The Candid Life of Meena Dave(47)

“Not old,” Sam said. “Drunk.”

“I can hold more liquor in my left leg than you can in your whole body,” Uma argued. “Let’s go, Sameer: you, me, and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Right now.”

“More like you, Tanvi, me, and a jug of water.” Sabina let the two of them away.

Meena opened her eyes. She was on the couch. Sitting down. Thank goodness. The living room was slightly tilted or spinning. She blinked to clear her vision. Sam sat on the coffee table in front of her.

“Sip this.” He held out a glass.

“If it’s vodka, no thank you.”

“It’s water.” He nudged it into her hand.

Meena cupped it and sipped. “It tastes so good.”

He smiled. “Did you have fun?”

Meena laid her head against the back of the couch. “I can’t feel my face. Is it still there?”

“It is.”

“I need to reapply my lipstick.”

“Maybe later,” Sam said. “Your lips are fine.”

She sat up. “So are yours. They look soft.” She reached up and stroked her fingers over his lips. “They are. You must use lip balm.”

“Carmex.”

“Good for you.” She smiled widely. “You’re so pretty, Sam.”

“Drink a little more water,” he said.

“The aunties,” Meena whispered. “They are so nosy. They asked so many questions. And they’re filthy. The jokes from dinner . . . whew. Not that I’m a prude, but I learned some new words today. Do you know gaand means ass? That’s a weird word to say. Gaand. Apparently I have an accent. The aunties are going to teach me Gujarati and Hindi. They think I should know. And they’re right. I have a secret. I didn’t tell them, but I want to tell you.”

“After you sober up,” Sam said.

“I’m Indian.” Meena added, “Not bland Brown.”

“Meena.”

“Fart is paad,” Meena said. “I don’t curse. I say wiener schnitzel or lollipop because my mom never wanted me to curse and so I don’t. It’s a sin, you know. But is it cursing if I’m only learning curse words in another language? Did Neha curse? She liked language, so she probably used better words, not curses. It’s another thing we might have in common.”

“Finish your water.”

Meena obeyed. She handed him the empty glass.

“Why are you trying to find things in common with Neha?”

“Because everything I’ve learned about her,” Meena said, “is so different from me, and the notes are so confusing.”

“Notes?”

Meena stood up. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she held on to Sam’s shoulders for balance. He stood with her and held her at the waist. His warm hands made her body tingle. She leaned her face toward him, and he leaned away from her. Meena stepped away from him and went to the other side of the coffee table. “I’m sorry. I keep throwing myself at you even though it’s a bad idea.”

Sam grinned. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, or maybe the day after, depending on how long it takes your liver to recover.”

“I had vodka, and gin, and wine.” Meena couldn’t believe how much she’d drunk.

“You’re going to feel awful tomorrow,” Sam said. “I don’t want one of the reasons to be about us or this conversation.”

“I think it might be a little late for that,” Meena muttered. “I’ve probably said a lot. That’s why I don’t get drunk. It’s like my brain forgets and says things I don’t want to share. Like now the aunties know how many people I’ve had sex with. That’s private; they shouldn’t. But I had a glass of cabernet and I told them. Also I tried duck for the first time, and it is gross. Very slimy. Tanvi was upset that Uma ordered it because ducks are cute, but then Uma said that God made them cute to hide how mean they are. What were we talking about?”

“Take off your shoes and head to bed,” Sam said.

“Notes.” Meena went to the desk and grabbed the envelope she’d stuffed them in and handed them to Sam. He didn’t open it. “Did you know Neha hid notes all over this apartment? In the most random and annoying places. There’s no order to them. Like a puzzle with a lot of missing pieces.”

“Did she write them for you?”

Meena shook her head. It hurt, so she stopped. “Yes. Sort of. I mean it’s not like she starts with ‘Dear Meena.’ But I know they’re for me.”

Sam closed the distance between them. He gave her the envelope back. She hugged it. He led her to the bedroom, sat her on the edge of the bed. He knelt in front of her to take off her ankle boots.

“Scooch back.” He turned over the comforter and helped her into bed. “Lie down.”

“Thank you,” Meena said. “For this. I don’t have anything like what the aunties have. They’re a solid unit. You have that with your friends. But I don’t.”

“Why not?”

Meena stared at the ceiling. “Because it’s better not to have anyone care about you, so you don’t have to care about them.”

“What’s wrong with caring?”

“Because when you lose them, it can break you.” Meena spoke aloud what she’d been holding in for years.