"Of course I'll be there." Her voice is thick. "Sadie. Of course."
"Okay. Good." I wrap my hands around the coffee cup and let the warmth seep into my palms. "And Priya, the nursing school application. I'm going to submit it."
"You are?"
"Nick's been encouraging me. And Dr. Mehta. And honestly, I've been encouraging myself for months and just haven't pulled the trigger." I pause on the phrase. It lands differently now than it would have two weeks ago. "The application's filled out. I need to get my transcripts from Millbrook Community College and write the personal statement, but the deadline for the spring cohort is in six weeks. I think I can make it."
Priya reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. The one with the ring. She holds it and looks at the diamond and then looks at me.
The door to the break room opens. Dr. Mehta stands in the frame.
She's wearing her white coat over a blue blouse, her glasses pushed up on her head, a chart in one hand and a pen in the other.
"Sadie." She says my name in that warm, direct way. "Come to my office when you're done."
"I can come now."
She holds the door. I pick up my coffee and follow her down the hall, past the exam rooms and the supply closet and the small waiting area where a mother is reading to a toddler in Spanish, and into her office.
Dr. Mehta's office is the same size as an exam room but she's made it feel larger through sheer force of organization. Everything has a place. The diplomas are level. The books are alphabetized. There's a single photograph on her desk, her and her wife at their wedding in Mumbai, both of them in red, both of them smiling like the camera caught them mid-laugh.
She closes the door and sits behind her desk putting her pen down before folding her hands.
"Talk to me."
I talk.
I tell her about the kidnapping, abbreviated, the same careful edit I gave Priya. I tell her about the rescue; I tell her about the proposal. About St. Elias. About the ten days.
"I need two weeks off," I say. "I know that's a lot. I know we're short-staffed. I know the Henderson grant review is coming up and you need me for the patient files. But I can't be here right now. The security situation isn't resolved yet, and Nick—"
"Stop." She holds up one hand. "You don't need to justify it. Two weeks is fine. I'll manage."
"Dr. Mehta—"
"I've been running clinics like this one for twelve years. Priya and I will handle the Henderson files, and Denise said her sister is looking for work…" She leans back in her chair. "What I want to know is whether you're okay. Actually okay. Not the version of okay you give other people."
I look at her. This woman who has already done so much for me, now willing to shoulder the weight of my life for a little longer.
"I'm okay," I say. "My sugar's been stable for two days. Mikhail is monitoring. Nick checks me every two hours at night, which is excessive but I can't stop him. The wrists are healing. Theheadaches are gone." I pause. "And I'm happy. I know that sounds strange, given everything, but I am. I'm getting married to a man who learned how to use a glucometer because he wanted to be able to take care of me at three in the morning. I'm applying to nursing school. I'm alive. So yes. I'm okay."
Dr. Mehta watches me for a long moment. Then the corner of her mouth lifts.
"Nursing school," she says.
"Spring cohort. I need my transcripts and the personal statement. I was hoping you'd write me a recommendation."
"I wrote it four months ago." She opens her desk drawer and pulls out an envelope. Cream-colored. Sealed. My name on the front in her small, precise handwriting. "I've been waiting for you to ask."
My throat closes. I take the envelope and hold it in my lap. I don't open it because if I read it right now, in this office, I'll cry, and I've already cried enough this week.
"Thank you," I say. The words are insufficient. They're always insufficient with Dr. Mehta. Everything I owe this woman fits into two words the way an ocean fits into a teacup.
"Don't thank me. Get in." She says it with the same tone she uses when she tells patients to take their medication. Non-negotiable. "And Sadie."
"Yes?"
"The wedding. I'd like to be there. If you'll have me."
