Heal the Heart

42.

Making excuses should've been a mandatory subject in school. That and filing taxes. Two of the most important skills in life, and yet nobody bothered to teach it to the youngins. Instead, mitochondria being the powerhouse of the cell, was permanently tattooed in my brain. Much help the mitochondria was when I tried to find an excuse to escape a goddamn playdate for try-hard adults.

Was it so hard to just shut off and drop dead on a bed during the weekends? How necessary was this potluck sham in the long run? I couldn't even rejoice over the prospect of free food, since it wasn't even free. First thing in the morning, I had to run to get groceries with a hangover to buy the ingredients for a dish that was currently nesting in the trash. I couldn't even blame these poor folks. Even I couldn't ingest those lemon monstrosities. Food should be made with love and adoration and respect for the person who was about to consume it. Arya always repeated one saying like a broken cassette tape, One has his name on the food he deserves. Unfortunately, these people had their names written on lemon bars that were dryer than the Sahara.

I extracted myself from a huddle where the conversation had shifted to the most absorbing diaper companies and headed to the makeshift buffet table for another juice box. A little away, the wine cooler eyed me lasciviously, beckoning me towards it for some playtime. Then, I saw Brij quirking an eyebrow at me, somehow managing to stay involved in the discussion happening in his huddle while giving me the stink-eye. Fucking Brij and his stupid hawk eye. Booze was a strict no-no for me, so of course I indulged whenever I was alone. Seeing how I wasn't alone at the moment meant my options were reduced to real orange and promising pomegranate—the only way I would ever consume ginger ale was through a nasogastric tube.

Just when I swiped the last real orange, ignoring the five-year-old who also reached for it, Tristan called for everyone's attention with a fork and wine glass.

He stood awkwardly as the entire room turned to him. "Ahem, so thank you everybody for coming."

"That's my dialogue," Brij called out.

"Shut your filthy mouth," Beena shot back.

Tristan valiantly ignored the siblings' squabble and took hold of Beena's hand. "So, uhm, Beena and I have some news to share."

Oh God, she's pregnant, isn't she? She is going to be in sooo much trouble.

Americanised or not, pregnant before marriage was the fastest way to get the aunties talking. I pushed my way to the front of the crowd, and scanned Beena's midriff. Huh? She certainly didn't look pregnant.

The two of them took a deep breath. "We're engaged!"

Well, wasn't that just dandy?

While people rushed forward to congratulate the happy couple and gawk at the diamonds on Beena's finger, I turned the other way, pushing down all those nasty feelings that were reaching up to strangle me.

I went back to the table, trying to busy myself by finding something to eat. That wine cooler was looking real inviting. I'd managed to steer clear of Tristan since I arrived; some conversations were just not meant to ever happen. Whoever knew about Beck and I was under the impression that we split amicably. Tristan came under that category of whoever knew.

I was scooping up a huge portion of chicken parmesan when I saw Tristan striding towards the buffet table from my periphery. And I knew his enthusiasm wasn't directed towards to pork chops, that reminded me, I needed to get the recipe for it.

"Hey," he said, coming to a stop beside me. He leaned against the edge, crossing his ankles. "I've been trying to catch you all evening."

I know, which is why I've been avoiding you. "Hey. Too many people to chat up." I waved a hand. "Congratulations on the engagement. Really happy for you two." So happy, I could swallow fire right about now.