“It doesn’t matter how you got here.” Tanvi laid her hand over Meena’s. “You’re where you are supposed to be.”
“Be careful,” Uma warned. “She’s going to suggest we sit on the floor in a circle and meditate.”
“Meditation is key to living a healthy life,” Tanvi said.
“I agree.” Meena decided to let it go for now.
“Great, there are two of you.”
Meena finished her tea. She’d told them just enough. Now she would wait and see.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Reservations for two on Valentine’s Day were hard to come by. Luckily, Wink & Nod had had one left for 8:00 p.m., and Meena had jumped on it. It was a crisp and clear evening, and the long walk was a refreshing way to start their night.
She’d even bought a new dress. Different from her black sheath. It was a bright-blue silk wraparound that hugged her body. The cinching at the waist gave her a bit of shape. Below, it cascaded down her legs like a waterfall to midcalf. She’d paired it with tights and her trusted black boots. Meena had knocked on Sam’s door with a bouquet in hand. Buttercups were rare in February, so she’d found a sunny yellow bouquet from a florist next to the Back Bay train station.
He’d laughed and happily accepted the bouquet, and Meena had given Wally cuddles while Sam put the flowers in a jug of water.
The restaurant was dimly lit, with candles on each table. The host ushered Meena into a leather seat as a couple across the narrow aisle used a cell phone flashlight to scan the menu.
“This place is known for rotating chefs,” Meena said. “A speakeasy and an incubator.” She saw the grin on his face. “You already know.”
“I’ve been here a few times,” Sam said. “But I liked your summary.”
She wondered if he’d brought a date here or come with a friend. “The menu looks . . . eclectic.”
“I’m sure you’ve had some interesting food in your travels.”
“Not caviar panini or foie gras lollipops.”
They settled on burrata, a cheese board, ahi tuna flatbread, steak pot stickers, and a few more small plates along with a California cabernet.
“How are your friends?” Meena wanted the conversation to be focused on him, not her.
“I was supposed to meet up with Dinus and Ava tonight, but they’re at a pub in Somerville.” Sam helped himself to a pot sticker.
“Oh,” Meena said. “I didn’t mean for you to change your plans.”
He smiled. “It’s not often I get asked out, especially not on the day of hearts and chocolates.”
“I’m not sure I buy that. Attractive nerd-type men are very hot right now.”
Sam sat up and rolled his shoulders back, looked around the dark restaurant. “Oh yeah, I can see so many of us here with beautiful women.”
Meena glanced over as a blond male-model type passed by their table. She laughed. The man paused and winked before moving on.
“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your type?”
“This burrata is delicious,” Meena said.
He waited her out and sampled a few more of the items in front of them.
“I don’t have a track record when it comes to relationships,” Meena said at last. “I meet someone in my travels, not the subject, but either another photojournalist or a writer, artist, or someone I meet along the way. It’s spontaneous. Drinks, company, and human companionship before moving on to the next place.” She shrugged. “I bet you’re the opposite.”
“You’d be wrong,” Sam said. “I had a girlfriend in college, two years, another in LA for one year. No one since I’ve been back.”
Her eyes widened. “By choice?”
He laughed. “I date, sometimes. Go out for a month or two before it fizzles. The biggest complaint I get is that I’m not a good boyfriend.”
Meena poured more wine in both their glasses. “Why not?”
“I can be forgetful,” he said. “If I’m on a project, I can be in it for days, only stopping to sleep. I throw myself into it, and my brain only refocuses on the rest of the world after I’m done.”
Guilt and embarrassment shamed her. Meena had assumed his distance, his distraction, had been about her, that she’d left, and he’d been upset. But he was telling her it was the way he worked, his process. “I mull. When I’m putting together a story, trying to find the right angle, I let it all swirl around in my head. Even when I was young, I’d have a history paper due or an essay to write and I’d wait until the very last minute, until the whole thing was laid out in my head, before I’d start writing it. Usually in the middle of the night.”
“Your parents must have been thrilled.”
“My mom would get frustrated. She would nag me to get started. She would say, Don’t think. Do. I tried, but it’s not how it works for me. I write down notes, but if I need to put pieces together, it has to connect in my head.”
“And your dad?”
Meena’s heart expanded with her love for him. “Whenever he saw the light on in my room late into the night, he would bring me a cup of hot chocolate and two cookies, give me a kiss on the top of my head, and tell me I was writing an A paper.”
“You don’t talk about them,” Sam said.
“For a long time, I didn’t even allow myself to think about them. I was afraid that if I did, it would be too painful.” She leaned back and toyed with the handle of her spoon. “I was in geometry class, second period. They both worked for Smith College. I was learning to calculate the volume of a trapezoid. Funny, the details you remember. I got called to the principal’s office. There was an underground gas leak that caused my home to explode. It was quick, they told me. My parents wouldn’t have even known. They were there, then they weren’t.”
He reached over and took the spoon out of her clenched hand, rubbed her fingers straight.
“That afternoon, I was sent to a foster residence a town over,” Meena said. “They brought me a paper bag with a couple of pairs of jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters. The only things I had left were what had been in my backpack when I’d left the house that morning.”