Meena laughed. “Are you serious?”
“If you clear it out and give the floors a quick polish, then yes, we can get that for this location.”
“What if I were to sell it?”
Clifton narrowed his eyes. “You’d have to get it appraised, but ballpark, if you updated the kitchen, freshened up the paint, I’d say about two and a half to three million dollars. Now, if you put in a little elbow grease, you can get more, if you take out the built-ins.”
Meena braced herself against the back of the sofa. This was life-changing money. She needed to think, process. She knew the apartment was big and had assumed it was worth some money, but not this much. “I . . . OK. Let me think things through. I’m heading to New York in two days. Can we touch base early next week? I’ll have a better idea about when I can come back and clear this place out.”
He nodded. “If you are considering selling, this type of unit doesn’t come on the market that often.”
She also didn’t know if she had to use a broker since she could only sell to owners in this building. “I guess I have a lot to think about.”
As she showed him out, Uma was on her way down the stairs.
“Who was that?”
Getting right to the point, this one. “Where are you off to?”
“Office hours,” Uma muttered. “Students will be lining up to get as much information as they can for the midterms. Did you have company?”
“Oh, uh, no.” Meena shook her head. “He’s helping me with something.”
“What sort of something?” Uma asked.
Meena wasn’t ready to get into it. “Just apartment stuff.”
“Hmmm. Did you clear it with Sabina?”
“Why?”
Uma sighed. “I don’t have time right now, but she’s in charge, and if you’re doing anything with the place like renovating, you’ll need her permission.”
Meena made fists with her hands, squeezed, then released to handle the rising frustration as Uma opened the front door and headed out. The short woman was huddled in a brown jacket, a bulky shoulder bag tapping against her thigh as she rushed down the outside steps. Meena closed the front door before heading back into her apartment.
She gave in, reached up, and released the bun. Her long, thick hair fell around her. She picked out a few strands along her right shoulder and began to wrap them around each other. It was a bad habit, as the miniature braids created hard-to-untangle knots. She’d done it as a kid whenever she was studying something complicated like chemistry or when she was nervous or needed to think. Whenever her mom would catch Meena doing this, she would gently take Meena’s hands from her hair and give her something else to hold, like a glass of water or a pencil.
But Hannah wasn’t here, hadn’t been for a long time, and sometimes Meena needed to give in. The furniture, books, lamps, boxes, trinkets, paintings, vases, candles seemed as if they were closing in on her. There was only enough space to stand and navigate through the clutter. She didn’t have time for this. She had a flight booked for Sunday afternoon, and a day and a half wasn’t enough to make even the smallest difference.
She leaned against the fireplace mantel and stared at the piles of books on the desk against the back windows. Then there were the notes. There had to be more than the few she’d found. Little missives from the dead with possible clues to Meena’s own history. If she shoved everything in boxes, she might not find them all.
Meena let go of her hair. The question wasn’t about renting or selling or even getting back to her life. What she needed to figure out was if she wanted to know anything more than that she and Neha were connected in some way. It should be enough. It was in the past, which could never be changed.