“No.”
“I think I remember you saying that the last time you had an episode was years ago.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Wow, we talked about a lot that night.”
The harsh lines around his mouth softened. “Symptoms? Tongue swelling? Throat swelling?”
“Throat feels like it’s itching but that could be panic,” she said. Please, for the love of god, don’t pass out in front of Dr. D.
“Deep breaths. Do you have your insurance card on you?”
“Yeah,” Kareena said. Her throat was starting to feel a little itchy. She gripped the seat belt she’d struggled to put on. Who would’ve thought that she’d be speeding through Edison toward the hospital with Prem Verma?
The itchiness was insane. She hated every moment of it. Curse cinnamon!
“You need to always carry your EpiPen with you,” he said. “Especially if you’re going to a café. What if the barista was the one who made a mistake? And I don’t understand why you don’t have a car. You should always have a ride when you’re going on dates. It’s about safety.”
“Achoo! It was a cinnamon concentrate. A syrup. And I’m still restoring my car. The one I told you about. Achoo!”
“The BMW 1988 E30, right? Did I tell you that my father was all about the BMWs when he immigrated to the U.S.?”
“You did. Achoo! First sign of success, I guess.” She wheezed. Her eyes began to tear, and her chest tightened. She wheezed.
“In through your nose,” he said softly. “A panic episode isn’t going to help you. We’re almost there.”
He twisted a few dials on his dashboard and the sound of a phone ringing poured out of the car speakers. “RWJ.”
“This is Dr. Prem Verma from Jersey City Cardiology Center.” He rattled off a few numbers. “I’m bringing in a patient through the ER entrance. She was at a café. Allergic reaction to cinnamon. In danger of anaphylaxis.”
When he hung up, Kareena brushed a tear off her cheek. Her skin was on fire now. “Don’t text my family.”
His head jerked in her direction. “What? Why not?”
“They’ll make this whole thing worse for me,” she gasped.
His small sporty car jumped the curb as he took a sharp turn into the RWJ campus entrance. He barely slowed down enough to drive over the speed bumps and came to a screeching halt in front of the ER doors.
Kareena was helped out of the car a second later. Everything went hazy, but when she felt Prem’s hand on hers, she had one clear moment where their eyes locked.
“I got you,” he said. “I’m here.”
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Dear Readers,
If your children have found their chosen matches, they must not only declare their intentions to each other first, they must also share their declaration with you, their guardians, as soon as possible. The poorest service is paid in a thank-you, and that will not cover the cost of your wedding venue.
Mrs. W. S. Gupta
Columnist
Avon, NJ
Chapter Eight
Prem
When Bindu texted Prem to let him know that Kareena was going out on a date, Prem spent a long time thinking about whether or not partnering with her would actually solve the problem at hand. But after a week of getting zero responses from other investors and fielding negative publicity, he knew that he had to at least try to talk to Kareena again. Showing up at her date probably wasn’t the smartest way to get time alone with her, but then again, if he hadn’t been there, she would’ve definitely gone into anaphylaxis.
He propped his feet up on the edge of her hospital bed and tossed back a handful of mixed nuts he’d scored from the vending machine. He debated caffeine since he never did get to finish the drink he’d ordered at the café, but hospital coffee was way too disgusting.
“You don’t have to wait with me, you know,” Kareena said looking up from her cell phone at his loud crunching. She had dark bags under her eyes now, and her hair fell in thick waves around her shoulders. Some of her exposed skin was still splotchy and red. “I appreciate you bringing me in, but I’m perfectly fine.”
“I can take you home when we’re done,” he said. “Since you don’t want your family to know that you’re here.”
She shook her head. “It’s better if I take a car service. Or I’ll ask one of my friends to come down and take me. I don’t want to have to explain myself if my family sees you.”
Prem shrugged. He could understand that sentiment. He’d had similar thoughts when he and Gori discussed living on their own. “Well, at least now we can talk,” he said as he shook out more mixed nuts from his snack pack.
“Ugh, really?”
“I think it’s time, don’t you?”
“Not particularly. Hopefully, I won’t be here much longer.”
Her nurse had left a few moments ago after a barrage of testing and visits from various professionals. Now they were waiting for her results to come back before determining whether or not she would be discharged. She was hooked up to an IV, and pumped full of epinephrine and steroids, but they’d stopped the reaction in more than enough time that they didn’t feel like they needed more than that.
“When was the last time you saw an allergist?”
Kareena, with her glasses perched on top of her head, lying back against the upright hospital bed, glared at him. “A while ago, and no, I’m not going to see one tonight. I think I’ve had enough needles, thank you very much. Is that what you wanted to talk about? Prem, my reaction stopped like ten minutes after they gave me the shots. The itching, the throat swelling . . . what? Why are you grinning like that?”
“You said my name,” he blurted out. “You haven’t since we first met.” It felt . . . sexy? No, that wasn’t it. Intimate. It was an intimate experience hearing his name from Kareena’s mouth.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be referring to you as Dr. Phil shortly.” She crossed her arms after motioning to the discarded sweater vest at the foot of her bed. “I don’t understand why they had to cut my sweater vest. Did you tell them to do that? You have it out for my sweater vests, don’t you?”
Prem rolled his eyes. “They cut it because you were wearing too many layers. By the time they realized you were passing out because of a panic attack, not because your airways had closed, it was already too late. And no, I didn’t tell them to cut your sweater vests. I’m partial to them. That’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”
The ruefulness in her expression faded, and she grew solemn. Fiddling with her phone, she said, “Did you hit on me because you thought I was easy? At the bar.”
“What? Where did that come from?”
“Never mind, forget I asked.”
“No,” he said. Prem reached out and touched Kareena’s hand, so she’d look over at him. “No. I was there with my friend that night, but he didn’t want to sit with me because I kept looking over at you. So, he left, and I figured what the hell?”