The Candid Life of Meena Dave(44)

She got to the end of the album, and there was a little pocket. Meena stuck her fingers in and pulled out a single picture.

Two people in front of the living room fireplace in this apartment. The woman, Neha, resembled the college student in the earlier photo. The man next to her might have been her husband. They stood side by side. Not even their shoulders touched. Neither smiled. The man was in a white shirt and black pants. He had a beard. Thick eyebrows. Neha was in a long skirt and a patchwork sweater. Her hair was short, cut just below her ears, and in waves. Her lipstick was bright red, her eyebrows shaped into thin arches. Meena looked closer. Her eyes were as flat as her expression.

Meena couldn’t see familiarity. Neha’s nose was a little wider than hers, the forehead smaller, the chin narrower. They could have been the same height. Meena was barely five eight. She’d hoped for recognition, to see herself in someone else, to know that even though Neha was dead, Meena was a part of the legacy of the Engineer’s House, that she had a familial history. She ran her finger over the face. Neha had had everything many strived for—wealth, marriage, a passion for her vocation. Yet something seemed to be missing. Then she saw it in Neha’s eyes, staring back at Meena. A wave of recognition washed over her.

Loneliness.

This was what she had in common with her birth mother. Meena flipped the photo over, no longer able to look at it. Stuck to the other side was a folded-up piece of paper. It was from a notepad with a Merriam-Webster letterhead.

I do not know the meaning of love. Even its definition is abstract. “Strong affection based on kinship.” My parents are my kin. If providing for me is considered strong affection, I suppose I have that. But I do not feel anything for them except that I came from them. If it is sexual desire, I have that for my husband. But have no other use for him. What does it mean to hold someone dear? I’ve concluded that I do not care for it. Let it exist for others. I’m enough without it.

Meena’s heart broke for Neha. To think that this woman had gone through the whole of her life not knowing love. A second wave crashed over her. That last line. It was what Meena had said to herself for the last eighteen years. She’d known what it was to hold someone dear. Didn’t need to anymore. Except that wasn’t true. Meena knew love. Had been cradled within it, until she’d lost it. The truth was, Meena was only enough without it because she hadn’t wanted to replace what she’d had. Or lose it all again.

If she took a photo of herself, Meena knew she’d see the same bleakness she saw in Neha’s eyes. She held the album in her lap and mourned for this woman she was starting to know. She looked at the photos of the aunties again. The love and friendship among them were so obvious in the way they smiled, the way they wrapped their arms around each other. They hadn’t included Neha in the trio. Was it because that was how Neha had wanted it? Or had inclusion not been offered to her?

Neha was only her birth mother, but Meena hadn’t felt this link with anyone, not with a sense of deep familiarity. Whether she felt the link because of living here or through the notes or these photos, Neha mattered.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


The four frothy concoctions were as festive as the decor in the dark lounge. The leather furniture, the rich wood of the tabletops, the paneled walls were made cheerful with gold metallic garlands, red-and-white ornaments, and white lights.

“These are almost too pretty to drink,” Tanvi said. “Not that it’s going to stop me.”

“I’m going to start with the spiced Mexican chocolate,” Uma said, “then work my way down.”

“I’m going in the opposite direction,” Sabina said. “Peppermint first. I like to end with a kick of heat.”

Meena listened to them debate about the hot chocolate flight in front of them. Four tall mugs, bursting with whipped cream at the rims, each topped with something unique—from a burned-marshmallow skewer to a gingerbread cookie to a candy cane. Each laced with Baileys or vodka in a complementary flavor.

“Which one are you starting with, Meena?” Sabina asked.

Even her simple questions sounded like an interrogation to Meena. “The dulce de leche.”

Sabina shook her head. “That’s the best way to end. Before we go to the Oak Long Bar for cocktails.”

All three aunties wore matching snowflake scarves and red-and-green earrings that Meena was sure held real rubies and emeralds.

Meena joined them with a raised glass as Uma gave a toast to bring on the beginning of the holiday season. They’d talked her into joining their day-after-Thanksgiving tradition: a hot chocolate tasting at Buttermilk & Bourbon, martinis at the Oak Bar, and dinner at Deuxave—all in their Back Bay neighborhood. While the Engineer’s House was on a quiet street, each street away from the Charles River was busier, more crowded with shops and offices than the one before.

The aunties took turns splurging for the day. This year it was Uma’s treat, and she got to choose the dinner restaurant.

“Drink up, ladies,” Tanvi said. “Hot chocolate is best when it’s still hot.”

Meena sipped her second mug while the aunties had moved on to their last. She’d joined them because they’d asked. More than that, she wanted to get to know them. Pry into their lives and their relationship with Neha. A part of her also wanted to see if Tanvi and Uma shared Sabina’s dislike for Neha and if they also wanted Meena gone. She didn’t want to believe it of Tanvi, but Uma was a wild card. She also wanted to know if there was a possibility for genuine friendship.