“I will. For now,” Sam said. “Until you start giving yourself some—then I’ll back off to keep your ego in check.”
She wanted to kiss him. But she couldn’t want Sam. He wouldn’t be a distraction or a temporary person. He would expect more than she could give. Meena dropped her hand, rolled over on her side, and closed her eyes. A few minutes later, she was warm under a blanket.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Meena knocked on Sam’s door and waited. Nothing. She knocked again. He was likely out. Instead of walking away, Meena tried the handle. Of course it was unlocked. Still she hesitated. It was odd to walk into someone’s home without an invitation. Meena ducked her head in and said hello into an empty room. Slowly she entered, leaving the door ajar.
Sam’s place was very different from Neha’s. The living room was small, cozy, though the high ceilings gave off the impression of roominess. The walls were painted in a soft gray. The art mostly black-and-white lithographs. The furniture erred on the side of comfort over style. The gray pillows on the sofa were lumpy, and she could picture Sam on the couch with his head against the arm, watching the big screen hanging on the wall facing the front door.
Noting the quiet, she was about to leave when Wally burst through the small entryway to the left. She crouched down as the pup ran into her and began his usual jumping and scrambling to try to get as close as possible.
“Hi, Wally, hi.” Meena gave him all the scratches he requested.
“No jumping,” Sam called out.
Meena put his paws on the rug and frowned into the pup’s face. “Sorry, Wally. We have to follow Strict Sam’s orders.”
He yelped and stared longingly at Meena.
She gave him scratches behind his ears. “Blame him. Not me.”
“You and the aunties are why he’s spoiled and hard to train,” Sam said. “Wally, go lie down.”
The dog looked at Sam, then turned away, resting his head in Meena’s lap.
“Wally.” Sam’s voice took on a stern tone. “Bed.”
The dog blew out air from his nose in frustration.
She heard a matching sigh from Sam. He went over to a small jar on the little table by the door. Wally’s ears perked up. Sam pulled out a tiny bone-shaped treat. Wally jumped up on all fours and went to Sam.
“Bed,” Sam said.
Wally stared at the treat.
“Bed,” Sam repeated.
Wally slowly moved to the dog bed next to the couch and sat. His tail wagged back and forth as he waited eagerly for his treat.
Sam went over to him. “Lie down.”
Wally finally lay down, his face resting on his front paws. Sam gave him the treat.
“Hopefully that occupies him for a bit,” he said. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Seeing him reminded her of the way she’d been with him, and her face flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry, I knocked but didn’t hear you. I, uh, should have come by later. When you were back.”
“I’m back now.”
He was in black sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. His hair was shiny at the tips, likely from his being out in the snow.
“Do you want tea?” Sam asked. “Don’t tell the aunties, but I use tea bags for a quick hit. Chai is too much work.”
“If you don’t tell them I drink instant coffee,” Meena said.
“If you want coffee,” Sam offered, “I can make you an espresso or a latte.”
“That’s not too much effort?”
“Touché,” Sam said. “Come back to the kitchen. Maybe with us gone, Wally will nap.”
Meena followed him through the short hallway to the kitchen. Beyond were a few doors. Likely bedrooms. The kitchen was a little bigger than hers, with a small round table against the windows that overlooked the back garden.
“What’s your preference?” Sam asked.
“There’s no need to . . . espresso.” She was here to talk to Sam, apologize about yesterday, thank him for taking care of her. She could do that over coffee. “I stopped by to say I’m sorry. I know they shoved me into you yesterday, making my drunken state your problem. And I just . . .”
“You weren’t a problem.” Sam grinned. “I enjoyed drunk Meena.”
She groaned. “My tolerance is no match for theirs.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t pace yourself. It was the one piece of advice I gave you at Thanksgiving.”
“I don’t know what happened,” Meena said. “We were having spiked hot chocolate, and the next thing I know I’m capping off the night with an Irish coffee.”
“You had fun.” Sam handed her a small teacup of espresso.
“I did.”
She shifted. She had to get through the hard part.
“I, um, also wanted to say sorry for, if, uh, I tried to kiss you.” Meena mumbled out the words while staring out the kitchen window.
She looked back when he placed his hand on top of hers. “There is nothing to apologize for or be embarrassed about. You had a good time. Don’t feel bad about that.”
His palm was warm against her hand, and she stilled so he wouldn’t remove it. She wanted to stay like this, feel him on her skin.
“You told me about the notes,” Sam said. “The ones Neha left you.”
“You didn’t read them.”
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to since you handed them to me in a liquored-up state.”
She flipped her palm over and squeezed his hand. Feared he would remove it from hers.
“I want you to read them,” Meena said. “Fill in some of the blanks.”
“What do you know so far?”
It was snowing harder now, and the grass was quickly disappearing from the white coating.
“She mentioned her work, that her husband left her, the relationship she had with the aunties . . . why she left the apartment to me.” Meena braced herself. “I’m not . . . she . . .” The words were stuck in her throat. The word mother didn’t fit Neha.
Sam said nothing. His face was clear of any emotion. He didn’t prod her or urge her. Simply waited for her to continue, for her to decide what she wanted to say and not say. It comforted her.
“I’m . . . she was my birth mother.”