“I’m sure he has friends,” Meena said.
“Yes. Dinus, Ava, and Luis.” Uma counted them out on her hand. “But he’s all work all the time. He needs a girlfriend, a woman. Sam is the type who will do well with a wife. He’s good husband material.”
“We’ve trained him well,” Tanvi added. “In all the things. Well, not all the things. But I’m sure he’s gained experience in that area as well.”
Meena wasn’t prone to blushing, but her face warmed at the idea of Sam’s level of sexual experience. Alas. Sam wasn’t one-night-stand material.
“It would be good for him to settle down,” Sabina stated. “Maybe with a nice Indian woman. It isn’t that way anymore in our culture, though it used to be.”
“We are always evolving,” Uma said. “For the better.”
“There is something to be said for shared culture, language, and tradition,” Sabina argued.
Meena sipped her chai to swallow the lump in her throat. She’d been telling herself it was OK to not know her cultural identity. Her parents, their culture, had been enough. But her connection with Neha wasn’t only biological; heritage and legacy came with knowing.
“And all those can be taught,” Uma quipped. “My daughter’s girlfriend is Ecuadorian. They swap recipes and cook for each other. They celebrate her holiday traditions and ours.”
“Sameer’s family would prefer that he stayed within our culture,” Sabina said. “The Voras have always been more conservative. His grandfather was a staunch Hindu who made his expectations known to his children and grandchildren.”
“His grandfather is dead,” Uma barked. “Besides, expectations aren’t the same as rules. He’s his own man.”
“Sam’s younger brother is married to a British Gujarati woman.” Tanvi turned to Meena. “They just had their third child. Sadly, Sam hasn’t met his niece. Maybe never will.”
“Why?”
“He’s estranged from his family,” Uma added. “So much for following tradition.”
Meena caught the glance Uma sent Sabina. They were speaking about things Meena had no context for, and she genuinely wanted to know.
“His family lives in Europe?”
“Munich,” Tanvi said. “The parents went to live with his younger brother’s family.”
“What about you?” Sabina asked. “You said your mother was a botanist. Is she retired?”
“She died.” These women were sharp and remembered everything. Meena needed to be more on guard, especially while she was feeling raw. “So did my father.” Meena didn’t wait for the question that had been coming. Headed it off to close off the topic.
Tanvi reached over and patted Meena’s hand. She had to close her eyes against another kind gesture.
“It was a long time ago,” Meena specified. “I was sixteen.”
“Oh no.” Tanvi patted her hand. “Did you stay with other family?”
Meena channeled the script she used on the rare occasion that this topic came up. “It was an accident. They were great parents. I had an amazing childhood, and I have a good life.”
“You’ve been on your own,” Sabina said.
“I’m good at it.”
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t lonely,” Uma said.
“No matter.” Tanvi squeezed her hand. “Now you have us. And Sam.”
“Stop your matchmaking,” Uma chided. “This is a sensitive moment.”
Meena jumped at the change in topic. “He did ask me to have dinner.”
“When?” Tanvi asked. “Where? Oh, we need to go shopping. I’ve seen you in the same jeans and sweaters, and you have to add a little more color into your wardrobe.”
Like Neha.
“My clothes are fine.” Meena straightened the hem of her gray T-shirt with her free hand. “I can’t have too much, or it won’t fit in my suitcase. Besides, Sam and I don’t have firm plans.”
“It’s a start.” Uma grinned. “My husband asked me to dinner after our graduate-level economics class, and a year later we were married.”
Meena leaned away from the table. “Uh, that’s not . . .”
“Don’t scare her,” Sabina said.
“I’ll design the wedding invitations.” Tanvi patted the cast twice.
Horror came over Meena’s face. She finished off the chai in her mug and stood.
“Sit back down.” Tanvi reached for Meena. “I was joking with you.”
“I need a shower.” Meena walked away from them.
She needed to escape. Not just the room and the aunties, but this apartment, this city, the state of Massachusetts.
When she came out of the bathroom, the aunties had thankfully left. She locked the front door. She had to do, not think. Her chest would not loosen, she couldn’t take a deep enough breath. Panic, pain, and discomfort clogged her throat. She had parents, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t let Neha mean anything. She knew one more thing about herself than she had yesterday. That was all. In the meantime, she had emails to check. Meetings to schedule.
Then she saw it. A lifeline in the form of a message from Condé Nast Traveler. She was needed far away from here.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Meena was in Slippbarinn, Reykjavík’s first cocktail bar. The three blond men in her viewfinder laughed as they flexed and performed for the camera. She laughed at their antics. They were enjoying themselves. She took a few more photos of a bartender mixing drinks behind a sturdy bar made of wooden slats. The cocktail shelves behind him glowed red, green, and white. A few days on assignment and she’d managed well with the cast; instead of letting it frustrate her, she had adapted and adjusted to make it work.