The Candid Life of Meena Dave(85)

“You’re more to me too. You’re not the only one that’s careful with their heart. I won’t risk being the only one who commits. If this is a relationship, you can’t just cut and run when things get hard. I won’t sign up for that.”

He touched his lips to her forehead, then walked away. She let the cold wrap around her. The envelope in her lap. She stayed until the streetlights behind her flickered on. With freezing hands and feet, she walked back to her apartment, closed the doors behind her, and curled up on the bed.

Her bed. The first one she’d ever bought. The bedding she loved so much with its little yellow daisies embroidered on white linen. It was warm and cozy, the perfect cocoon for her chilled body. She closed her eyes and hoped for sleep to take her for a few hours so her brain and heart could get a little rest.





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR


Her eyes were red and sticky, and Meena struggled to open them. The morning sun was bright enough to wake her. She could lie here forever if not for her bladder. Once she washed her face and cleaned the gunk from her eyes, she wandered to the kitchen. She had instant coffee and milk in the fridge. One thing, then another. That was the plan for the day.

She spotted a large cup and a bag from a bakery on Boylston Street with a sticky note.

If you need anything, I’m across the hall. So is Wally.

Her heart burst. She’d never been in love. It was foreign, but somewhere in her being, she knew this was what she felt for Sam. Joy. Bliss. And even as a part of her heart was hurting, the space where he existed was lush and alive.

She sat at the dining table and took a big sip of coffee. It was perfect, as was the bag with three pastries—a croissant, an apple tart, and a chocolate doughnut. She munched on the doughnut. Waited for the sugar to wake her foggy brain.

“Knock, knock.” Tanvi popped her head in. “There you are. Good morning.”

“Hi.”

“It looks so lovely in here.” Tanvi closed the door behind her. “You have a good eye, but I can tell you’re afraid of color with all this white and blue. You need some prints, some fun in here. Let’s wander down Newbury today, look for some art or a vase, something to add pop. It’s beautiful outside, sunny and high fifties. We can have lunch, make a day of it.”

Meena didn’t want to think about motive or whether Tanvi knew about yesterday. She wanted to sit and enjoy her coffee. “Maybe another time. I have a few things to work on today.”

“Like what?”

“I have a few pitches to put together, story ideas.”

Tanvi sat in her designated chair next to Meena. “Is that how it works? You come up with an idea and see if someone will want it?”

“Sometimes,” Meena said. “In the beginning, yeah. I’ve worked consistently for a long time, so I have editors who call me for assignments too. Freelancing is a little bit of everything. I’ve been off the road for a bit, so I need to generate something for myself.”

“It seems risky.”

“I suppose. There are good months and lean months. You make money to ride out the periods when there isn’t a lot that comes through.”

“And you never wanted a steady job?”

Meena shook her head. The idea of staying in one place had never been a consideration. Until now. “Apple tart?” Meena held out the bag.

“Maybe a small piece.” Tanvi glanced around the living room. “It looks so different. You can see the history when it’s not overwhelmed with everything Neha had stuffed in here.”

“What do you think it was like? For your grandfather.”

Tanvi brushed her hand over the wood flooring. “I’ve heard stories from my parents. They were all men, so I imagine there was a lot of ego, testosterone, and fumbling around.”

Meena laughed.

“They brought spices with them,” Tanvi said. “A suitcase of clothes and another with dal, marchu, turmeric, coriander, and other things they would need to sustain themselves. They were all vegetarian, and in the 1930s, I don’t imagine Newbury Street was full of vegan restaurants like it is now. They had to learn to cook—my grandfather excelled in that. He was the one who fed everyone. I’m sure there was a lot of chatting, a lot of planning, bragging.”

“Do you think they liked being here?”

Tanvi smiled. “I’d like to believe that. They were ambitious, and wanted to study in America, build something here, a home for those who came and went and a legacy of their own for us. My father often spoke about living under the British rule. He posited that one advantage was that they learned how to navigate white culture, they assimilated with clothing, language, and social norms. That made it better for them, I think.”

Meena listened to Tanvi recount stories she’d heard. Almost a hundred years wasn’t a long time when it came to the origin of the earth, yet it made a huge difference in terms of the way life was now. The people who’d lived here were who she’d come from. She stroked the floor with her bare feet and wondered if her great-grandfather had ever stood in this space. If he hadn’t been here, she wouldn’t exist.

She’d lived her life leaving the past behind, never considering the value of knowing where she’d come from, which people had had to come together with others to make it possible for her to exist. That her roots were not just a birth mother and father, but went beyond that for generations, centuries. She’d believed she’d been untethered, yet the invisible strands of genetics would always be here, and she had the opportunity to learn about them, to live in a place they’d built. Doubly so between Sabina and Neha. Meena belonged here.