But despite his life of privilege, or maybe even because of it, she was shocked when he took her aside after her first patient presentation and said, “You’re smart, Nandini. Really smart. I know it’s tough here, especially for you. But you can go really far if you want, and I’m going to do my best to make sure you’re given the opportunities you deserve.” In India, there were so few women in scientific fields that mentors were unheard of. But here, an older white man stuck to his promise for her. Greg made sure Nandini had access to the best mentors for her research projects and then nominated her as Resident of the Year.
“So is that why you still haven’t officially accepted my offer?” Greg asks now. “Because you think you’ll be discriminated against?”
“That is a part of it, yes,” Nandini says before she tells the waiter she’d like a glass of Malbec. “We both know your patients and your entire office staff would be shocked to go from having you as a head doctor to having me. But there’s also that tiny part about me having to relocate to Baltimore while, you know, my entire life is in New Jersey.”
“There is that,” Greg says. “What did your family say? I’m sure they’d want you to make the right decision for your career.”
Nandini faces the empty plate in front of her.
“You still haven’t told them?” Greg asks. “Why?”
“I can’t. I want to so badly. And I thought that once my kids were settled, it would finally be my time. But there’s so much going on right now. Ronak just got married. Now it’s Simran’s turn, and things aren’t quite as . . . smooth. I don’t know if I can throw this at my family right now.”
“They’ll understand. They know you’ve hit a wall at your job. And I understand why you feel indecisive and hesitant. I get it. But this is a chance to practice medicine in the way you always wanted, the way you were meant to.”
“I know,” she admits. “But as much as ideas like ‘lean in’ and ‘women’s equality’ have become mainstream, it’s different with Indians.”
“Meaning what?” Greg challenges. “That you think people will talk about you?”
“Not think. I know they will.”
“So what? Let them talk.”
“It’s really not that simple,” Nandini says.
Greg has no idea what happened in India all those years ago. Like Simran, he’s blissfully unaware of the corrosive damage that could come from people talking, how it can ruin everything you worked for, everything you thought you could become.
“All I know is that we don’t have that much time. You’re going to have to tell me yes or no soon.” Greg extends both of his palms. “My hands feel even weaker than they did last week.”
Nandini takes a large gulp of wine. “I promise I’ll have an answer for you soon.”
* * *
— —
“There she is!” Payal yells as Nandini walks into her living room.
“Sorry I’m late. Can I get anybody more tea or food?” Nandini removes her gold stud earrings, a family heirloom Mami gave her on her last trip to India.
“We’re fine.” Payal pats her stomach to indicate she’s full.
“I see that,” Nandini says.
They’ve certainly made themselves at home. Nandini and Ranjit’s living room has been transformed into a Baroda sari shop, complete with the multiple cups of chai. Yards of bright orange, turquoise blue, and deep purple saris are unfolded across the sofas. The floor is covered with red velvet boxes, each one nestling gold-and-crystal jewelry.
“Is that your new set from Delhi?” Charu points to a pair of enormous diamond-and-gold necklaces between Payal and Preeti.
“You know me. I couldn’t resist.” Payal beams and tilts her face downward in a gesture of feigned modesty. She rubs her face. Her eyeliner and lipstick remain intact. She often provides a loud thank-you to the power of Chanel’s makeup, but everyone knows she had permanent makeup tattooing done two years ago.
“Hmph.” Charu runs her fingers across the rows of winking diamonds.
Nandini suppresses a laugh. Charu pretends not to be affected by expensive jewelry when really, she’s impressed by plenty of things, whether that’s how much her peer’s children make at their first job, the number of letters after someone’s name, or how many likes can be collected on filtered Facebook photos.
“You must be so excited about Simran’s engagement party,” Sonali, Payal’s permanent sidekick, says. Preeti nods in agreement.
“We are,” Nandini says. “I think it’ll be fun. And so many people are flying into town!”
“What color is Simran wearing?” Payal asks. “Please don’t say something neon. I’ll have a heart attack if I see another Indian girl in that ridiculousness. Since when did resembling Gatorade become classy?”
Nandini laughs. “Don’t you worry. Simran will be in pale pink.”
Payal leans back in relief. “Haaaash.”
Sonali’s hands sweep over two silk saris as if they’re her precious pets. “I wish my Dinesh would just settle down already. These kids now just keep swiping right or swiping left or doing other good-for-nothing things. When I ask him, he has the audacity to say, ‘Mom, you just want to plan a wedding.’ Now when was that considered a crime? And think about it for me. I have three sons. I’m ready for a girl in my home!”
“It’ll work out. Just be patient, and have faith,” Payal says as she rubs Sonali’s back. Nandini can picture her real thoughts in the air in front of them: If you pray enough, Krishna will make sure your son marries a woman who kisses your ass and only expresses anger in the most passive-aggressive forms.
Sonali smiles. “You’re lucky to have a daughter, Nandini. They care more. They want to make sure the parents are okay.”
“That’s true,” Nandini agrees. “The way a daughter shows love is different. Incomparable.”
Charu raises her nose into the air and gives Nandini a side-eyed glance. “And everything is going okay with the wedding planning so far? No issues?”
She knows what happened with Simran and Meghna. She knows. She knows. She knows.
Nandini gives her a cold, hard stare. “No issues. We are just fine.”
The next hours are filled with the women exchanging opinions on one another’s saris, cooking tips, and run-of-the-mill resentment toward their mothers-in-law. Nandini laughs along with their stories.
It occurs to her that she would have liked this years ago. Not as much as the other women, but it would have still been pleasant, nice. But she’s felt different lately—as though she no longer fits. There’s a divide between her outside and inside now. Not that anyone can tell. They may even think she’s fully in the moment, not thinking of anything else. Lying, she’s realized, is like most things. It gets easier with practice.