CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A day after she’d come back, she’d run into Sam and Wally. He’d taken her departure and return in stride, had asked a few questions with genuine interest, and had asked her to dinner.
A few days later, Meena met him in the foyer. The slim side table held a fresh bouquet of purple and white dahlias. There was a hint of cinnamon in the air from the potpourri bowl next to the vase. Meena gave Sam a slight wave as he stepped out of his apartment. In a simple pale-blue sweater, dark-brown jacket, and jeans, he was casual. This time his hair wasn’t slicked down, just brushed back, the curls falling as they wished.
“Sounds like Wally doesn’t want you to leave,” Meena said.
Sam sighed as he closed the door behind him. “We both need some time away from each other. He’ll settle. I gave Tanvi strict instructions not to bring him out of his crate.”
“Tough love.” Meena felt bad for the puppy and for Sam.
“The training videos on YouTube say it’s good for him. We don’t want him to have separation anxiety every time I leave him home.”
“You think the aunties will stay away?”
“I can only hope.”
It was dusk, even though it was just past five thirty. Tonight the clocks would change. She used to hate it when daylight saving ended. Remembered leaving school in the dark even though it was barely four. Perpetual darkness. She never liked this side of fall and winter.
“How was your trip?”
“It was good, productive.”
“Iceland bars. Sounds fun.”
She told him about the people she’d met and repeated the joke Odkell had told her.
“Tanvi mentioned your door was locked again,” Sam mentioned. “That’s how she knew you were back.”
“I haven’t seen them yet,” Meena said.
“Everything OK?”
“What do you mean?”
“You seem, I don’t know, sad?”
She gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m tired. I’ve been wrestling with some things, and I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.”
“I’m a good listener,” Sam offered.
“I know,” Meena said. “I’m still sorting out the words to explain when I don’t know what’s going on myself.”
“I get it.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.” Just a career crisis and finding my birth mother, who is dead, while finally mourning my real parents, who died when I was sixteen.
They walked for a bit, and Meena appreciated that Sam didn’t have the need to fill every pause. As they neared the Public Garden, the street was busy with people cutting through on their way home from work or to meet friends. A few who didn’t mind the crisp chill in the air sat on benches. She wondered if Neha had spent much time in the large park in the middle of the city.
“I looked up Neha’s obituary,” Meena said.
“I was the one who wrote it.”
“Not the aunties?”
“Sabina planned the funeral, Uma took care of the food, Tanvi the flowers. Their husbands performed the rites, and I wrote the obituary.”
“You each had a role.”
“We went with our strengths.”
“What about her parents?” My grandparents?
“Sabina reached out to them,” Sam said. “Neha didn’t have much of a relationship with them. At their age, they weren’t up for a long flight from Nairobi.”