“The chai smells OK.” A short knock, followed by Uma coming through the door.
Tanvi followed. “At least there’s that.”
And lastly Sabina.
“I followed the instructions from the video I took of you making it,” Meena said. “If it’s not good, it’s your fault.” She had a plan. Step one, poke around. See who knew what. Step two, isolate and conquer. Meena had found The Art of War in the process of decluttering and had not only read it but also jotted down notes. The anger was still there. She was ready to find out where to direct it.
“Or maybe you don’t know how to follow instructions,” Uma muttered.
“I brought cookies.” Tanvi opened the tin as they took their seats around the table.
Meena poured from a teapot in the shape of a chicken she’d found while decluttering.
“You’ve been busy,” Sabina said. “We haven’t seen you so much lately.”
“What do you think of the living room?” Meena asked. “It’s bigger, more spacious without all the stuff.”
Sabina glanced around. “It’s better. Less things to dust.”
“I’m glad you kept this teapot.” Tanvi stroked the red beak. “I have a matching one. Neha and I bought them together at a yard sale about ten years ago.”
“Ugliest thing you own,” Uma snickered. “That’s saying a lot since you’re wearing a quilt for a dress.”
“Ignore her.” Tanvi rolled her eyes. “She’s always in a bad mood at the beginning of the semester.”
“Students complain about every assignment in the syllabus.” Uma tapped her knuckles to the table with each word.
“In a month you’ll love them all and brag about them constantly,” Tanvi said.
“Have you always wanted to teach?” Meena knew Uma the least of the three. Right now they were subjects she was investigating. She was laying plans, as Sun Tzu wrote.
“No. I went into the research side, but as a TA while getting my PhD, I liked putting a class together, the interactions and questions from students. As they learned, so did I. It grounded the theoretical. Now I balance the two. Next time, boil the chai longer. It’s not as strong as it needs to be.”
Meena ignored her. “You and Neha must have bonded over books and reading. Do your collections overlap?”
Uma snorted. “Neha was all over the place in terms of what she read. She wasn’t an academic. Though these books aren’t for show, I’ll give her that.”
“Based on the condition of a lot of the books, the dog-eared pages, crinkled covers, she definitely read them,” Meena said. “Did the two of you ever chat over books?”
“Our temperaments didn’t suit.” Uma crossed her arms and sat back in her chair.
“Two ornery people can’t be friends,” Tanvi explained. “They both need a foil to direct their crankiness toward.”
Meena changed course. “Did you always want to be an artist?”
“Always.” Tanvi’s round face lit up. “When we were little girls, we would play school together. Sabina would be the self-appointed teacher. Uma would practice spelling, and I would doodle.”
“She’s a terrible speller,” Uma griped.
“And you can’t draw a straight line without a ruler,” Tanvi said.
“I can’t spell either.” Meena wanted to defuse the sparring. “I’m happy for copyeditors.”
“We have that in common,” Tanvi said. “We’re both visual. Your medium is photography.”