Sam put his palm against her back. “OK?”
She nodded and toyed with the roughened edge of her cast. She tuned in as they chatted about painting, robots, and video games. They teased each other and shared embarrassing stories of their past adventures. Sam was in the middle of it all. Meena on the edge. Without her camera, the aloneness of the life she’d built around her became stark. She’d been at similar tables with other photographers, but they usually talked about work, gossiped about who was good to work with and who was sleeping with whom.
These five weren’t colleagues. Each had a different career. What connected them was their relationships to one another, their friendship and loyalty. She could see that they were close enough to have shared vulnerabilities, that they gave each other support, a comforting shoulder. She’d had opportunities to build friendships like these, even on the road. Her work was inherently collaborative. But she hadn’t.
They spent another hour in the bar before putting their jackets on and wrapping up in scarves. They said their goodbyes out front, each group heading in different directions.
“Want to walk? It’s about twenty minutes, and it’s a nice night,” Sam suggested.
Meena shoved her hand in the pocket of her jacket. She was cold but she agreed. She turned her face up to let the air caress her skin.
As they passed various landmarks, Sam added historical sound bites. “The Old State House is the oldest surviving building in Boston.”
Meena took in the brick facade and the white roof as they walked on a cobblestone path away from the busy Downtown Crossing shopping district.
“Will you be expecting tips in cash after this personal tour?”
“Yes. And I hope you’re generous,” Sam said. “Between Neha’s Freedom Trail lectures and the pub trivia league with Ava, I’m an excellent personal tour guide—at least for Boston.”
Meena laughed. “Your friends are great.”
“Yeah. I’m lucky.”
“It must be nice, with your family so far away.”
He was quiet for a while as they crossed Boston Common.
“I have the aunties,” Sam said.
There was something in his tone that piqued her curiosity. Instead of prodding, she stayed silent as they walked.
The path to the stairs of the Engineer’s House was lit with little electric votive candles on metal posts stuck into the ground. The stairs had twinkling white fairy lights wrapped around the iron railings.
“Festive,” Meena commented.
Sam unlocked the front door. “Are you coming to Sabina’s for Diwali dinner on Sunday?”
“Tanvi mentioned it.” But Sabina hadn’t extended an invite.
“You know, there’s been talk.”
Her back against the closed door of Neha’s apartment, Meena raised her brows. “Talk?”
“More like intensified curiosity.” Sam closed the distance between them. Faced her. “You keep to yourself. Is it because you don’t like us?”
The hall was silent. She focused on his face, his lips. They were full and well moisturized. She pursed hers and ran her tongue over them to make sure they weren’t dry, that her reapplied gloss was still in place.
“I like you,” she said.
“You do?”
“Plural.” Meena smiled. “All of you.”
She would never have believed that the faint scent of cinnamon and pine from the potpourri would be arousing, yet here she was, locked in on Sam. She saw the rise and fall of his chest. Relieved that the tension wasn’t all hers, she raised her free hand to his chest.
He’d unbuttoned his black peacoat, a gray scarf hung around his neck, and the pale-blue sweater he wore underneath was soft cashmere. Maybe it was the two pints, maybe it was his kind eyes, his open expression, the prominent chin dimple. She let impulse take over. Meena stepped closer.
“Want to come inside?” she asked.
He waited. The quiet became oppressive, and Meena regretted her invitation. But she stood firm. He would have to reject her. She wasn’t going to give him an out. Mostly because she could see in his eyes that he wanted to say yes.
“Another time.”
Meena dismissed her disappointment.
“Another time.” She turned and opened her door.
“After a date.” Sam grinned.
Meena turned her head, raised her brows. “I see.”
“Just want to do things in order,” Sam said. “With you.”
The smile fell. She faced him again. “Sam.”
“I’m not asking for anything except a night out,” Sam said. “The two of us. One where we both agree that there is something interesting between us and see where it goes.”
Meena took a breath. “I have to go back to my regular life soon.”
“The thing about the word regular is that the constant pattern can change,” Sam said. “Can be redefined based on circumstances.”
“Did Neha teach you that?”
“I learned all of my vocabulary from her,” Sam said. “Think about the possibility.”
He leaned down and pecked her on the cheek before going to his apartment.
Meena let out a long breath before going inside hers. She hung up her coat and flopped on the couch. She put her small cross-body bag on the coffee table. The strap got caught on her cast, and the bag fell under the sofa. Meena sighed and knelt on the rug to pull it out, and it was stuck to something. She used her free hand to pat the underside of the couch to figure out what it was. The thing wouldn’t come loose. She pulled with all her effort, and her elbow caught the side of the coffee table. “Soap on a stick!”
She distracted herself from the pain by glancing at what she’d yanked out. A book, of course. The Glass Castle. And inside it two fortunes, the kind found inside cookies. Neha had written over the originals in red ink.
There is no order to life. While time is linear, we do not have to live within its confines.
The second one: Expectations of how things must be are an anathema.
Ugh. Enough with the riddles. Meena added them to the growing stack of notes. Frustrated, she sat on the couch. She was beginning to think Neha was messing with her.