The Candid Life of Meena Dave(63)

Meena was amazed that these women continued to learn, to improve in ways they believed made them better. It was never too late to fix yourself.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


Meena knocked on Sam’s door. When he called out to let herself in, he was on his couch, his legs stretched out on the coffee table, a computer on his lap and earbuds in his ears. In gray sweatpants and a pale-blue long-sleeved shirt, he looked casually cute.

She looked around for Wally and found him napping in the corner. She went to him and sat down to stroke his fur as he nuzzled her, then rested his face on her lap.

“You’re a tired puppy.” Meena kissed the top of his head.

Sam took out the earbuds. “Puppy school is exhausting.”

Meena left Wally to sleep and went to the other side of the sofa. She put a plastic container she’d brought with her on the coffee table. “I baked cookies.”

He raised both eyebrows.

“By myself,” she said.

He continued to stare.

“Fine.” There was no sense pretending with him. “I opened a bag of presectioned cookie dough and followed the instructions.”

He reached for a cookie and ate a piece. “You’re a talented baker.”

She threw a pillow at him. He caught it and tucked it against his side, then turned his attention back to the laptop screen.

Meena watched Wally as he snoozed. The silence between her and Sam felt uncomfortable, and Meena didn’t know how to break it and get back the Sam who was friendly, chatty, and . . . took on the burden of conversation. She’d been closed off, and then she’d leaned on him. She’d thought he didn’t need her; he had his own friends and the aunties. Meena was learning that it didn’t work like that. It wasn’t a cliché; a two-way street was what sustained friendships.

She stood and paced the living room, scanned the single bookshelf. She should go. It was clear that he was busy and that he wasn’t the type of person to ask her to leave. Meena walked to the door. He hadn’t looked up.

“Sam,” she said.

“Yup.” His eyes still on the computer screen.

She rubbed her arms. The chill had nothing to do with the temperature. “If you ever want to chat, about anything, I’m right across the hall.”

He nodded but didn’t glance her way.

Back in her apartment, she put her hands on her warm cheeks. She’d been foolish to think that a plate of cookies was the right way to break the ice. And she’d waited two weeks to do even that. The accumulated snow had melted away as January gave way to February. Apart from random hellos and waves as Sam and Wally made their way in and out of the apartment, they’d barely talked.

Meena paced in the cluttered living room. With Tanvi’s help, they’d cleared out the bedroom, leaving only the bed and mattress, which she’d covered with her recently purchased bedding. She couldn’t keep Neha’s linens. Meena needed a bed that was hers, not a hand-me-down of sorts. She had left the armchair but not much else. The room echoed from emptiness, and Meena didn’t spend much time in there, except to sleep. She went to the desk and looked out the window. The back garden was barren, the lush colors of fall long gone. The green in the grass was faded, the brown branches swayed in the breeze, and the stone around the base of trees looked dull without the sun.

She’d spent a lot of time with Tanvi but hadn’t found a way to bring up the topic that was always present. She’d asked in an indirect way about Neha’s extended family, only to be told that Tanvi didn’t know of any and that it was likely in India or Africa. Meena had also searched for more photo albums, papers, or anything with names that could give her a lead on a relative Neha had helped. So far nothing.

She thought that if anyone in this building would know of this relative, it would be Sabina. Approaching her would require careful thought and planning in terms of how much to share. Sabina was sharp and suspicious, and she didn’t like Meena. Those three things made it difficult to casually start a conversation about the past.

She turned away and walked along the bookshelves. She was restless. She could work, but she didn’t really want to. She wasn’t in the mood to flip open her computer and watch Netflix. Maybe she would read. Though nothing on these shelves interested her. She scanned the books on farming in Central Canada, the old novels—not classics, just well worn—and decided to pass.

On a whim she grabbed a few books in a set called Lands and Peoples. On the couch she skimmed through the Baltic states edition, then moved through Canada and the US. The next one was about South Asia and the Far East. Intrigued, she flipped through it. An index card was wedged in the middle. Meena sighed. These notes would never end. When she intentionally searched, she came up with nothing. Neha would never stop taunting her. She’d cleared the bedroom and had looked here and there, but nothing had turned up in The clothes or in drawers.

irregular (adjective)

1 a.: not being or acting in accord with established custom; irregular conduct

b.: not following a usual or prescribed procedure

2: not belonging to or a part of a regular organization

3: lacking perfect symmetry or evenness

4: lacking continuity or regularity especially of occurrence or activity

She leaned her head back against the couch. Meaningless or meaningful? She wouldn’t know. She glanced at the shelves, looked around the room. So many hiding places. Meena thought about the boxes she’d taken down to the basement. The ones picked up by the charity. Meena had gone through every item and found nothing. How many more notes were here? Meena added it to the envelope with the others.