The Candid Life of Meena Dave(77)

“My dad didn’t like ham,” Meena said. “For Easter my mom would make Reuben sandwiches. At Christmas we always had a real tree, even though the needles would get everywhere. We didn’t do anything like you all do here. Our celebrations were simple.”

“Have you spent any time in Ireland? I remember you saying your last name comes from Gaelic.”

Meena nodded. “I had an assignment in Dublin, a photo essay on the first gay pub in Ireland.”

“What part of Ireland were your parents from?”

Meena finished the peanuts and swept up the flecks of peels from the countertop with her palm. “I don’t know. They were fourth-generation Americans, so they were more Irish American.”

“I can understand that,” Sabina said. “The earlier immigrants had to assimilate because there weren’t enough of us to build a community. That’s why I’m so proud of my grandfather and others who found this house, made it a home for people to feel close to who they were, where they’d come from.”

“You honor them by keeping your culture, your traditions.”

Sabina nodded. “The men who came here. Staying Indian was important to them, from speaking in their native Gujarati language to religious customs. A way to stay tied to their home country while making a place for themselves here.”

Ties. It was like what Sam had said about keeping his apartment in this house. The links that they all shared as part of their collective history. And maybe hers. “The peanuts are ready.”

“I have the other ingredients all set to go. Do you want to take notes?”

Meena held out her phone to record Sabina. She wore a long wool sweater the color of a pale sky and black leggings. Her feet were tucked into white slippers, her hair up in a large bun. She wore no makeup, her skin clear, and she needed none. On closer look there was a tiny tattoo, an om symbol, behind her left ear. “Ready.”

The kitchen came alive with a warm, nutty scent.

Meena’s mouth watered as the aromatic smells filled the space. A few minutes later, Sabina turned off the heat. She lifted the lid and squeezed half a lime over the contents of the pot, gave them a stir, and left the pot uncovered.

“Once it’s cool enough, I’ll put it in a bowl for you,” Sabina said. “You can then take it to Sam, who is, as of this moment, not your boyfriend.”

Meena laughed. “I’ll let you know if anything changes. For now, you can keep your fifty dollars.”

“He’s a good man.” Sabina’s voice was quiet. “Have care with him.”

Meena’s smile dropped. She could understand Sabina’s warning. And it was good that Sam had people who looked out for him. For the first time in a long time, she wished she had the same. If one of the aunties turned out to be her birth mother, maybe . . . She shook the thought away.

“I like him,” Meena assured her. “I’m not looking to hurt him.”

“He comes across as if he has it all figured out,” Sabina said. “But inside, he wrestles with guilt and pain. We all look out for him.”

“Is that a warning?”

“He’s one of us.”

Meena’s spine went stiff. The subtext was that Meena wasn’t. She gritted her teeth. Sabina didn’t know that Meena was a part of this building’s history too. Or if she did, this was a warning to let Meena know that she would never be accepted. Then Meena realized there was one clue she could drop. One bomb that would mean nothing to anyone except the woman who had given birth to her.

“Sam told me you throw Uma a surprise birthday party every year. When is that?”

“In July,” Sabina replied. “A week after the Fourth.”

“How fun,” Meena said. “I haven’t really celebrated my birthday in a big way. Maybe I’ll throw a party this year. If you wouldn’t mind helping me.”

“Of course. When is it?”

“August sixth.” Meena watched closely for the slightest shift in expression. A sign that indicated shock or recognition. Nothing.

“I’ll check my calendar,” Sabina said.

“Great.” Disappointed, Meena let it go.

“Here. I’m going to put this in a container for you to take to Sam.”

“Thanks.” Meena had thought they’d share a bowl, continue the conversation. If only to see if she could rattle Sabina. “Can I help you clean up?”

“I’ve got it,” Sabina said. “You might want to bring that to him while it’s still warm. It tastes better fresh than reheated. You might even convince him to share.”

Something was off, or maybe Meena was looking for things that weren’t there. Sabina was always abrupt, wasn’t she?

Or Sabina was shaken up by Meena’s birthday.





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE


Meena played catch with Wally. He loved the little stuffed porcupine she’d bought for him. For the last four weeks, she’d settled into a rhythm with Sam and Wally, so much so that the puppy came and went between their apartments at will. And while she’d tried to do more sleuthing with the aunties, there had been very little progress. What she’d learned hadn’t brought her closer to the truth.

She’d watched all three eat bananas; no one broke out in hives. She’d asked them to share stories about their teenage years; none of them exhibited even an eye twitch when it came to sex, relationships, or broken hearts.