Sam leaned over to Meena’s seat. “You defended Neha.” His voice was quiet, an aside just for her. “Does that mean you’re starting to like her?”
“It’s hard to like or dislike a dead person.” Meena tilted her head closer to his. “I thought they were being rude.”
“Good job,” Sam said.
“Thanks.” His praise made her sit up taller, her smile wider. “I could have really let them have it, but since I’m a guest . . .”
“I can’t imagine you getting mad.”
Meena glanced at him. Of course she got angry. “Remember when you told me I smelled and commented on my messy hair?”
“That was frustration,” Sam said. “When was the last time you were full-on mad? Hot face, inability to form words?”
Meena put down her spoon and wiped her mouth with the edge of her napkin. The incidents that came to mind involved something more along the lines of irritation. Missed flights, bad editors, lost photos. “I’ve had my moments.” The very last time she could remember had been when she was a teenager. She’d wanted to go to a party. Her parents had said no. Something about how college campus parties with alcohol were not for high school students. Frustration and anger had made her bury her hot face into her pink pillows. She’d thrown her stuffed animal across the room, refused to go down for dinner, and given them the silent treatment for two days. Two precious days. Her anger cooled and things returned to normal. They didn’t talk about it. Just a simple “Please pass the toast” and it was over. Three days later everything was gone. Pink pillows. Stuffed animal.
“Are you OK?” Sam asked.
She nodded.
“Then maybe ease up on the napkin.” Sam laid his hand on her. “Sabina might not appreciate you ruining her linen.”
Meena flicked off his hand and smoothed the napkin out over her lap.
“What are you two whispering about?” Tanvi rested her elbow on the table. “Secrets?”
“Napkins,” Sam quickly replied.
“I bought these for Sabina when Vin and I went to Italy a few years ago, and we found them in Ravello on the Amalfi Coast.” Uma stroked the lace on the napkin she held out.
“Speaking of,” Sabina said. “We need to plan our next girls’ trip.”
“I want to see the northern lights.” Tanvi turned to Meena. “It’s been on my list forever.”
Uma shook her head to disagree. “Somewhere warm.”
“Every year, in January, the aunties take a trip,” Sam explained.
“It’s always in a warm place.” Tanvi glared at Uma. “Because she hates the cold.”
“I spend six months freezing in Boston, sometimes eight,” Uma said. “By January I just want to sit on the beach with a fruity drink in my hand.”
“And I think beaches are boring.” Tanvi waved her hands around. “I want discovery, culture.”
“Alcohol,” Uma said.
They all laughed.
“This is why it’s a girls-only trip,” Pi offered. “They go. They come back. We do not ask for any details.”
“Last year we went to Cartagena,” Uma said. “Beach plus culture.”
“More like shopping culture.” Tanvi wiped her mouth. “Just because the stores are in old buildings doesn’t make them historical.”
“Did Neha join?” Meena leaned into Sam.
“No,” Sam said. “She didn’t like to travel.”
Or the aunties never invited her. Meena was beginning to understand why Neha had been the way she was. It must have been difficult to break into this trio. Especially if Sabina wasn’t welcoming.
As they finished up dinner, the group shifted back to the living room, and Meena grabbed her phone and purse. She’d enjoyed herself, but dinner had been long, and she’d had enough of people. She paused. Maybe there were some similarities between her and Neha after all. “Thank you for including me. The food was delicious.”
“I’m going to go too.” Sam joined her by the door. “Need to take Wally out. And I know this begins the drinking portion of the night.”
“You will never learn to keep up,” Pi teased, “if you don’t practice.”
“You just need a lightweight you can make fun of.” Sam closed the door behind them.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Sam asked Meena.
She walked down the deep-red-carpeted steps, her shoes in her hand. “The food was incredible, and I learned a lot.”
“About?”
“The history of this building.” The stairwell was elegant with its Victorian filigree wallpaper, wood trim, and dark, polished railing with ornate balusters. An abstract painting in a detailed gold frame hung on the wall of each landing.
They stopped in the foyer in front of their apartment doors.
“Do you like living here?” Meena asked.
Sam slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I do.”
“Because of its legacy?”
“Because it’s home.”
Meena admired the simplicity of the statement.
“The next big event is Thanksgiving,” Sam said. “You should prepare yourself for tandoori turkey.”
“The social calendar of the Engineer’s House is very demanding,” Meena said.
She wanted him to step closer. But Sam kept firmly to his side of the hall.
“Good night, Sam.”
He gave her a slight nod.
Meena went into the apartment and leaned against the closed door. She took a few breaths. The evening had tired her out in many ways. It was hard to acknowledge that she wasn’t wanted here. The purpose of the history lesson hadn’t been to impart information but to solidify why they belonged and she didn’t. Tears welled in her eyes. She cleared her throat and glanced around the apartment. It had been Neha’s place. Now she would make it her own to show Sabina that she was ready for a fight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO