The Candid Life of Meena Dave(6)

Meena’s eyes narrowed as she chased him to the other side of the sofa. “I know you.” At the sound of her voice, he charged for her. She held out her hand. “Stop.” The puppy slid along the hardwood floor and came to a clumsy halt. His chin flopped over her boots.

“I believe we’ve met?” She squatted and held out her hand for a sniff. When he nudged her, she gave him a little rub. He turned his small head to invite more scratches.

She laughed at his pleasure. His fur was soft, and she felt the warmth of his body as he rolled over and exposed his tummy.

“Wally.”

Meena looked up. “Seems like he keeps running away from you.”

Sam came into the apartment. “More like he wants belly rubs.”

Wally popped up, ran to his owner, and chewed on the hem of Sam’s jeans.

Sam reached down and tugged his pants out of Wally’s grip. “It’s you. Yoga-in-the-street person.”

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” Meena tilted her head.

“The key Wally was chewing on is pretty distinctive.”

Meena remembered the engraved E on the bar of the large old-timey key. “What are you doing here, Sam Vora?”

“I live across the hall.”

“Nice wreath skills.” Meena pointed to the door.

Sam looked toward it. “Oh, that’s not me. It’s the aunties. Tanvi does the decorating. Are you moving in?”

Meena stood. “More like staying here, temporarily.”

“Why?”

“You’re very suspicious.”

“I’m making friendly conversation.” Sam grinned. “It’s the aunties you need to worry about. They’re going to have a lot of questions.”

Meena wondered if he was referring to the woman she’d met the day before.

“You travel light,” Sam said.

“In a way.” Her luggage was in a storage locker near the airport because she hadn’t wanted to tote it to her meeting with the lawyer.

He rubbed Wally’s fur as he tugged the lace of his sneaker out of the dog’s mouth. Sam had an easygoing way about him, as if he were used to wandering up to strangers and making small talk. His hair was still messy, and he’d swapped the parka for a black sweater. His dark eyes were wide and open, framed by sharp eyebrows. He had all the markers of attractiveness, including high cheekbones. He was soft with sharp edges. Meena found herself wondering what he would be like in bed. She turned away. This wasn’t the time or place for a distraction, even if it had been a while. Eight months? Argentina and a professional polo player.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she had more immediate needs. “I appreciate the visit, but I’m on my way out.”

At the sound of her voice, Wally pepped up and zoomed back and forth between them.

“If you’re looking for breakfast options, head to Boylston Street, a few blocks away from the river,” he said. “There’s also a little café on the corner of Commonwealth and Mass Ave.”

“Thanks.” Meena watched as he tugged Wally and headed for the door. He looked unburdened, his expression so sincere that Meena itched for her camera. She wanted to see him through the lens, capture his eyes, see what was behind them. Intelligence and kindness were obvious, but what else? It was hard to tell without learning more, looking deeper.

“Any tips on where to get a new phone?” She surprised herself with the question. She never asked for help with something she could do herself.

“The Apple Store on Boylston across from the Prudential Center is your best bet,” Sam said. “There’s a little fix-your-phone place on Newbury too.”

“I think it’s done for.” It had served her well for the last four years, and while she wasn’t looking forward to the expense of a new unlocked phone, it was a work necessity.

“It was Wally’s fault.” Sam bent down to give the pup a pat. “We can replace it if you’d like.”

She laughed. “It was mine for juggling phone, papers, and a backpack and not paying attention.”

“Sam, what are you . . . ?” A woman with long black hair stuck her head into the apartment. “What is going on? Who are you?”

Meena straightened from where she’d been leaning against the back of the sofa.

Wally bounced up and ran to the newest person in the room.

“Tanvi auntie,” Sam said. “This is . . . I don’t know your name.”

Meena almost laughed at the surprise on his face. “Meena Dave.”

“Dave?” the woman said. “You’re pronouncing it wrong. Not in the Indian way.”

“Indian?”

Tanvi looked surprised. “Aren’t you? Oh, are you Pakistani or Bangladeshi?”

Meena stayed quiet.

“What’s your ethnicity?”

A question Meena had never been able to answer.

“Tanvi auntie,” Sam said. “You can’t ask that.”

“I didn’t say, What are you? or Where are you from?” Tanvi defended herself. “It is a fair question.”

“I grew up in Northampton,” Meena explained. “And have an American passport.”

“But where are your parents from? What are you doing in Neha’s apartment?”