The Candid Life of Meena Dave(80)

“Right,” Meena said. “Whatever you can spare is reserved for your friends.”

Uma raised her brow. “Yes. It is.”

“You tell each other everything, right? No secrets.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Uma said. “Fifty-plus years of friendship is bound to have some things that aren’t shared.”

“How philosophical.”

“What’s got you so mad?”

Meena ignored her. Ground her teeth.

“My advice? Go find a bartender,” Uma said. “Get whatever’s going on in there out.”

Meena let loose a bitter laugh. “It’s not that simple.”

Uma snorted. “It’s as hard as you want to make it, and it seems you don’t want easy.”

“You think you have me figured out.”

Uma stacked more books from the floor on the coffee table. “You’re not complicated.” She looked directly at Meena. “You don’t trust anyone. It’s a way of protecting yourself. I’m not a therapist, so I don’t claim to know why, but once you find a place to land, maybe try a little vulnerability. Your fortress is made of sand, and it looks like it’s collapsing.”

Hurt warred with anger at the truth. “You’re full of pithy advice. What’s made you so wise?”

“Age.”

“And regrets?”

“I wouldn’t want a life without a few mistakes.”

“Even at the expense of others?”

Uma gave her a look. “If you’re trying to say something, get it out.”

Meena retreated. Not to protect Uma; she didn’t want to be the first to speak the truth. If Uma was her biological mother, Meena didn’t want the older woman to see the neediness in her face. “As you can see, I’m busy. Close the door on your way out.”

“The guy across the hall,” Uma said. “He’s solid. And strong. If you decide to land there, it’ll be the smartest thing you can do.”

Meena wrapped her arms around herself. Exhausted, she was ready to collapse. “Whatever’s between Sam and me is not your concern.”

“Then you haven’t learned a single thing about the Engineer’s House.” Uma opened the door.

Meena’s knees gave out, and she fell into a pile of books. She curled her legs in and leaned her head on her knees. She was too tired to think or feel. Numb, she stayed in that position, surrounded by the chaos of Neha’s beloved wreckage.



Meena spent the rest of the day cleaning up the aftermath of her breakdown. She’d been tempted to find a bartender, but instead she’d gone to the liquor store for more boxes. She didn’t want to talk or think. The monotony of stacking books, packing boxes, taping them up, stacking them in the corner, that was what would help her recover.

A fortress of sand.

The boxes closed and stacked in the corner of the dining room, Meena sat on the sofa surrounded by someone else’s possessions. No matter how much she got rid of, there was still more of Neha here. She’d been trying to make this place her own, yet she’d been taking her time, getting distracted. She’d chosen to stay but hadn’t made this her home. Reading magazines, getting rid of things, it was all so haphazard.

She didn’t want tragedy to be the end place on the map of her life. She wanted to redraw it. A Buddhist monk had once told her that all that exists is impermanent. Meena realized that she’d approached her adult life as if it were fixed, even as change happened all around her.

The anger had been let out. A sense of control seeped in. She could breathe again. Focus.

Meena made one more trip outside. The early sunset meant it looked like midnight even though it was barely seven. With a pizza box in hand, she knocked on Sam’s door. She was going to put things back together, focus on what she had instead of what she didn’t.

He opened it.

“It didn’t feel right to walk in.” She locked her knees to stop her feet from shuffling.

“Are you coming in?” He stepped back, waited for her to decide.

“Are you busy or in the middle of something?” Meena let herself in.

“Wally and I were in the backyard,” he said. “How are you doing?”

She held up the box. “New York Pizza.”

“On Mass Ave.?”

She nodded. “It doesn’t taste anything like a Manhattan slice, but it’s not bad.”

He grabbed two plates from the kitchen and brought them to the small table in the nook between the living room and hallway. “Want something to drink?”

“Water is fine.” She needed something to calm the butterflies in her stomach. She sat and opened the box. The tangy smell of sauce infused the air. “Did Wally have his dinner?” The dog was snoozing in his crate with the door open.

“Yup.” Sam sat across from her. “He’s had a lot of playtime today.”

They ate in silence for a minute. “I was, I don’t know . . . I was a mess yesterday. Thank you for being there.”

He wiped his mouth with a paper towel and leaned back in his chair. “That’s what a relationship is, to support one another.”

Her heart expanded. “Is that what this is?”

“Are we on different pages?”