The Candid Life of Meena Dave(33)

They walked through the North End to go to the Bell in Hand, an old pub around the corner from the famous Union Oyster House.

The bar was quiet for a Sunday evening. It was entirely made up of wood, from the floor to the tables to the bar. A few people stood around in the open floor space. Ava passed them and grabbed a tall table along the windows, and half the group went to the bar to get drinks. Once they’d settled around the table, they rehashed the game, bragged about solving the hard puzzles, teased each other for missing the easy ones. Their rhythm was based on familiarity. Meena wished she had her camera with her. No. She would just be. That was her new thing. No camera, no work, no thinking. Just living in the moment.

“Where are you off to next?” Luis asked Meena.

“London.”

“Or you could stick around for a while.” Sam shrugged.

His face was open and earnest. He meant it. “My work isn’t suited for that.” What she really wanted him to understand was that she wasn’t the type to stay in one place, not in a forever sort of way. Even if she didn’t sell the apartment, if she made it her US base, she wouldn’t really live there. Not in the way most people lived in a place.

Ava jumped into the conversation. “You should definitely stay. Boston over the holidays is amazing. Skating on the Frog Pond. The tree lighting at Faneuil Hall. The Santa Speedo Run. The Holiday Pops at Symphony Hall. The library and Copley Square decorations.”

“She gets the idea,” Xenia said. “You don’t have to be a real-life version of the Boston events website.”

“Pshaw.” Ava waved her hand. “I know more about secret Boston than you will ever find on the internet.”

“I make cookie tins for everyone,” Dinus boasted. “This year, in Meena’s honor, I’ll do cookies from around the world. If you stay, you’ll get a special batch.”

A memory flashed in her mind and cracked open her heart.

Make sure you dunk your mom’s cookies in milk for at least thirty seconds so you don’t break a tooth. The memory was so vivid Meena could hear her dad’s voice, one she hadn’t heard in years.

Jameson Dave, do not fill your daughter’s head with such things. The cookies are meant to be hard. Then her dad would take one and exaggeratedly try to snap it in two. Meena would giggle quietly so as not to hurt her mom’s feelings.

One memory slid into another. She remembered the ice rink and skating while holding her dad’s hand. Every year they would drive to Boston and spend the night in a hotel so they could go to the symphony for the Holiday Pops.

“Meena might want to spend time with her family,” Luis said.

The pain of the past was so sharp Meena clutched the edge of the table with one hand.

Sam put his palm against her back. “OK?”

She nodded and toyed with the roughened edge of her cast. She tuned in as they chatted about painting, robots, and video games. They teased each other and shared embarrassing stories of their past adventures. Sam was in the middle of it all. Meena on the edge. Without her camera, the aloneness of the life she’d built around her became stark. She’d been at similar tables with other photographers, but they usually talked about work, gossiped about who was good to work with and who was sleeping with whom.

These five weren’t colleagues. Each had a different career. What connected them was their relationships to one another, their friendship and loyalty. She could see that they were close enough to have shared vulnerabilities, that they gave each other support, a comforting shoulder. She’d had opportunities to build friendships like these, even on the road. Her work was inherently collaborative. But she hadn’t.

They spent another hour in the bar before putting their jackets on and wrapping up in scarves. They said their goodbyes out front, each group heading in different directions.

“Want to walk? It’s about twenty minutes, and it’s a nice night,” Sam suggested.

Meena shoved her hand in the pocket of her jacket. She was cold but she agreed. She turned her face up to let the air caress her skin.

As they passed various landmarks, Sam added historical sound bites. “The Old State House is the oldest surviving building in Boston.”

Meena took in the brick facade and the white roof as they walked on a cobblestone path away from the busy Downtown Crossing shopping district.

“Will you be expecting tips in cash after this personal tour?”

“Yes. And I hope you’re generous,” Sam said. “Between Neha’s Freedom Trail lectures and the pub trivia league with Ava, I’m an excellent personal tour guide—at least for Boston.”

Meena laughed. “Your friends are great.”

“Yeah. I’m lucky.”

“It must be nice, with your family so far away.”

He was quiet for a while as they crossed Boston Common.

“I have the aunties,” Sam said.

There was something in his tone that piqued her curiosity. Instead of prodding, she stayed silent as they walked.

The path to the stairs of the Engineer’s House was lit with little electric votive candles on metal posts stuck into the ground. The stairs had twinkling white fairy lights wrapped around the iron railings.

“Festive,” Meena commented.

Sam unlocked the front door. “Are you coming to Sabina’s for Diwali dinner on Sunday?”