“What are you up to?” Tanvi stepped around the boxes.
“Clearing out some of Neha’s things in the bedroom.” Meena led Tanvi back.
“I suppose it is time.” Tanvi found an empty spot on the floor and sat down. “Let me help.” She began folding. “We talked about it but couldn’t make ourselves do it. Then you came. Then you left. How was your trip? I told Uma and Sabina that we’re adding Seoul to our list of trips. I want to go to that club.”
“You’ll love it.”
“I would never judge anyone’s fashion sense, but Neha’s was really out there.” Tanvi held up a sweater in bright red. The front had a black felt top hat, mustache, and monocle sewn on. “I’m not sure anyone could pull this off.”
Meena laughed. Tanvi joined in.
“I remember her wearing a lot of these,” Tanvi said. “Uma is usually in jeans. Sabina must always have some Indian artifact on, jewelry or a kurta. I thought I was the brave one in my color choices. But Neha took it to the next level.”
“You’re welcome to anything you’d like to keep.” Meena waved her arm over the clothes. “This is just the beginning. I’m going to donate most everything.”
Tanvi nodded. “Don’t donate the art. It’s kitschy and weird, but some of it I made.”
“I’d like to keep what’s yours.” She really hoped it wasn’t the nude bottle-caps dude.
Tanvi gave her a big smile. “Of course.”
Meena chewed on her lip. “Can I ask why no one’s come by since I’ve been back?”
“I just did.”
Meena nodded. “You didn’t bring chai. And I haven’t seen Uma at all.”
“I see. It’s not the company you’re missing but the tea.”
“No. It is the company. Things feel different somehow.”
Tanvi crossed her legs on the floor and reached over for another empty box. “Well, we didn’t know if you were coming back. You never mentioned it in any of our conversations or texts. You came back the way you left, without word. This building is like a family. Yes, it can seem a little too close with everyone in each other’s business. It’s what we’re used to and you’re not.”
“I know I’m not part of the family . . .”
“I meant it’s not what you’re used to,” Tanvi said. “You keep your door locked and come and go as you please, and that’s understandable.”
“You’re right. I haven’t been very . . . I don’t know . . . involved.”
Tanvi reached over and squeezed Meena’s hand. “Yes. But we are here if—when you want to see what it is like again.”
“The way I left was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” Meena explained.
“Work can be like that. When inspiration hits me, I go into my studio and don’t answer my phone for hours. You have a job that needs you to be somewhere fast, you go. Remember, though, we appreciate texts with some details instead of a generic note on the door.”
“Got it.”
“You are independent,” Tanvi observed. “You don’t need anyone. Maybe because you’ve been on your own since you were a teenager. It’s also OK to rely on people, ask for help. Friendship can only work if it’s reciprocated.”
This time Meena reached over and squeezed Tanvi’s hand. “I’m sorry for leaving like that. And thank you for helping me with all of this.”
“Neha did have a lot.” They folded items as the wind howled outside.