“You still barely bother,” Sabina said. “I keep telling you that you will regret it when you’re seventy and your boobs are hanging to your knees.”
“I accept my body as it ages.” Uma patted her belly. “Gravity can have its way with me. I’d rather be comfortable. Besides, who’s going to care what my breasts look like twenty years from now?”
“Eighty-year-old men,” Tanvi quipped. “Don’t forget seventy is going to be the new fifty by the time we get there.”
“Not according to my knees,” Uma said. “I’m requesting a house with no stairs when we leave here.”
The idea of the aunties not being in this place gave Meena pause. “When your children move back here?”
“We have a plan.” Tanvi smiled. “A nice active adult community in New Jersey. We’re going to buy homes close to each other so we can still do all the things. Sabina will choose first. She’s the one who will have the hardest time leaving here.”
“But I will because that’s how things work,” Sabina stated.
“I remember your kids,” Meena said. “I met your son and daughter at Diwali.”
Sabina took the sari from Tanvi and put it on top of the empty vanity table. “Yes. My daughter, Sarla, is older. I’ve been keeping records for her. She will take over the management of this house when she marries and settles her family here.”
Meena caught Uma’s and Tanvi’s glances.
“Is that what she wants?” she asked.
Sabina met Meena’s eyes. “It is not an option. It is Sarla’s duty, her legacy.”
“She’s at the Air Force Academy in Colorado,” Uma explained. “She wants to be a fighter pilot.”
“And when she’s done there, she will take over,” Sabina said. “Until then I will continue to take care of this building.”
The tension rose in the room. There were undercurrents Meena couldn’t decipher. “Tanvi, you have a son, right? Amul.”
“Yes,” Tanvi said. “I tried for another, hoped for a daughter, but . . .”
“What about you, Meena?” Sabina asked. “Do you want to marry, have children?”
Meena shrugged. “Perhaps. But what I need now is to get out of this skirt before it cuts off circulation.” Meena went to the bathroom, where she’d left her jeans and sweater. As she changed, she realized she was no closer to the truth than an hour ago.
She was coming to realize she was no match for them. When it came to the aunties, the conversation never went as she’d planned.
CHAPTER FORTY
This time she was smarter. She picked a time when Uma was off to teach and Tanvi was at a board meeting for an art education nonprofit. Then she asked Sabina if she would teach Meena how to make Sam’s favorite dish.
“Why sabudana khichdi?” Sabina asked.
“Sam mentioned that yours is the best,” Meena said. “I don’t know what it is, so I thought it would be interesting, something new.”
Sabina pointed to the small white balls she had drying on the center island in her pristine white-and-black kitchen. “It’s tapioca. Sabudana. Khichdi is a catchall term, usually for a rice-and-lentil dish that’s casual and comfortable. Like a stiff risotto. Sabudana is something we eat during religious fasts. But it’s also delicious and satisfying on a cold day.”
Meena took a picture of the tapioca spread. “Then I chose the perfect day.”
“Hmm,” Sabina said. “Wouldn’t it be better to start with something simple like pasta or an omelet?”
Meena grinned. “I can make some basic things.”
“You’d never know from the way you eat takeout,” Sabina challenged.
“It’s easier. Plus, I get three meals from one order, so it’s fairly cheap. And cereal for breakfast is quick and simple.”
“All part of a very unhealthy diet.”
“I order lots of veggies,” Meena argued. “In the stir-fry form.”
Sabina gave a small smile. “Did you grow up eating like this?”
Meena adjusted a setting on her lens. “No. My mom cooked, but she wasn’t a gourmet. She liked the convenience of cans and boxes that only required heat and water. I didn’t really learn about spices and seasonings until college.”
“That’s a shame,” Sabina said. “You don’t make the full use of all of your taste buds if your only seasoning is salt.”
“My palate opened up when I started traveling. The first time I had Indian food was when I went to London to visit Zoe after college. Chicken tikka masala.”
“That’s British food, not Indian,” Sabina exclaimed.
“It was delicious either way,” Meena said. “I didn’t know what I was eating, couldn’t identify the spices, but I couldn’t stop. It was so good. I had the same thing every day for three days.”
“Today you’re about to have authentic Indian food, not co-opted or fused with other cultures. This is farmers’ food from where we come from. Simple, hearty.”
“Why are you drying the tapioca?”
“They come dry, then need to be soaked for a few hours. Once rinsed you spread them out on a towel to get rid of the excess moisture. If you cook them wet, they’ll turn into mush.”
“Can I try one?”
“It won’t taste like anything,” Sabina said. “You can help with the peanuts. I roasted them. You need to remove the skin. Take a handful, rub them between your palms, then pick the ones with no skin and put them in this bowl.”
Meena put the camera down and washed her hands before doing as instructed. It was a tedious job, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Sabina had intentionally left it for her.
“Sam and you, is there something going on?”
Meena concentrated on her task. “We’re friends.”
“You want to learn how to make his favorite dish,” Sabina said. “That’s very friendly.”
“We’ve gone out a few times.” More than that. In the last two weeks, she and Sam had had dinners in or out a few times a week that ended in sleepovers.
“Are you dating or are you boyfriend-girlfriend? I need you to be specific.”
Meena glanced at Sabina. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to give Tanvi fifty dollars,” Sabina clarified. “If you’re only dating, that doesn’t count.”
“You bet on us?”
“Don’t be offended,” Sabina said. “We bet on everything.”