Page 13 of Reasons We Break

Nick’s clearly trying to piss him off. When Rajan doesn’t reply, Nick produces a paper with an address on it. “This guy owes three grand. Squeeze it out of him. Smash his teeth in if you have to.”

“Or I could smashyourteeth in,” Rajan suggests, and Nick chuckles as the truck slows to a stop. Out the windshield, Rajan can tell they’re in his neighbourhood by the squatting, fifty-year-old houses made of peeling paint and bound by rust. Of course Nick knows where he lives. The Lions know everything.

“I really did miss you, man.” Nick slaps the paper in his palm. “I’m sure your family will, too. You’ve got one week.”

SIMRAN’S STOMACH ISfull of knots as she enters the doctor’s office. The reception area smells like rubbing alcohol, pressing against her nose, making it difficult to breathe.

It doesn’t help that her dad was so cryptic on the phone when he asked her to come. It’s almost four o’clock—the office should be closing soon.

The only people in the waiting room are her parents. Her father waves unnecessarily. His turban is speckled with sawdust from the mill. He must’ve just come. Her mother, meanwhile, is buried in a pocket copy of Sukhmani Sahib, which she often reads when she’s stressed.

She doesn’t acknowledge Simran, so Simran sits beside her father. “What’s going on?”

“Dr. Tran has some results for your mother today,” her father replies, running his fingers through his greying beard. “She asked us to come, too.”

He sounds casual. Too casual. “Dad,” Simran says slowly. “What’re the results about?”

Just then, the secretary calls Simran’s mother’s name. “Tarleen?”

Automatically, all three of them stand. They follow the secretary into an examination room. The secretary gives them a careful look as she leaves. “Dr. Tran will be along in a minute, okay?”

Her voice is very kind.Tookind. Simran rubs her eyes as if that might also rub away the horrific thoughts forming behind them. She refuses to even entertain them, because...that can’t happen toher. This must be about something else—

The door opens. They all straighten.

Dr. Tran sits at her computer. “Nice day, isn’t it.” No one responds. She swivels to look at Simran’s mother, who’s finally closed the Sukhmani Sahib. “The endometrial biopsy results came back.”

Simran’s mother grips the book tighter. “And?”

“I’m very sorry to tell you this. You have cancer.”

There’s a long silence. Simran stares at the anatomy poster on the wall. The colours seem too bright. Perhaps she’s dreaming; she’s had nightmares like this. When did she fall asleep?

Her mother speaks first. “How is this possible? There’s no cancer in my family. I—I eat right and exercise. This shouldn’t be happening.” Her voice is flat. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking.

“You can do everything right and still get this,” Dr. Tran says, with the weary tone of someone who knows every beat of this conversation. “But there’s always a small chance the biopsy could be wrong. That’s why we’ll do more tests.”

It feels placating. The anatomy poster blurs in front of Simran’s eyes. She leans forward, bracing her elbows on her knees.Breathe.

Her father asks, “How bad is it?”

“We don’t know yet. The scans will show if it’s...spread.” Her voice is regretful. “I’ll refer you to an oncologist. There’ll be a surgery later. Other things, too.”

And as she launches into all the possible procedures and treatments, medications and outcomes, Simran wills Dr. Tran to stop.Stop talking.Please.

But Dr. Tran goes on relentlessly. Simran barely hears a word. She only jars back into reality when Dr. Tran sends them off, promising to get in touch with next steps.

Simran’s the last to file out, but Dr. Tran stops her. “You’re a smart girl, Simran. You can help your parents read through this.” She presses a stack of brochures into Simran’s hands. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I know your life will never be the same again. Trust me, I know.” A shadow passes over her face. “But you’ll get through it. Your mom has everything going for her. A prompt diagnosis. No systemic symptoms. A healthy lifestyle.” She pats Simran’s shoulder. “And, of course, you.”

If someone asked Simran how the next few hours passed, she wouldn’t be able to say. All she knows is they got home and suddenly it was dark outside.

Her mother sat on the couch and stared into space. Her father sat beside her, holding her hand. Simran couldn’t bring herself to do the same.

Instead, she memorized Dr. Tran’s brochures, reading the important bits aloud. Her mother didn’t acknowledge any of it. Her dad nodded encouragingly as she read out the good prognosis statistics. She finally understood he wasn’t listening when she asked him what he thought, and he only nodded.

Now that she’s read all the brochures, she feels useless. “It’ll be okay,” she says to the silence. “We just have to get through this.” Her own words feel empty.

But her father looks up and strokes her cheek. “You’re right, sher putt.”