Intro Part III: The Pep Talk

That night I finally mustered up enough courage to call Amit. To my pleasure, he seemed delighted to hear from me, stating that he had been planning to call me as well. Upon hearing my suggestion about the marathon date, he readily agreed, intrigued by the concept.

The rest of the week flew by, as I did my best to multi-task during my floor rotation, managing the team as the floor senior, helping the interns with the flurry of admissions, substituting as the PICU senior when the PICU resident was post-call, and attacking sick children by inserting IVs into their veins which they had (un)intentionally removed while asleep. By the time 10 a.m. arrived that Friday, I breathed a sigh of relief, as I had completed my call for the week with a three-day weekend ahead of me.

The morning of the marathon date, the phone rang.

"Hello?" I said in a throaty voice, still in bed with my eyes shut.

"You have a date today, and you're still asleep?" my mother inquired, clearly annoyed.

"It's 8 in the morning on a Saturday..." I replied, yawning, "and I don't have to meet Amit until 2:30."

"Well, I've been up since 6 a.m.," Mom informed me, seemingly quite proud of herself.

"Doing what? Churning butter?" I asked her, snorting.

Mom ignored my comment. "I think you should get your makeup done at Macy's and get a facial," she stated.

I began to rub my eyes. When Mom uses the word "facial," she actually intends to suggest that I undergo face waxing.

"I don't know," I commented, walking to the mirror in my bedroom and staring at my reflection. "I'm not having a particularly hairy day. Plus, I have to go to the library to look up some articles for morning report on Monday, and then head to the gym."

"You don't need to go to the gym. You need a facial," she notified me matter-of-factly. "And that makeup you wear is all wrong for you. You need to wear different colors."

I sighed. "I'll think about it."

"What are you going to wear?" she asked, continuing her onslaught of humiliation.

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it," I replied.

"Why don't you wear that brown suit we gave you for Christmas?" my father chimed in, picking up the other extension at home.

"Hi, Dad," I greeted him. "What's up?"

"Well, your mother is obsessed with Nancy Grace and the Anna Nicole Smith death," Dad replied with disdain. "Did you even know who Anna Nicole Smith was before she died?" he asked Mom. "God, I can't stand Nancy Grace."

"You watch CNN all the time," she fired back at him.

"You're comparing CNN with Nancy Grace?" Dad shouted.

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, this is really enlightening conversation," I declared, "but I'm going back to bed."

"Don't forget the facial," Mom instructed me.

"And the suit," Dad added.

After hanging up the phone, I lay my head on my pillow again for exactly fifteen minutes until my cell rang a second time.

"Yes?" I answered, picking up the phone.

"Mom wants you to get your makeup done at Macy's and says that you need to get your face waxed," Tina said on the other line.

I groaned. "But he seems to like me the way I am," I pointed out.

"That's not good enough," she stated dismissively. "You need to -"

"I know, I know...seal the deal."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "Come on. He meets all your criteria. He's the one we've been waiting for," she asserted passionately.

We? The one we've been waiting for? Who does she think Amit is exactly? The second coming of Christ?

I became exasperated. "I really don't feel like having this conversation again," I informed her, about to hang up the phone.

"Can you just promise me one thing?"

"What?" I demanded.

"Please don't talk about poop," she pleaded with me.

"Is that what you say to your patients?" I queried with a guffaw. " 'I know you came to see a gastroenterologist, but please don't talk about poop.' "

My sister was not amused, as she became silent.

"Come on! Give me a little credit," I said to her, somewhat offended.

"I mean it," she warned me. "I have no idea why you feel as if you always need to divulge information about your bowel movements, but please don't. No talk about diarrhea, constipation, hematochezia, painful defecation, nothing!"

"Okay," I promised, secretly a bit disappointed. "But I personally don't think it's a big deal to talk about poop."

"Yeah...when you're twelve," she retorted, hanging up the phone.

After our conversation, I once again tried to fall back asleep, but I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. I suddenly sat up in bed, overwhelmed with the task I had been given: the task of sealing the deal.

"This is ridiculous," I told myself aloud. "He likes you. God knows why," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders, "but he likes you."

My mini-coaching session completed, I headed to the bathroom to prepare for the day. Yet again my cell rang.

"Yeah, Mom?" I said, picking up the phone.

"I forgot to tell you," Mom related to me. "Don't talk about poop."

I moaned, wondering if I could trade my family in for the Huxtables.

Coming up next: The Marathon Date!

Intro Part II: Sealing the Deal

I walked with Amit through the halls of Penn Station. For a Sunday night, the station was teeming with twenty- and thirtysomethings, laughing and talking animatedly about either their upcoming evening in the City or the day they had just spent there. Much to my surprise, I noticed that we were exiting the train station.

"Where are we going? Aren't we taking the train to Union Square?" I asked, perplexed.

"I thought we'd take a cab," Amit replied, as he was holding his arm out, trying to hail a taxi on 34th Street. "Is that okay?"

"Oh, yeah," I said quickly, as we entered the cab that had stopped at the curb. "I just never met anyone who lived in the City who took a cab in New York."

"Yeah, well, I don't take the train too much," he commented.

"Really?"

"You see, I've gotten my walk to work down to ten minutes," he explained proudly. "Plus, all my friends live within a one-mile radius from me. I literally never have to leave the Financial District," he told me, referring to the section of the City in which he lived.

"So meeting me tonight at Penn Station was quite a trip for you," I retorted, smirking.

He smiled, shaking his head.

Upon arriving at our destination, we stepped into the restaurant, noticing that it was at maximum capacity. If you're unfamiliar with Max Brenner's, every item on the menu contains chocolate. About fifteen to twenty people were gathered at the entrance, waiting to quench their chocoholic desires. Amit gave the hostess his name, and we continued our playful banter as we awaited our seats. Finally she called Amit's name, leading us to our table. I excused myself to go to the restroom shortly thereafter.

Returning to the table, I related excitedly to Amit, "I just saw two people diving into a chocolate pizza!"

"Yeah, I think I'll pass on that one," he remarked, a look of disdain on his face as he reviewed the menu.

"Oh yeah, me too," I stated quickly, burying my head in the menu, trying to hide my disappointment. I guess I won't be having that, I thought to myself.

I decided on a chocolate chip brownie and coffee, while Amit chose only coffee. To my delight, we engaged in great conversation, discussing politics and books, and trading stories about our families. Before long, I looked at my watch and noticed that it was 11 p.m. As I was due at the hospital at 7 a.m. the next day, Amit paid the bill and walked me to the subway station. As I entered Penn Station to catch my train home, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. I did a little happy dance in my seat in the waiting area of the station, ignoring the woman next to me who gave me a strange look. My cell then rang. I looked at the identity of the caller, and answered.

"Yo!"

"So how did it go?" my sister Tina asked me anxiously.

"Well," I began slowly, "he supports Obama."

Tina was silent for a moment. "At least he supports a Democrat," she finally said. As my family and I are from New York, we were staunch Hillary supporters at the time. "What else?"

We proceeded to launch into a thorough postmortem dissection of the date. I can't remember the last time she was so excited, I thought to myself.

"Good work!" she congratulated me. "Okay, now we have to move onto date number two: the marathon date."

"Gee, I don't know," I said skeptically, imagining Amit and me running through Central Park in Adidas tracksuits, water bottles in tow.

"Yes, it's necessary," she informed me. "You have to spend a lot of time with him on the next date."

"Oh," I answered, fully comprehending. "I see what you're saying."

"You have to seal the deal next time," she declared determinedly.

"Seal the deal?" I asked, gulping. "What if I can't?"

"Well, I don't want to think about what would happen then," she replied.

I thought I could hear her shudder.

"I'll talk to Julie," she told me, referring to her friend who was from the Upper East Side. "She knows the City inside and out. She'll be able to give you good options for places to go."

The next few days flew by, as I was spending long hours on the pediatric floor during my floor rotation with the chairman of the department as our team attending. I came home three days later around 7 p.m., exhausted, and sinking into bed. Suddenly my cell rang.

"Hey," the voice on the line said. It was Tina. "I've got Julie here."

"Hi, Mitali," Julie greeted. "I hear date number one went well. Congratulations!"

"Thanks," I stated, smiling, rather proud of myself.

"Okay, I hear you're now ready for the marathon date."

"Yeah, I guess so," I remarked nervously.

"So I propose that you go to the Natural History Museum," she suggested. "They have a great water exhibit there that you can check out. And it's very important that you meet under the belly of the great whale," she added. "You know why?"

"No, why?" I asked, intrigued.

"Because no date that begins with a meeting under the belly of the great whale ends badly," she replied. "David and I met there," she continued, "and we've been together ever since."

"Okay, if you say so," I told her.

"Trust me. I know these things."

"Oh...okay," I said deferentially, impressed by her sense of authority.

"Okay," my sister stated, returning to the phone. "So you've got it? Natural History Museum. Meet under the belly of the great whale. Do you have a place to go for dinner afterwards?"

"Yeah, I think so," I answered, racking my brain to think of places near Museum Row. "And we can go to the Brooklyn Academy of Museum after dinner. They have free performances there every Saturday night."

"See, now we're talking!" Tina exclaimed. "Okay, call him, and let me know how it goes."

"Okay, wish me luck."

"Good luck! Lord knows you'll need it," she muttered.

"I heard that!"

"Heard what?" she inquired innocently. She then cackled, and hung up.

Stay tuned for part 3!