Because she wanted to be somewhere else. She wanted to live somewhere. Not as a base, not as a flat share, but as her own place.
An idea stirred her. A new goal to write down in the passion planner Zoe had given her. One year—not six months—to unpack her things, have utility bills in her name. The obvious place was the one she already had, her inheritance. She had three months left before she was even eligible to sell the apartment. Three months until Sabina would inevitably demand that she do so. She smiled as she thought about her wildflowers. She really wanted to be there when they bloomed in a few months, wanted to see Sabina’s reaction. It wasn’t going to be pleasant. She got up and grabbed a pen and the planner from her backpack. She also took out a small wooden elephant she’d taken from Neha’s apartment on an impulse. It was like a talisman, and rubbing it helped her think.
Back on the bed, she wrote down her three-month goal. Keep the apartment and make it mine. She’d fight Sabina if she had to. She didn’t know the rest. She looked at the “flirt with Sam” goal. She was going to keep that one too.
She was giddy with the energy that came from being overtired. She grabbed her phone before she overthought anything.
Hey. It’s Meena. Sorry it’s been a while. Hope you had a good holiday. Give Wally scratches for me. I’m in South Korea by the way. Feel free to text. If you want. She deleted the last line. Would love to hear from you. She deleted that too. Take care. She hit send before she could change her mind.
As she lay down to sleep, she rubbed the wooden elephant as if it were a worry stone. In the early-morning light, she examined it as she’d done countless times. It was as big as her hand, with a heavy, round belly that protruded at the bottom. There were sharp edges around the ears and face, roundness around the thick trunk. There were a lot of details, lines carved to show wrinkles around the ears. Nails drawn on the toes.
The elephant slid out of her hand and fell on the tile floor. Meena reached over to pick it up and saw a crack in the belly. No, not a crack but a little slit, one she hadn’t noticed before. She picked at it with her nail. It unlatched from the top of the protruding belly to reveal a small pocket. There was a roll of paper wedged in. She unfurled it. A CVS receipt that had been written over in dark-blue ink in Neha’s handwriting. The receipt ink was faded, and it was hard to read what the purchases had been, but the blue ink was clear and unsmudged.
Sex is a man’s pleasure. A woman’s burden. A man can implant his sperm into a womb and move on. Careless men do not even consider consequences. Your father is such a man.
Meena clutched the note. It wasn’t addressed to her. It could refer to anything or anyone. She had to keep a clear head and not jump to conclusions. She’d gone down the road of assuming before, and she had to be more cautious this time.
He took his pleasure with a young girl, then went back to his privileged life. That he was also young is no excuse. But he was my family. His mess was mine to clean up.
Numb, Meena rolled up the note and slid it back into the elephant. A woman’s burden. She’d been so focused on her birth mother, Meena hadn’t given much thought to her birth father. Could her link to Neha be through her biological father? Would that mean the apartment was her birthright after all? She felt the ache to belong in the Engineer’s House deep in her stomach.
She closed her eyes and recalled the living room. The dark bookshelves and the bright furniture belonged to Neha, but the structure, the walls, the hardwood floors, had been passed down to Meena—maybe not through Neha’s guilt, but because it was rightfully hers.
She wanted to be back there, not in this tiny room six thousand miles away. The knowledge was frightening and exciting. Meena jumped out of the bed again. Sleep wasn’t going to happen right now. She had clarity. She had ties that she wanted to build on. She had a home to make for herself.
It felt wrong and right. To help her anxiety, she checked the balance in her savings account. She would be OK. She lived frugally; she could take a little more time off to sort all this out once and for all. Then she booked flights.
She looked over at the elephant and pulled out the note. Neha had called the man who’d impregnated the young girl her family. She hadn’t had siblings, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t had other male relatives, a distant cousin perhaps. It was a lead. Meena could track him down. Not for a reunion or even an acknowledgment of who they were to each other, but a confirmation. She wouldn’t assume this time. She would verify.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The apartment was quiet, as was the building. Meena let herself in, no key necessary, and pulled off her hat and scarf. It was cold, and she checked the thermostat, which had been adjusted from seventy to sixty-five. Still in her coat, she wandered around the living room, through the bedroom and the kitchen, then sat on the familiar yellow sofa.
It was different now. This was hers. Until now she’d seen this as Neha’s apartment. She’d been reluctant to accept it, admit that she wanted to keep it. Even though her chest was tight at the thought of having a home, she wanted to make one for herself. Here, in a building with history, community, and . . . she let out a nervous breath as she thought of Sam. Maybe more. First things first, she turned the knobs on the radiators to warm the place up.