Page 79 of A Play For The Heart
The laughter is so loud, it nearly shakes the wall.
“Don’t worry, I was invited.”
Invited? What the fuck.
Hell has most definitely frozen over.
Maren glides back into the living room from her bedroom, looking unphased by our visitor. “I’m calling a temporary truce. For your sake. You’re welcome.” She deadpans, grabbing two beers from the fridge and handing one to Jack.
My head swings back and forth, looking at them both. I feel like I’m witnessing history or spotted some rare species, and if I go to tell someone, they’ll call me crazy and then attempt to commit me.
Wait.
“For my sake?” I ask her, incredulously, moving into the kitchen to grab myself a glass of wine. I have a feeling that alcohol is going to be a vital player in my survival for whatever Maren has planned.
“Mhm,” Maren hums, taking a sip of her beer. I wait for her to say something else. Maybe elaborate on what the hell she’s talking about, but it's radio silence from her.
I swing my head to Jack, pleading with my eyes that he fills me in on whatever is going on.
“Sit,” Jack says softly, but I recognize the command in his voice. I immediately feel like I did something wrong, and my parents are sitting me down to scold me. Not something I ever imagined feeling in the presence of these two, but I guess weirder things have happened lately. I flop down onto the couch and take a massive gulp of wine.
“Maren baby decided she wanted to play cupid and now feels responsible.” I look over at Maren, who is giving it her best shot not to glare daggers at him with the use of the endearment. She loathes when he calls her ‘Maren baby’. I think it's adorable, and the fact she hates it makes it even more endearing. “Which is why she called me and proposed a 'cease fire'. Personally, I wasn’t aware we were at war, but that’s a chat for later.”
“Um…” I am super confused. The most confused.
“I want to help fix things,” Maren states, sincerity lacing the statement.
“Help… fix things?”
“With you and Henry. You two are clearly meant to be together; he just needs a little push.”
I sigh. I couldn’t love her more for trying to help. But she can’t mend this back together with sheer will and brute force. If that was all it took, I would have done it in that hospital room. It’s not that simple.
She keeps going. “I know I told you to stop wallowing, but I couldn’t watch you keep falling deeper into the rabbit hole, so I went for tough love.” She shoots me a watery grin. “I haven’t always been the softest person, but I’m trying. I care about you. And you deserve to be happy. Henry makes you happy. So, we need to work towards that.”
I can see how her brain has processed it all. With logic and fact and science. I can see how much effort she’s put in to express her feelings. Just knowing how much she cares sends tears to my eyes.
“Oh, god,” she shrieks, eyes wide in panic. She turns to Jack, clearly freaking out, “help me!” she pleads to him.
I bark out a laugh. I never imagined her to panic and ask Jack for help. She turns her panicked face back towards me, eyes searching me like I’m some puzzle she can’t complete.
“Sorry,” I say between laughs. “The tears aren’t sad, they’re happy ones. Grateful for our friendship tears.”
“Oh.”
Now it's Jack’s turn to laugh. Maren turns and punches his arm. If anything, it makes his laughter worse. He gasps, feigning hurt, but she just rolls her eyes and turns back to me.
“Well?”
She wants an answer to her proposition. To help Henry and I get back together. Part of me wants her to help. To drag him back by force. But that won’t work. If Henry wants this, wants us, he needs to decide that on his own. And if he doesn’t, that’s something he also needs to decide.
That thought sends a new stream of tears and suddenly I’m ugly crying into my glass of wine in front of my roommate and her ‘enemy’. Between seeing Micah and my conversation with Declan, I’m at the end of my rope with what I can handle emotionally. This shindig is sending me over the edge.
“Those are sad tears,” Jack adds helpfully, causing me to laugh between the tears.
“No,” I say, the conviction in my voice clear, even through the tears. “It’s on him to decide.”
It doesn’t look like she agrees with my choice, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, Maren scoots over towards me and gives me a crushing hug. In the nearly six months we’ve lived together, I can count on one hand the amount of times Maren has initiated a hug. She’ll accept them, but she doesn’t give them out often. I sink into the hug, feeling better from the contact.
