The Candid Life of Meena Dave(58)

It was four in the morning by the time Meena left the club and headed back to her hotel. She’d wrapped up what she’d needed, and after a few hours of sleep, she would edit and caption her best images before sending the whole set to the photo editor. She would also let the writer of the piece know she’d filed her pictures. Then she would find a place to stay and be on the lookout for more work. As she packed away her camera, she scanned her phone. Tanvi continued to text regularly, and while Meena’s texts back had been sporadic at first, the woman had worn her down. Tanvi had a lot of questions and wanted to live vicariously. So Meena had sent short videos of Korean street food, which Uma had taken up as a challenge to re-create it. Now Tanvi was asking about the club.

Meena sent a short video of the dance floor and the maniacal strobe lights and hit send. In the cab ride back to her hotel, she rewatched the last video from Tanvi, who had recorded Wally chewing up one of Sabina’s slippers. The attached text said, He’s such a good boy. Meena missed the little puppy.

And Sam. She wanted to text him, talk to him. Instead of letting him fade from her memory, each day that passed without contact, she missed him more. The longer she put it off, the more overwhelming the need became. She hadn’t stayed in touch. She didn’t know if the aunties gave him updates on her. And in a way it would be worse if they did. She didn’t know why she was acting this way. Sam was no different from Tanvi. You can’t lie to yourself.

Once in her room, Meena brushed her teeth, washed her face, and applied moisturizer before climbing into the small bed. This was her life again. Prioritizing her work above everything else. The new was becoming old. Even after a few months off, she was already tired.

Because she wanted to be somewhere else. She wanted to live somewhere. Not as a base, not as a flat share, but as her own place.

An idea stirred her. A new goal to write down in the passion planner Zoe had given her. One year—not six months—to unpack her things, have utility bills in her name. The obvious place was the one she already had, her inheritance. She had three months left before she was even eligible to sell the apartment. Three months until Sabina would inevitably demand that she do so. She smiled as she thought about her wildflowers. She really wanted to be there when they bloomed in a few months, wanted to see Sabina’s reaction. It wasn’t going to be pleasant. She got up and grabbed a pen and the planner from her backpack. She also took out a small wooden elephant she’d taken from Neha’s apartment on an impulse. It was like a talisman, and rubbing it helped her think.

Back on the bed, she wrote down her three-month goal. Keep the apartment and make it mine. She’d fight Sabina if she had to. She didn’t know the rest. She looked at the “flirt with Sam” goal. She was going to keep that one too.

She was giddy with the energy that came from being overtired. She grabbed her phone before she overthought anything.

Hey. It’s Meena. Sorry it’s been a while. Hope you had a good holiday. Give Wally scratches for me. I’m in South Korea by the way. Feel free to text. If you want. She deleted the last line. Would love to hear from you. She deleted that too. Take care. She hit send before she could change her mind.

As she lay down to sleep, she rubbed the wooden elephant as if it were a worry stone. In the early-morning light, she examined it as she’d done countless times. It was as big as her hand, with a heavy, round belly that protruded at the bottom. There were sharp edges around the ears and face, roundness around the thick trunk. There were a lot of details, lines carved to show wrinkles around the ears. Nails drawn on the toes.

The elephant slid out of her hand and fell on the tile floor. Meena reached over to pick it up and saw a crack in the belly. No, not a crack but a little slit, one she hadn’t noticed before. She picked at it with her nail. It unlatched from the top of the protruding belly to reveal a small pocket. There was a roll of paper wedged in. She unfurled it. A CVS receipt that had been written over in dark-blue ink in Neha’s handwriting. The receipt ink was faded, and it was hard to read what the purchases had been, but the blue ink was clear and unsmudged.

Sex is a man’s pleasure. A woman’s burden. A man can implant his sperm into a womb and move on. Careless men do not even consider consequences. Your father is such a man.

Meena clutched the note. It wasn’t addressed to her. It could refer to anything or anyone. She had to keep a clear head and not jump to conclusions. She’d gone down the road of assuming before, and she had to be more cautious this time.

He took his pleasure with a young girl, then went back to his privileged life. That he was also young is no excuse. But he was my family. His mess was mine to clean up.

Numb, Meena rolled up the note and slid it back into the elephant. A woman’s burden. She’d been so focused on her birth mother, Meena hadn’t given much thought to her birth father. Could her link to Neha be through her biological father? Would that mean the apartment was her birthright after all? She felt the ache to belong in the Engineer’s House deep in her stomach.

She closed her eyes and recalled the living room. The dark bookshelves and the bright furniture belonged to Neha, but the structure, the walls, the hardwood floors, had been passed down to Meena—maybe not through Neha’s guilt, but because it was rightfully hers.

She wanted to be back there, not in this tiny room six thousand miles away. The knowledge was frightening and exciting. Meena jumped out of the bed again. Sleep wasn’t going to happen right now. She had clarity. She had ties that she wanted to build on. She had a home to make for herself.