Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
Asma glanced at the apartment brochure lying on the bed in front of her, its glossy cover marred with the Sharpie that Asma had used to jot down notes. She hadn’t been able to get Farooq’s look from the prior night out of her mind. Especially because he was right to be angry. Nothing had changed since college, no matter how many years had passed or how accomplished Asma had become. So, in an attempt to prove to herself that she was willing to live her own life, she’d walked into the leasing office of the apartment building near the hospital that morning and applied for a two-bedroom, two-bath unit.
Asma knew her father would be angry that she had gone behind his back, but she also knew she would have to withstand his anger. She had to tell her father that she was not moving to Sacramento. He might be mad at her initially, but he would soften eventually—at the very least, he wouldn’t come to the Bay and force her to move. Would he?
She decided to break the news over the phone—if he yelled too loudly, she could just move the phone away from her ear. She mumbled a prayer before punching in her father’s number.
“Salaam, beta! I was just on the phone with Gulnaz Bhabi,” said Mr. Ibrahim. “We must make sure to visit again next time you’re in town. It’s so wonderful to have such distinguished relatives so close by.”
Distinguished , of course, was always code for rich . Asma decided to let the comment go, though she knew she would rather shave her head than sit under Gulnaz Dadabhoy’s haughty inspection ever again.
“Abu, I have to talk to you about something.” She needed to get it out before she lost her nerve. “There’s a job opening at the hospital, and my attending believes I’d be a top candidate for it.”
“What hospital?”
“My hospital. Palo Alto General.”
“MashAllah.” She could hear the smile on his face. “That’s good news.”
“It is?”
“Of course. It’s a great achievement to be the best one.”
“Abu, I’m so happy to hear you say that. I can’t tell you how much I want this job.” Asma felt herself relax. “I can introduce you to Dr. Saucedo when you come up here for my graduation. She’s been wanting to meet my family. And I applied for an apartment, it’s right by the—”
“An apartment?”
“Near the hospital.”
“What are you talking about? You’re moving here.”
“What?” Asma asked, stumbling a bit. “I just told you there’s a job opportunity here and you said that’s good news.”
“Yes. Now you see how easy it is for you to get a job. You won’t have any trouble finding one in Sacramento. Something more prestigious than emergency medicine. Private practice, maybe.”
“Abu! This is the job I want, not to work in private practice in Sacramento.”
“Asma, you didn’t even try to apply for a job here.”
“But why would I?”
“Because this is where you’re going to live,” Mr. Ibrahim said. “Not some apartment by yourself.”
“Abu—”
“I’ll call Gulnaz Bhabi back now, you know her husband was one of the most distinguished surgeons in Pakistan. I’m sure he has many contacts in Sacramento too.”
And before Asma could respond, her father hung up the phone.
—
Asma sat in her car, parked around the corner from Dr. Saucedo’s house in an old, moneyed neighborhood of Palo Alto filled with stately homes. She was trying not to dwell on her phone call with her father. He had never hung up on her before. She’d called him back immediately, but he’d ignored her phone calls and then told Iman to tell her that he was out—even though she could hear him in the background.
Her father seemed incapable of even considering an alternative to his plan for her, no matter what Asma might have preferred. She remembered Farooq’s disappointed look at the bowling alley. At the time, Asma assumed he was reacting to her secrecy, but maybe it was more than that. Maybe Farooq realized how much Asma’s father still influenced her choices, and how unhappy his decisions had made Asma over the years. It was a thought that had not occurred to Asma before—she could gain her father’s approval once more by leaving her job in emergency medicine, but it would cost her what little happiness and satisfaction she had left. And the half-block walk to Dr. Saucedo’s house wasn’t exactly long enough to clear her head.
“Asma! You look great!” Dr. Saucedo swung open the front door. “Come in, come in!”
Asma had spent more time than usual selecting an outfit and getting dressed for dinner, going so far as to wear a ruby earring-and-necklace set that had once belonged to her mother. Maryam, so impressed by how Asma looked for what Asma told her was a work function, had even offered to do her makeup, loudly narrating as she applied concealer and eyeliner, making sure Asma was paying attention to her tutorial.
Dr. Saucedo led Asma down a long, narrow hallway, the floor covered by a Persian carpet runner and the walls filled with framed family portraits.
She opened the heavy mahogany pocket doors at the end of the hall to reveal a huge living room with red velvet couches and rows and rows of wood-paneled shelves filled with books. Farooq stood at one corner of the room, flipping through a book. He closed the book when Asma entered and murmured salaams.
Dr. Saucedo led Asma into the room, then turned toward the adjoining kitchen. Asma panicked at the thought of being left alone with Farooq.
“What can I do to help?”
“I have everything taken care of.” Dr. Saucedo motioned for Asma to sit down. “Hector is putting the girls to bed, he’ll be down in a minute. What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll just have some water. Here, let me get it.”
“No problem, just make yourself comfortable.”
Asma and Farooq stood awkwardly, neither of them talking. The easy rapport that had emerged over the impromptu brunch at the Qureishis’ house and the bowling alley was gone, and Asma was unsure where things were supposed to go from here. She looked around the room, an overflowing vase of pink and white lilies on the table catching her eye.
“These flowers are beautiful!”
“Aren’t they gorgeous?” Dr. Saucedo called out from the other room. “Farooq brought them.”
Asma remembered the bouquet Farooq had given her after their first official date, a modest bunch of purple peonies that meant more to her than if it had been a dozen long-stemmed roses. She looked at Farooq, who still hadn’t moved from his spot at the bookshelf. He looked uncomfortable and was opening and closing the same book absent-mindedly. She wanted to ask him if he remembered, too, but just then, Dr. Saucedo reentered the room with a tray of drinks. Her husband, Hector, a tall man with a kind face and salt-and-pepper hair, followed shortly thereafter.
Despite Asma’s initial trepidation, she found that Hector and Dr. Saucedo’s company eased some of the tension between her and Farooq. As they sat down at the well-appointed dining table and began to eat, Hector peppered them both with questions that allowed them to talk around each other instead of engaging in direct conversation.
“We’d been in negotiations for months,” Farooq said, when Hector asked about the buyout of his startup. “But I was still shocked when I got the call. I thought someone was playing a joke on me.”
“Because it sounds like an unreal number. Half a billion dollars?” said Dr. Saucedo. “Not to sound crass, but what is it even like to be that rich?”
“It feels like it’s happening to someone else. There’s this public persona that I see people reacting to and it almost makes me laugh,” Farooq said. “But my day-to-day is basically the same. I mean, obviously, the stress about paying bills is gone. It’s nice to be able to take care of my parents, they’ve always been so supportive. And I’m trying to find good philanthropic causes to invest in. But I’m realizing I don’t have particularly expensive tastes.”
Asma remembered the disappointment of the crowd at Farooq’s basic watch.
“And what about you, Asma?” Hector asked. “Why emergency medicine? Are you a secret adrenaline junkie, like my wife?”
A smile passed between Hector and Dr. Saucedo, the kind that made Asma simultaneously grateful to see such a supportive spouse, and envious beyond measure of Dr. Saucedo’s marriage.
“Well, I’m not sure how exactly to answer,” Asma replied. “If this were a job interview—”
“Which it very well might be,” Hector interjected, giving Asma a mischievous smile while nudging his wife gently.
“I promise, it’s not,” Dr. Saucedo said, raising both hands in a posture of innocence. “But if it were…” she continued, and the rest of them laughed.
“I’d say that I thrive in an environment where I have to trust my instincts and rely on my training to make essential decisions in real time,” Asma replied. “The pace, the stakes, the procedures, the excitement…it’s intoxicating.”
“So, an adrenaline junkie,” Hector summarized, as the rest of them laughed again. “And if it wasn’t an interview?”
“I’d say that I don’t like being helpless,” Asma replied, the words escaping before she could think her answer through. “Being in the ER makes me feel like I can make the difference between someone being safe and someone being at risk. Living or dying. And I like being the person who makes that call.”
“Ah,” Hector said, with a knowing smile. “An adrenaline junkie and a control freak.”
“It’s a shock that I’m not married, right?” Asma joked, as the rest of them laughed heartily at her self-deprecation, even Farooq. “No, it’s funny, I remember in college, going on a hike with a friend. And there was an accident.”
The smile dropped from Farooq’s face. Asma wondered how often he thought of it. Hiking on Mount Diablo, the steep incline. How Farooq had lost his footing. Asma’s scream caught in her throat as Farooq went over the side of the ravine. She could still feel the pulse of her heart in her throat, the rush of adrenaline as she’d scrabbled down after him. The same feeling of watching her mother slip away from her, only faster this time. In the space of a breath.
“They had to medevac us out,” Asma continued. “I remember sitting there waiting for the helicopter, wishing I knew what to do. And I never wanted to feel so useless again.”
She’d held his hand as the emergency crew made their way toward him, and he’d said something to her that was lost in the whirring of the helicopter blades.
“What?” she’d shouted over the noise, putting her ear close to his mouth.
“If I get out of this,” he’d said, his voice threaded through with the pain of his fractured leg. “Promise you’ll marry me.”
She’d promised, right then and there. Promised him that she’d be his wife. Promised herself that she’d become the sort of doctor who’d never be helpless again. And she’d only kept one of those promises.
“Well,” Dr. Saucedo said, raising her glass to Asma. “A bit of advice. That should be your interview answer.”
They all raised their glasses, but when Asma glanced at Farooq, his eyes were down, his mouth in a hard line, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze.
—
Before Asma knew it, almost three hours had passed. Hector started to clear the plates. Farooq got up to help, but Hector waved at him to sit back down.
“It’s dessert—my course.” Hector brought out a cake platter from the kitchen. “Baked Alaska!”
Asma and Farooq stared at it for a second before they both burst out laughing.
“Well, that wasn’t the reaction I expected,” Hector said.
“Sorry,” Asma said between giggles. “The last time I had baked Alaska…”
Asma glanced at Farooq, who finished her sentence.
“It was a mess. More like fried Alaska,” he said, recounting the time he had attempted to make baked Alaska in college. He didn’t mention that he had burned the dessert for Asma’s nineteenth birthday in the small, cramped kitchen of the apartment he shared with three other Muslim students.
“I keep forgetting you two went to college together!” Dr. Saucedo said. “So, Farooq, you’ll have to tell us: was Asma in college the same as the Dr. Ibrahim we know now—always at the top of her class?”
“Always,” said Farooq. “She set the curve in organic chem by almost eight points. Everyone was so mad. She would’ve been the class outcast if she wasn’t so—”
Farooq stopped.
“Brilliant, I think is the description you’re looking for,” Dr. Saucedo said with a wink at Asma.
Asma blushed.
“And, Asma.” Hector turned to her. “I’m sure you knew—like the rest of us—that it was only a matter of time before Farooq was off to make millions with his startup.”
Asma froze.
“She was definitely there at the beginning of it all,” Farooq said with a strained smile.
Asma knew that this reminder of why their relationship had ended had upset him. But their hosts didn’t seem to notice. They continued to chatter on about Farooq’s buyout until he excused himself from the table and left the room.
Asma was helping clear the table when Farooq returned.
“Thank you both so much for dinner. Everything was great,” he said.
Asma, too, took her leave and, a few minutes later, found herself standing on the front stoop with Farooq. She thought he would flee but instead he stood there, not moving.
“Where did you park?” he asked finally.
“Just around the corner.”
Farooq nodded and started walking alongside Asma to her car.
It was surprisingly cool for a summer night. They walked in silence. Asma could hear Farooq breathing steadily next to her. For a second she closed her eyes and imagined that they were back strolling through campus on that crisp spring afternoon when Farooq first told her that he loved her.
“You still have the Camry?” Farooq asked when her car came into view. Asma had inherited Iman’s car her freshman year after Iman convinced Mr. Ibrahim that Asma starting college was the perfect opportunity for Iman to upgrade to a Lexus.
“Two hundred twelve thousand miles and counting.”
“Planning on getting a new one when you get that job?”
“No way. I’m driving this one until it doesn’t drive anymore.”
Farooq smiled, his eyes crinkling at the sides.
When they reached the car Farooq chuckled, seemingly in spite of himself, as he ran his hand over a small dent in the driver’s-side door. One that had appeared the morning he’d borrowed her car to pick up a table he’d found on Craigslist during their freshman year. He’d apologized profusely and offered to pay for the damage, but Asma had shrugged it off.
“You never fixed it,” he said.
“It’s cosmetic,” Asma said. “Adds character.”
Asma expected another chuckle, finding humor in the memory. But when he looked up at her, she was startled to see that his eyes were glassy.
Asma stood for a moment, unsure what to do, then found herself reaching for him. She rested her hand on his arm and they stood just a few inches away from each other, silent.
“I haven’t thought about breaking my leg in years,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “Being with you brings everything back.” Asma wanted to move closer, to close the distance between them. But in the moment before she did, he cleared his throat, glancing at his buzzing cell phone. Asma saw Lubna’s name flash across the screen before Farooq silenced his phone and slid it out of view.
Seeing Lubna’s name jolted Asma. She pulled her hand back.
“It’s late, I better get going.”
She got in her car as Farooq stood at the door, holding it open. Asma willed him to say something— anything—to acknowledge what had just happened. But, instead, he just said softly, “Good night, Asma,” and closed the door.
Asma managed to drive to the end of the block before breaking down in sobs, overwhelmed by longing and regret. As she turned the corner and away from the man she’d been in love with for the past eight years, she caught a glimpse of him in her rearview mirror. He was where she’d left him—standing in the middle of the street, looking after her.