The Candid Life of Meena Dave(41)

“Because of its legacy?”

“Because it’s home.”

Meena admired the simplicity of the statement.

“The next big event is Thanksgiving,” Sam said. “You should prepare yourself for tandoori turkey.”

“The social calendar of the Engineer’s House is very demanding,” Meena said.

She wanted him to step closer. But Sam kept firmly to his side of the hall.

“Good night, Sam.”

He gave her a slight nod.

Meena went into the apartment and leaned against the closed door. She took a few breaths. The evening had tired her out in many ways. It was hard to acknowledge that she wasn’t wanted here. The purpose of the history lesson hadn’t been to impart information but to solidify why they belonged and she didn’t. Tears welled in her eyes. She cleared her throat and glanced around the apartment. It had been Neha’s place. Now she would make it her own to show Sabina that she was ready for a fight.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


It was time. The cast was off, and she could put some muscle into finally clearing the apartment of Neha’s things. She would empty out a few drawers and put away her own things. The rest she’d figure out. If she could afford it, she could keep the room in Zoe’s apartment for assignments closer to London. Most of her winter gear was there. There were details to sort out. She sat on the couch and stared at her sloppily folded clothes on the suitcase. Now that the cast was off, she could do a better job.

She was her mother’s daughter, and she’d been taught to fold things and put them away, never a stray sweatshirt on the floor. When you don’t have a lot, you take care of what you have. Hannah would not have appreciated all this stuff.

With her mom’s voice in her head, Meena went into Neha’s bedroom. The room was spacious even with the massive bed centered against the left wall. Twilight came through the wide french doors. She’d memorized the number of chimney stacks, had been here long enough that the view was now fixed in her mind.

Meena sat on the bed and rubbed her eyes. She looked around for a clock to figure out the time and turned on the lamp. She hated how dark it got so early in the day. Next to the lamp was a copy of The Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary.

Meena groaned. “If this was your bedtime reading, Neha, I’m sure you were out like a light every night.”

She picked it up and thumbed through it. A postcard was wedged in among the m’s.

“Of course,” Meena said. “I’ve looked in this room dozens of times. Never noticed this dictionary. And now I’m talking to myself.”

She put the book down and flipped over the card to read the familiar handwriting.

Advice to a young person from an old person:

Bravery isn’t in big battles; it is in small acts.

Once you are over the age of 30 you can no longer blame the past or your parents for the way you are. Fix yourself, it’s within your control.

There is always money in the banana stand. Sam has told me this is from a television program. What I infer from it is that subtext is often more telling than text.



Meena put the postcard on the table and lay on the bed, curled into herself. What would it have been like if Neha had kept her? What kind of parent would she have been? Probably an uninterested one. Maybe that’s why she’d given Meena up. She’d known she wouldn’t make a good mother.

A tear dropped on the soft pink pillowcase. She missed her mom. Her real mother, Hannah, her practicality and her love. If Meena was sick, her mom would stroke her hair until Meena fell asleep. When no one had asked Meena to the freshman formal, her mom had bought Meena a pretty dress and the three of them had had their own dance in the living room. Her father had put on a clown tie over his dress shirt for effect.

Meena laughed as she cried. They would have never left her notes, not like this. Her dad would have left her a journal to fill with her dreams, her mom a list of advice along with a book of prayers.

Meena stared out into the dark, clear night. Tufts of smoke wafted from chimneys. It was quiet in here. The street noise was on the other side of the apartment. Her eyes fluttered closed. She felt the support of the mattress. The pillow emitted a faint scent of lavender, her mom’s signature scent.

Fix yourself. Neha’s advice. Meena had. She’d done the requisite therapy in high school. She’d put herself through college with help from her parents’ life insurance. She’d built a career. She was good at what she did. But something was missing. This last year when she’d run herself ragged from job to job, it was to fill an emptiness that had begun to grow.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to let the memories of her parents fill the hollow.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


It was early, barely six thirty in the morning. But Meena wanted to do this before anyone saw her. Under the cloak of darkness. She slipped through the french doors of the bedroom and down the steps of the small veranda, then surveyed the back garden for the perfect spot. She walked the length and width, taking in the empty spaces.

The dewy grass squished under her sneakers as Meena tightened the scarf around her neck. She rounded her lips and breathed out, watched as the warm air met the cold to create a stream of condensation. She’d loved doing that as a kid, and the plume from her mouth was still satisfying. She smiled into the quiet dawn, energized because she had a mission.