The Candid Life of Meena Dave(72)

“Oh no.” Tanvi took Meena’s hands. There were tears in her eyes.

“It was a long time ago,” Meena said. “I was barely sixteen, I didn’t realize what it meant to lose all the documents as well. Everything was gone, including any adoption records my parents might have kept.”

“I can’t imagine losing everything like that,” Tanvi said. “In an instant. My heart hurts for you.”

Meena cleared her throat. Tanvi’s kindness made Meena’s loss feel more acute.

“There is nothing left?” Sabina asked. “No link back to your birth?”

“I haven’t really looked. I didn’t know a lot, don’t remember what hospital I was born in or if there was an agency involved. When the social worker helped me get an ID, we went through my school records, but there was no birth certificate as part of it.”

“How can we help?” Uma asked.

Confess. Except only her birth mother knew. The other two were innocent. “I don’t think there is much, unless you remember anything Neha might have said to you.”

“She also was erratic about secrets,” Sabina added. “If she wanted to share, she would. If she didn’t think it was important, she would forget.”

Meena nodded but stayed quiet.

“It doesn’t matter how you got here.” Tanvi laid her hand over Meena’s. “You’re where you are supposed to be.”

“Be careful,” Uma warned. “She’s going to suggest we sit on the floor in a circle and meditate.”

“Meditation is key to living a healthy life,” Tanvi said.

“I agree.” Meena decided to let it go for now.

“Great, there are two of you.”

Meena finished her tea. She’d told them just enough. Now she would wait and see.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


Reservations for two on Valentine’s Day were hard to come by. Luckily, Wink & Nod had had one left for 8:00 p.m., and Meena had jumped on it. It was a crisp and clear evening, and the long walk was a refreshing way to start their night.

She’d even bought a new dress. Different from her black sheath. It was a bright-blue silk wraparound that hugged her body. The cinching at the waist gave her a bit of shape. Below, it cascaded down her legs like a waterfall to midcalf. She’d paired it with tights and her trusted black boots. Meena had knocked on Sam’s door with a bouquet in hand. Buttercups were rare in February, so she’d found a sunny yellow bouquet from a florist next to the Back Bay train station.

He’d laughed and happily accepted the bouquet, and Meena had given Wally cuddles while Sam put the flowers in a jug of water.

The restaurant was dimly lit, with candles on each table. The host ushered Meena into a leather seat as a couple across the narrow aisle used a cell phone flashlight to scan the menu.

“This place is known for rotating chefs,” Meena said. “A speakeasy and an incubator.” She saw the grin on his face. “You already know.”

“I’ve been here a few times,” Sam said. “But I liked your summary.”

She wondered if he’d brought a date here or come with a friend. “The menu looks . . . eclectic.”

“I’m sure you’ve had some interesting food in your travels.”

“Not caviar panini or foie gras lollipops.”

They settled on burrata, a cheese board, ahi tuna flatbread, steak pot stickers, and a few more small plates along with a California cabernet.

“How are your friends?” Meena wanted the conversation to be focused on him, not her.

“I was supposed to meet up with Dinus and Ava tonight, but they’re at a pub in Somerville.” Sam helped himself to a pot sticker.

“Oh,” Meena said. “I didn’t mean for you to change your plans.”

He smiled. “It’s not often I get asked out, especially not on the day of hearts and chocolates.”

“I’m not sure I buy that. Attractive nerd-type men are very hot right now.”

Sam sat up and rolled his shoulders back, looked around the dark restaurant. “Oh yeah, I can see so many of us here with beautiful women.”

Meena glanced over as a blond male-model type passed by their table. She laughed. The man paused and winked before moving on.

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your type?”

“This burrata is delicious,” Meena said.

He waited her out and sampled a few more of the items in front of them.

“I don’t have a track record when it comes to relationships,” Meena said at last. “I meet someone in my travels, not the subject, but either another photojournalist or a writer, artist, or someone I meet along the way. It’s spontaneous. Drinks, company, and human companionship before moving on to the next place.” She shrugged. “I bet you’re the opposite.”

“You’d be wrong,” Sam said. “I had a girlfriend in college, two years, another in LA for one year. No one since I’ve been back.”

Her eyes widened. “By choice?”

He laughed. “I date, sometimes. Go out for a month or two before it fizzles. The biggest complaint I get is that I’m not a good boyfriend.”

Meena poured more wine in both their glasses. “Why not?”