Ch. 7 – Prem
P rem sat straight-backed on the bar stool closest to the wall as the band on stage played loud enough to rattle his fillings. That is, if he’d had fillings. Thanks to his mother’s strictly enforced morning and nightly tooth-brushing routine, he’d never had a cavity.
The same likely wasn’t true of his fellow patrons at the dingy dive bar in downtown San Diego. They crowded the sticky bar, handing over raggedy bills for sloshing glasses of beer and shots. Others gyrated to the music, the swinging overhead lights bouncing off facial piercings, stretched earlobes, and a higher-than-average preponderance of neck tattoos.
On stage, sweat beaded the drummer’s brow as his sticks hammered a frantic beat. The band’s lead singer clawed on her guitar, purple bangs swishing over her eyes as she howled into the microphone about being an outcast. Her last note exploded into a growl, and the crowd erupted.
The place was too hot, humid with sweat and frenetic energy. Prem glanced down at his gray cotton T-shirt and faded jeans. Even in his most casual outfit, he still felt too overdressed. And under-tatted. And old.
A minute later, the band’s drummer hopped onto the empty stool next to him.
“Thanks for coming,” Jai said. “You look utterly miserable.” Sweat crawled down his face and over the three silver hoops in his lip.
“Nah.” Prem shook his head. “You guys were great.”
Jai laughed and tapped his drumsticks against the bar. “If Amma knew all those violin lessons would lead to this, she’d probably kill herself just so she could roll over in her grave.”
A skinny bartender wearing fishnet stockings under a red leather one-piece sent a glass of whiskey on the rocks down the bar to Jai. She looked to Prem, raising a pierced eyebrow in silent question. Prem pointed to his half-full glass of pale ale and gave the woman a thumbs up to indicate he was good.
“How are they?” Jai asked, running a finger along the edge of his glass. He’d let his hair grow longer since the last time Prem had seen him.
“Our parents?” Prem had to raise his voice over the din of the crowd. “Let’s see, Abba’s keynoting some conference just for the trip to Miami. Amma’s trawling her hospital for patients with sufficiently weird maladies to get her published. In other words, same as always.”
Jai laughed and threw back his glass of whiskey in one clean swallow. He set the glass down gently. “Any chance they’d consider un-disowning me? Wait… would that be re-owning me?”
Prem frowned into his glass of beer. “They didn’t disown you,” he said. “They just…just…”
Jai turned on his stool and opened his arms, presenting himself. Prem dutifully cataloged his brother’s shaggy hair, eyeliner, and the silver barbell through his left eyebrow.
“Okay, so maybe they didn’t officially disown me,” Jai said. “They just don’t understand me at a fundamental level or approve of a single decision I’ve made since I was 16.”
“Yeah, that.” Prem huffed a reluctant laugh. Truth was, he didn’t really understand Jai’s trajectory either. Growing up, his older brother had been a magical Desi wunderkind. Jai had excelled at their exclusive private school. He’d been captain of the water polo team and a virtuoso on the violin. He’d been bright, focused, studious—an Indian parent’s dream come true.
And then, in junior year of high school, he’d started growing his hair long. Pierced his ear one night in his bedroom. Marched for a $15 minimum wage. Prem could still remember when the chords of classical music wafting from Jai’s bedroom had turned into thudding social justice anthems. Jai had graduated high school, but instead of applying to the Ivies, he’d taken a job at a co-op grocery store, moved to downtown San Diego, and bought a drum set.
Predictably, their parents had been devastated. Prem, for his part, had merely felt confused and, if he were completely honest, more than a little impressed. Somehow, Jai had found the strength to truly, utterly be himself.
“I’m seeing a new girl,” Jai announced, his mood brightening.
“Oh yeah?” Prem nudged his brother with an elbow.
Jai motioned to the bartender for another glass of whiskey. “Raven’s a bisexual socialist vegan. Mom and Dad would hate her.”
“Well, they’d appreciate the vegan part at least,” Prem said. “She here?”
Jai grinned. “Nope. She’s in the slammer. Got arrested yesterday for chaining herself to an oil drilling rig in Alaska. We’ve got a GoFundMe set up for her bail.” Jai sighed. “I think I’m in love.”
Prem laughed. “Text me the link. I’ll toss in $25.”
Another whiskey glass slid down the bar, and Jai lifted it to toast Prem. “Every bit counts.” He took a more measured sip this time. “How’s your love life? As in, have you finally decided to get one?”
Prem shook his head, a wan smile on his lips. “Not exactly many Indian PhD candidates living in Yucca Hills.”
Jai rolled his eyes. “When are you going to stop being an Indian mamma’s boy and make your own decisions?”
An image of Layla materialized in Prem’s brain. Immediately, his pulse picked up speed, and heat gathered in his loins. She was absolutely none of the things his parents expected in his eventual partner, but Prem’s fingers suddenly ached to drag his fingers through her golden braid, undoing all that careful weaving.
God, what would she look like with waterfalls of golden hair streaming down her naked body?
Prem shook the sizzling vision from his mind. He didn’t really care what his parents thought. Well, mostly didn’t care. But even so, Layla was absolutely off limits.
See: Employee.
See: Massive engagement ring.
Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.
Prem realized his brother was staring at him.
“I haven’t even had time to think of women,” he lied, glancing down at his glass to avoid Jai’s dubious expression. “I’m opening the new practice in a week, and there’s so much to do.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.
Jai frowned. “Last time you texted, you were over the moon about the clinic. What’s changed?”
Prem thunked his elbows onto the bar, sticky splotches be damned. “I looked at the books before I made the offer. I knew they were in bad shape, but I got some extra clarification this morning, and it’s even worse than I thought.” He put his head in his hands. “This vet gave discounts to everyone. He cut prices in half—took a loss if you can believe it—for certain clients on fixed incomes.”
Jai laughed and rocked on his stool. “Sounds like an awesome guy.”
“Awesome and poor,” Prem grumbled. A bead of condensation ran down his beer glass and pooled on his thumb. “The clients are going to revolt when I raise all the prices to industry standards. I’m going to probably lose a third of the clientele.”
Jai finished his whiskey. “Can’t you just raise prices gradually?”
Prem took a long gulp of his beer and shook his head. “I’ve got to start paying back Amma and Abba’s loan immediately. My first payment’s due at the end of the month.”
Jai scoffed. His knee jiggled on the stool. “I can’t believe you took their money.”
Prem shrugged. “No bank would loan me everything I needed and I’m not going private equity.”
Jai gave him a hard look. “They’ve never supported your decision to become a vet. Hell, they treated you like shit after you quit med school.”
Prem could feel his shoulders hunching as he wrapped his hands around his half-empty glass. He didn’t like thinking about that time.
“They helped me,” he said softly.
“They shipped you off,” Jai retorted, his voice growing sharp. “Did you know they told their friends that you’d been accepted into a prestigious residency in London?”
Prem’s shoulders practically reached his ears. No, he hadn’t known, but he wasn’t surprised either. Accomplishment and success were everything in the traditional Indian American community. Anything less brought shame to the family.
It’s why his parents steadfastly ignored the existence of their eldest son. It’s why they had never once visited Prem during his recovery after medical school. Only Jai had come to provide support, love, and secreted joints during those dark, heavy days.
“Don’t let them control you,” Jai said now. “Don’t let them tell you who to be.”
The band’s lead singer clomped over in her heavy black combat boots. “We’re on in five,” she said to Jai.
He nodded and threw back the last of his whiskey. With a smirk, he plucked the beer glass from Prem’s hands and finished it in three long gulps. “Thanks for coming, man. It means a lot, really.”
You did the same for me, Prem thought. Out loud, he said. “You seem happy.”
A part of his soul ached with jealousy. What would it feel like to let go of all his parents’ expectations? Then again, where did their expectations stop and his start?
“I am happy,” Jai said, standing from his stool. “Real happy. And, next time you see Abba and Amma, give them a big hug for me.”
“They hate hugs,” Prem told him.
“Do it anyway.” His dark eyes grew solemn. “Seriously, I only have love for them in my heart. There’s no room, no time for hate. Whenever they’re ready to accept me, I’m here.”
“One day,” Prem said, his words nearly swallowed by the ambient noise of the bar. I hope, he added silently. He stuck out his hand to Jai, but his brother pulled him into a full-body hug. Prem stiffened for a moment—hugs were such a rare occurrence in his life. Then, he let himself melt into his big brother’s embrace. It felt good.
Jai stepped back.
Prem didn’t want the moment to end. “Hope I get to meet your vegan, bisexual girlfriend someday.”
“Vegan bisexual socialist girlfriend,” Jai corrected. “And yeah. Crossing our fingers for community service.” He laughed and walked toward the stage. A dingy banner with the words Radical Untouchables hung crookedly behind the drum set.
Prem tried to pay for his beer, but the bartender waved him away. As the band started the second half of their set, Prem made his way to the door. It was already past 10, and he had a 45-minute drive back to an apartment in Yucca Hills filled with unopened moving boxes. Over the past week, he’d barely had time to sleep, much less unpack.
And those boxes weren’t going to be opened anytime soon. Tomorrow, he’d called an all-hands meeting at the clinic. It was time to meet his staff, lay down his new rules, and get the All Paws and Claws clinic ready to reopen in a week’s time.
Stress and anxiety prickled up Prem’s spine. His new employees weren’t going to be happy with his changes, but no one—least of all him—had a choice. The clinic had to become profitable, and fast, or he’d lose everything.
On the way out the door, Prem grabbed a Radical Untouchables t-shirt from the band’s merch table and stuffed two $20 bills into the donation bucket.