Meena didn’t appreciate their humor. She knew that Neha had had her quirks, but she didn’t like that the aunties would talk about Neha in such a mean-spirited way. “You didn’t like her?”
“We loved her,” Tanvi said. “The men joke because they didn’t spend time with her.”
“She didn’t like us.” Jiten drank the last of the liquid in his glass.
“Neha wasn’t a fan of people in general,” Vin said.
“The feeling was mutual.”
“She had other interests.” Meena jumped to Neha’s defense. “Like reading and learning languages. She seemed to like her work too. A person isn’t unlikable because they prefer hobbies to people.”
“How do you know these things?” Sabina asked.
Meena shrugged. “I’ve been living in the apartment for almost two months. I’m a journalist. I picked up on a few things.” Then, because she wanted to needle Sabina, she added, “Neha left journals in her desk, and a few index cards lying around.”
“Yes,” Sabina said. “We came across her workbooks when we cleaned.”
Meena mimicked the slight raise of the eyebrow back at Sabina and reached for another serving of cumin rice and two more deep-fried balls with a savory mash of peas stuffed inside. She was full, but the food was delicious and a solid distraction until the group moved on to the pros and cons of a local nonprofit.
Sam leaned over to Meena’s seat. “You defended Neha.” His voice was quiet, an aside just for her. “Does that mean you’re starting to like her?”
“It’s hard to like or dislike a dead person.” Meena tilted her head closer to his. “I thought they were being rude.”
“Good job,” Sam said.
“Thanks.” His praise made her sit up taller, her smile wider. “I could have really let them have it, but since I’m a guest . . .”
“I can’t imagine you getting mad.”
Meena glanced at him. Of course she got angry. “Remember when you told me I smelled and commented on my messy hair?”
“That was frustration,” Sam said. “When was the last time you were full-on mad? Hot face, inability to form words?”
Meena put down her spoon and wiped her mouth with the edge of her napkin. The incidents that came to mind involved something more along the lines of irritation. Missed flights, bad editors, lost photos. “I’ve had my moments.” The very last time she could remember had been when she was a teenager. She’d wanted to go to a party. Her parents had said no. Something about how college campus parties with alcohol were not for high school students. Frustration and anger had made her bury her hot face into her pink pillows. She’d thrown her stuffed animal across the room, refused to go down for dinner, and given them the silent treatment for two days. Two precious days. Her anger cooled and things returned to normal. They didn’t talk about it. Just a simple “Please pass the toast” and it was over. Three days later everything was gone. Pink pillows. Stuffed animal.
“Are you OK?” Sam asked.
She nodded.
“Then maybe ease up on the napkin.” Sam laid his hand on her. “Sabina might not appreciate you ruining her linen.”
Meena flicked off his hand and smoothed the napkin out over her lap.
“What are you two whispering about?” Tanvi rested her elbow on the table. “Secrets?”
“Napkins,” Sam quickly replied.
“I bought these for Sabina when Vin and I went to Italy a few years ago, and we found them in Ravello on the Amalfi Coast.” Uma stroked the lace on the napkin she held out.