The Candid Life of Meena Dave(74)

“Yeah.” Meena knew that if Tanvi was her biological mother, it wouldn’t be hard to forgive her, but it would beg the question of why she hadn’t shared who she was.

They took the steps up to the front door. Sam unlocked it and led her in before closing it behind them. The warmth of the hall helped relax her shoulders, which had been hunched against the cold, made the rose scent more fragrant. They stood in the middle, and Sam faced her.

“What?” Meena asked.

“I’m waiting for you to kiss me.”

She smiled. “Right. Let me walk you to the door.” She pressed him back against it, then rose on her toes to reach him. He waited. Up close, she could see gold flecks in his dark-brown eyes, feel his smooth skin as she brushed her hand over his cheek. Still he waited. She supposed he really was leaving it to her. She finally touched his lips, doing what she’d wanted to months ago. His taste mingled with hers, red wine and chocolate mousse. She pressed against him, and his arms wrapped around her. With layers in between, she couldn’t get any closer, so she put everything into the kiss. Then she pulled back.

That his breathing was hard and fast gave her a sense of satisfaction. She leaned back as he still held her. “I guess we save the ‘invite me in’ part for a third date?”

He brushed his lips against hers. “If you count the dinners that were not dates as dates, we’re well past third.”

She tilted her head to count. “Invite me in, Sam.”

He grinned wide as he opened the door and tugged her into his apartment. Wally barked his greeting and waited for Sam to let him out of the crate.

“I’m going to take Wally out to the backyard for a quick potty break,” Sam said. “Lock the door. I don’t want the aunties to interrupt.”

“They have their own private celebrations going on.”

Sam covered his ears as he followed Wally out. “Don’t kill the mood. I’ll meet you back on the couch, or in bed. You decide.”

She wandered around his apartment as she removed her coat and boots. She peeked into his bedroom. It was simply decorated, with a bed, two bookshelves, a TV on a wall, and a desk holding computer equipment. The gray comforter was clean, and she lifted it.

“Did you change your sheets?” Meena sat on the bed as Sam came into the room and closed the door. Wally whined on the other side. “Were you hoping to get lucky?”

“Yes to both.” Sam sat next to her.

Meena leaned over and kissed him, then pulled him into the bed with her.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


What she’d wanted was to spend time with Tanvi, to gently meander the conversation toward any tells. She should have known better, picked something that involved getting the two of them away from the house. Meena’s error had been in not being specific. That was how she wound up standing in the bedroom like a mannequin with her arms akimbo as the aunties trussed her up in three yards of orange silk. All she’d said was that she was curious about saris and how effortless they looked even though she was sure it was more complicated. A few hours later, the three had descended on her and were using her like a real-life dress-up doll.

“Stay still, Meena.” Sabina spoke with a giant safety pin between her lips. “Keep your arms spread out.”

“A cotton sari would have been better. Silk is too hard for practice.” Uma tucked fabric into the pale orange skirt tied so tight, it made it difficult to breathe.

“What am I, an old woman? I only have silk saris.” Tanvi unfurled the pleats and started again. “And since you gave Meena such a hard time about wanting to learn these things, forcing you both to do this is your punishment.”

“I didn’t realize this was going to be so complicated,” Meena said.

They ignored her.

“Tanvi, you’re doing the pleats for Gujarati style.” Sabina nudged her friend. “We’re showing her English style.”

Tanvi sighed. “I can never tell.”

Uma stepped back and sat in the chair by the french doors. “I’m going to look it up on YouTube.”

“Eh,” Sabina argued. “You don’t have to look it up. I know.”

Tanvi winked at Meena. “Sabina made us practice every week when we were teenagers.”

“It’s easy to forget when it’s not something you do every day.” Sabina turned Meena toward her. “Pay attention. There are two areas you must pleat. One in the front of the skirt, and the other is the sash. Both have to be neat and crisp.”

“But you can leave the piece over your shoulder unpleated so that the fabric hangs over your arm and you carry it on your wrist.” Tanvi tucked the pleats in the front, pulling the already-tight skirt and with it Meena’s whole body. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but a loose skirt can cause a wardrobe malfunction, and you don’t want to take a few steps and find yourself naked from the waist down.”

“You get used to it,” Uma said. “My mother always wore saris, even in winter. She had a permanent indent around her waist from the tight cotton string that held up the chanyo.”

“I’m surprised the woman wasn’t severed in half,” Meena mumbled.

“It’s not fashion if women aren’t suffering.” Uma ticked off the list on her fingers. “Heels, bras, skinny jeans.”