chair.
Prem suddenly felt like an ass. Correction, he was an ass. But the only way to hide his feelings from his receptionist, from the world, seemed to be transforming into the world’s number one douchebag.
The front door swung open, and Deja rushed inside.
“You’re late,” he said.
“Sorry,” she gasped. “Deon somehow lost his clarinet. We turned over the house looking for it. Turns out, he left it in his locker. Kids.” She huffed out a laugh.
Prem wasn’t laughing. “Don’t let it happen again.”
Deja’s mouth opened and closed quickly. She looked down at her scuffed shoes. “I’m sorry, Dr. Dahwan.”
“Let’s get started on your review. We’re already behind.” Prem turned stiffly but not before catching the look of disappointment that flashed across Layla’s face.