“I’m a photojournalist.”
“Fun.” Tanvi clapped her hands. “Do you have an Instagram?”
“Yes.” It was part of her work now. Most photographers had some social media presence. Meena wasn’t the best at posting, and it was never about her or her life, only her work.
Tanvi pulled out her phone. “Is it under Meena Dave?”
Meena snapped up. Tanvi had pronounced her last name “duh-veh.” “Dave,” Meena corrected. Not that hard to pronounce. A very common name, and while it wasn’t short for David, it was that easy.
“Duh-veh,” Uma said. “That’s the Gujarati version. That’s why we thought you might be Indian and that you were likely using an American version of your name.”
“I’ve only ever known it pronounced as Dave,” Meena said.
“You should ask your parents,” Uma advised. “They could have changed it a few generations ago to fit in.”
Meena’s chest tightened at the casual mention of her parents as if they were still alive.
“It’s an Irish name. At one time the name was Gaelic, and when my father’s family came over, it got changed, was shortened.” It was what her father had told her when she’d asked about their family history. She’d wanted so very much to be a part of something more than just the three of them.
“Is your ethnic background from your mother’s or your father’s side?” Sabina asked.
“Yes.” Meena didn’t know for sure, but her brown skin had to come from at least one of her birth parents. It was a fifty-fifty shot.
“And how did you know Neha?” Sabina asked.
“I didn’t,” Meena said. “I’m here because she left me this apartment.”
“I spoke to Neha’s lawyer yesterday,” Sabina said. “She did not tell me anything except to confirm your name.”
“You checked up on me?”
“I had to verify,” Sabina said. “It’s my duty.”
Maybe they knew why Neha had left the place to Meena. “Neha must have told you who I was, why she left this to me.”
Sabina’s back stiffened. “No. I tried to discuss her plans with her, but she always changed the topic. When she died, we were only told what pertained to us.”
“She left us little mementos,” Tanvi added.
“No mention of what she planned to do with this place,” Sabina said.
So Meena wouldn’t find out much from these three. Disappointed, she sipped the hot chai. It needed sugar, and she reached for it. Sabina took the jar and spooned two teaspoons into Meena’s mug and stirred. Meena nodded her thanks.
“We took care of this apartment.” Uma wiped her hands on a paper napkin. “We didn’t know what else to do.”
“And do you plan to stay?” Sabina asked. “Live here?”
No. “I’m still figuring things out.” And now, with the notes, she wanted to know more.
“Neha never mentioned your name,” Tanvi remarked, “and we knew her our entire lives.”
“Then again, Neha wasn’t, uh, what’s a nonoffensive way to say all there?” Uma said. “She did what she wanted and rarely cared about any rules.”
“She can’t ignore all of them.” Sabina made a tiny pile of paratha crumbs on her plate. “There is a strict entailment process in this building.”
“And Neha found a way around it. She did whatever she wanted,” Uma said. “Like the time she hired a contractor. Took out the second bedroom, made this into a giant open-plan living room, dining area, and then added built-ins on most of the walls for her books. She didn’t ask any of our permission. Then she gave away all of the furniture one day to total strangers.”