The Candid Life of Meena Dave(25)

“I am a journalist,” Meena reminded them.

“Unlike this model here”—Uma pointed to Tanvi—“Neha did not like to have her photo taken. Not even during Diwali or Halloween. She avoided the camera.”

“Was she shy?”

Uma laughed. “More just being contrary.”

Meena let the topic drop and scooped up a spoonful from her bowl. It had a texture like grits and contained finely diced carrots, peas, and onions. Crunchy yellow lentils broke up the mushy texture. Flavors exploded in her mouth. She could normally handle heat, but she hadn’t been expecting the bite from the green chilis to hit the back of her throat first thing. She coughed and took a sip of hot chai.

“It isn’t very spicy.” Uma took another bite.

A lie. “I grew up on meat and potatoes,” Meena said.

“No seasoning?” Sabina asked.

Meena held the cup of chai with both hands, taking in the warmth. “Salt, mustard, black pepper, occasionally garlic, and lots of herbs my mom grew in the garden.”

“But what about cumin and turmeric? Cloves, asafetida. There are hundreds of spices that meld in a million different ways to flavor food,” Uma said. “Didn’t your mother cook?”

“It wasn’t a priority for her.” Meena defended her mom: “She was a botanist. Her career came first.”

“That makes sense,” Uma agreed. “I don’t cook if I can avoid it.”

Meena was glad the aunties hadn’t picked up on the past tense when she mentioned her mother.

“The trick is to marry someone who can,” Tanvi said. “My husband is very good in the kitchen. And the bedroom.”

Meena almost choked on her tea. “Congratulations.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Sabina said.

Tanvi winked at Meena. “Human sexuality is perfectly fine to discuss, even in mixed company. Or I should say especially in mixed company.”

Meena liked Tanvi. There was always a smile on her round face, and she dressed artistically, always wearing long velvet dresses and her hair adorned with chains, pins, and ribbons. Her eyes were lined, with a flare on the outer edges. Meena wondered if Neha’s patchwork style had ever clashed with Tanvi’s aesthetic, or if Neha had ever sat there with the three of them as they discussed food and sex.

“Speaking of,” Tanvi teased. “What do you think of our Sam?”

Meena put her cup down. “He’s nice.”

“Meh,” Tanvi grumbled. “Potato chips are nice. What do you think of him as a man? A single, handsome man?”

Meena ate a little more, in small bites to manage the heat level. “I didn’t notice.”

“You are a bad liar,” Tanvi observed. “Your eyes look away and your nose twitches.”

Mena dropped her spoon. Her mom used to say the same thing. A wave of longing washed over her. She breathed through it and picked up the mug.

Tanvi sighed and rested her elbow on the table. The dozen or so bracelets she wore on her wrist clinked with the movement. “Sam needs company, and I can tell that he likes you.”

Meena kept her voice casual. “As a person. Besides, he likes everybody.”

“Not so,” Sabina muttered.

Meena glanced at her, but Sabina didn’t repeat her words.

“I’m sure he has friends,” Meena said.

“Yes. Dinus, Ava, and Luis.” Uma counted them out on her hand. “But he’s all work all the time. He needs a girlfriend, a woman. Sam is the type who will do well with a wife. He’s good husband material.”

“We’ve trained him well,” Tanvi added. “In all the things. Well, not all the things. But I’m sure he’s gained experience in that area as well.”

Meena wasn’t prone to blushing, but her face warmed at the idea of Sam’s level of sexual experience. Alas. Sam wasn’t one-night-stand material.

“It would be good for him to settle down,” Sabina stated. “Maybe with a nice Indian woman. It isn’t that way anymore in our culture, though it used to be.”

“We are always evolving,” Uma said. “For the better.”

“There is something to be said for shared culture, language, and tradition,” Sabina argued.

Meena sipped her chai to swallow the lump in her throat. She’d been telling herself it was OK to not know her cultural identity. Her parents, their culture, had been enough. But her connection with Neha wasn’t only biological; heritage and legacy came with knowing.

“And all those can be taught,” Uma quipped. “My daughter’s girlfriend is Ecuadorian. They swap recipes and cook for each other. They celebrate her holiday traditions and ours.”

“Sameer’s family would prefer that he stayed within our culture,” Sabina said. “The Voras have always been more conservative. His grandfather was a staunch Hindu who made his expectations known to his children and grandchildren.”

“His grandfather is dead,” Uma barked. “Besides, expectations aren’t the same as rules. He’s his own man.”

“Sam’s younger brother is married to a British Gujarati woman.” Tanvi turned to Meena. “They just had their third child. Sadly, Sam hasn’t met his niece. Maybe never will.”