Page 14 of A Play For The Heart
“I told you I would cover the snacks,” I laugh, swiping a cracker off a plate. “But I’ll never turn down food.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
I settle into the couch, getting comfortable when suddenly the realization of what she’s wearing hits me.She must really love the Mavericks.It feels as though something is lodged in my throat and I start to become hyper-aware of the situation, my heart thumping in my ears.
What will happen if she finds out about Henry and Declan?The last thing I want is for her to end up using me for my friendship to get closer to them. I haven’t had a ton of girlfriends in the past, and the budding friendship with Maren is one I'm growing to cherish. I was used by my so-called ‘friends’ once before and I’m not sure if I would recover from it emotionally if it happened again.
“You must really love the Seattle Mavericks,” I comment, hoping the tone of my voice doesn’t give away any of my concern or fear.
“Eh, they’re fine," Her hand waves through the air in dismissal. “Honestly, I’m more of a Detroit fan since that’s where I grew up, but I spilled a whole bunch of hot sauce on that jersey earlier when I made the buffalo chicken dip, so I changed into this one since it felt wrong not to wear a jersey while I watched the game.”
Her response eases some of the tightness in my chest and I take a deep breath, having slightly more reassurance that she won’t completely lose her shit if or when I tell her about them. Although, it seems like it’s only a matter of time before she runs into one of them in the apartment. Henry and I left so early for the whale-watching tour that Maren was still asleep, saving me from having to explain why a professional football player was standing in our kitchen. I can only imagine the conversation. Who’s that? Oh, just my pal, Henry. He’s just a six-foot-three, slab of muscle who crunches numbers for a living. Yeah right. On sight, it's a dead giveaway he’s an athlete. The same goes for Declan. They aren’t fooling anyone.
A knock at the door ends the conversation and I move through the kitchen to answer the door. On the other side of the threshold, Nathalie juggles a bottle of white wine and two boxes of Cheez-Its in her grip. I chuckle, then move to the side so she can walk into the apartment and shut the door behind her. As I follow her back into the kitchen, I hear Maren yell, “You brought Cheez-Its? Score!”
The moment I saw Nathalie holding the multiple boxes of Cheez-Its in her hands, I knew she and Maren were going to get along just fine. The way to Maren’s heart is through her stomach, and you get an express pass if you have artificially flavored crackers.
Chuckling at Maren’s comment, I attempt to grab a wine glass from the cabinet above the fridge, wiggling my fingers as I extend my arm toward the cupboard. I perform a small leap, snatching the glass.
She sticks the landing.
The crowd goes wild.
Maren must have forgotten that some people live their lives at a lower elevation. I mentally put a step stool on my shopping list.
Passing it over, she mumbles a quick thanks and pours herself a glass. With her wine glass in one hand and a box of Cheez-Its in the other, we both shuffle into the living room and join Maren on the couch. Looking at the coffee table, it's blatantly obvious that all three of us share a love for snacks. Given all of the food we each brought combined, the three of us could hunker down if there was an apocalypse and still probably have leftovers.
“Nathalie, this is Maren. Maren, this is my coworker, Nathalie.”
“Hi,” Nathalie’s voice is soft as she looks Maren up and down. Her eyes latch onto the eye black painted on Maren’s skin. Honestly, if I met Maren in her current state, I would also be a bit hesitant. She looks less like a sports fan and more like a Viking prepared for battle.
“She brought Cheez-Its, Sawyer. No need for introductions, we’re already best friends. The game’s about to start, if you guys are okay to watch that.”
Maren turns the volume up on the television, the sound of announcers chatting in the background. While we wait for the game to officially start, Maren tells us about her day at work. It pains me not to pry, because I love a good secret, but the last few times she’s spoken about her job, she hasn’t seemed very…enthusiastic. Her excitement for the ocean is obvious. I mean I’ve seen atleasta dozen fish-themed shirts and I haven’t lived with her for that long. Maren doesn’t share often, but the curious part of me wonders what exactly makes her feel that way.
I pick at the snacks on the table while the coin is tossed, and the game begins. The offense takes the field and my eyes are glued to the screen, searching for numbers eleven and ninety-seven. My stomach does a small flip-flop when I spot Henry and Declan. The three of us watch in concentration as the center snaps the ball to Deon, the quarterback. Deon hands it off to the running back who manages to gain a few yards. The rest of the first half goes in a similar manner and neither Henry nor Declan touches the ball very often. I swear Maren was going to burst a blood vessel from screaming “throw the ball” at the TV screen. At halftime, Seattle is down by seven. Even through the TV screen, I can see that some of the players are frustrated as they move toward the locker room.
Midway through the third quarter, both teams are tied, and my stomach has been doing one-eighty flips every time Declan or Henry gets tackled. It’s easily the worst part of watching them play. For sixty minutes, my entire body is tense with anxiety that one of them is going to get injured. I’ve nearly developed a nail-biting habit.
The game seems to take a turn for the worse, at least for Seattle. It’s clear there was some sort of adjustment in the locker room at halftime because the offense came out throwing the ball more than running it. The team battled all the way down the field into the red zone, with the chance to take the lead. The ball is snapped, and I watch as Deon takes in his surroundings, head swiveling, looking for the open player. In the back of the endzone, he spots Henry and launches the ball. I hold my breath as the ball flies through the air in a perfect spiral right toward him. The ball meets Henry's hands, and just as I fly out of my seat in excitement, Henry drops the pass.
The wide-open-no-one-even-close-to-him pass.
Henry never drops a pass.
“What are you doing, butterfingers!” Maren shrieks, launching herself off the couch and towards the TV screen to yell as if he could hear her through it. The camera zooms in on Henry, his head hung low standing in the end zone. Running towards him, Deon puts a hand on his shoulder and says something to him. Nodding, Henry heads back towards the line of scrimmage. They snap the ball to Deon, and he scans the field again. This time, both Henry and Declan are open in the end zone. Expecting him to throw it to Henry, my jaw drops slightly when Deon throws the ball in the other direction, towards Declan, who catches the ball with grace.
“Touchdown!” Maren and Nathalie scream in unison. At this point, I’m not sure what team Maren is actually rooting for. An empty smile flutters onto my face. A small war rages inside me as I watch the game. Part of me knows I should be more excited for Declan, but all I can think about is the curt messages and how he keeps blowing me off. The other part can't shake how bad Henry must feel. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s always been so hard on himself when it comes to football. I never really understood why, but I know he’s probably beating himself about the fumble.
The fact that Declan keeps blowing me off constantly returns to my thoughts with a vengeance. Since I refuse to talk to Henry about it, I may have to rip off the band-aid and tell Maren and Nathalie my little secret so I can ask them for advice. If they end up reacting poorly, at least it's early enough in the friendship that it won’t hurt as badly. Hopefully. It would make living here impossible and my job awkward, but I’m crossing my fingers I didn’t misjudge them.
I watch the rest of the game in stoic silence, and when Maren moves to turn off the TV, I decide it’s time to drop the truth bomb.
“I have something to share with you guys.”
The energy in the air shifts, and Maren and Nathalie both look over at me, confused by the seriousness in my voice.
“Okay?” Nathalie’s brows furrow together behind her glasses.
