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Part III: Hungry Heart
"I want to do something that felt in opposition to all that we experienced in a certain way. The River was my shot at it. It was about people trying to live straight up and move forward and work hard and support their families and try and find what the meaning of a good life might consist of."
- Bruce Springsteen, Rolling Stone, 2017
Chapter 28
"I don't think I could eat one more bite of food!"
Pushpa Srivinasan sat back in her chair and rubbed her belly like she was a round old man, not the eminent Chief of Surgery at Mass General. Tiny and delicate at about five foot two, she was the opposite of fat, but that didn't stop her from looking at her jeans like she wanted to unbutton them. We all looked about the same: me, Brandon, and Kieran, whom we had finally invited to dinner with her wife.
"Seriously, Skylar," she said with her slight British accent. "That was amazing. Where did you learn to cook like that?"
Beside me at the table, Brandon snorted, earning a smack on the shoulder from me.
"What?" he asked, feigning innocence. "Sorry, it was just the mention of you at the stove."
I rolled my eyes, but turned back to Pushpa. "Unfortunately, he's right. I'm a terrible cook. My grandmother actually made all of this for us."
Pushpa looked around, as if expecting Bubbe to pop out from behind the sofa. "Well, why isn't she eating with us?"
I shrugged. "I tried to invite her, but she had bridge club tonight."
"Sarah's social calendar is busier than my campaign schedule," Brandon joked as he slid a finger over his plate to lick up the rest of the sauce. Bubbe had made roasted chicken with drippings that were to die for.
"So," I said as I sat back in my chair with my glass of wine. "I want to know how you and Kieran met."
Pushpa, Kieran, and Brandon all shared an awkward look and then burst out laughing. I just took a patient sip of wine and waited.
"The short of it is, I met Kieran when I was just an intern and she was in law school," Pushpa said, with a brief glance at Kieran that made me smile.
Kieran wasn't much for public displays of affection––that much had been obvious all night, although that didn't stop Pushpa from occasionally rubbing her knee or casting googly-eyed looks at her wife. A few times I saw Kieran's mouth twitch, which made me wonder if their rapport was more of a cat-and-mouse game they played together.
"Come on, there's more to it than that," Brandon said as he laid his arm over the back of my chair.
"What's the long of it?" I prodded.
Kieran rolled her eyes. "You are both terrible at telling this story. Brandon, you in particular always leave out the most important details."
For a moment, Brandon's face darkened, but he said nothing, just drank more of his wine.
Kieran looked at me. "We were in our last semester at Harvard. And Brandon couldn't handle the pressure."
"That's a bald-faced lie," Brandon said. He sounded like he was joking, but the hand draped over the back of my chair gripped my shoulder a little tighter.
Kieran just rolled her eyes and turned back to me. "Graduation was two months away. Brandon had decided that instead of just staying with, you know, his first ridiculously successful company, he needed to start his own firm. Right out of law school. Because that's a totally realistic way of doing things."
I glanced at Brandon, who was suddenly interested in the parsley garnish on his plate.
"And I think we all know just how Brandon responds to stress," Kieran continued.
"Kieran." Brandon looked up, all joking gone from his face.
Another eye roll. "Come off it. We're telling this story to your future wife, not US Weekly. And considering how many times Pushpa has stitched you up over the years, it's not like we have any secrets from her either."
"What is it?" I asked, suddenly feeling a bit lost. "What happened?"
Kieran looked straight at me, her nearly-black eyes piercing through all levity. "You've seen it for yourself. When Brandon gets stressed, what does he do to curb anxiety?"
