Dear Maria (on hold)

Part 16

 Maria's and my laughter nearly drowned out the thunder that crackled above her house, demoting the rain to background noise as it slid incessantly down the window. I stood in her kitchen, pouring Maria and I another glass of wine, looking up over the counter and into the living room, where Maria stood between the warm light spilling from the lamp beside the couch, and the dark, cold window that separated the outside world from the cozy one we shared inside. She was bent over slightly with the force of her laughter, her cinnamon curls falling like a curtain between her head and her shoulder. I was about the bring the glasses of wine out to where she stood, when the phone rang. I set the glasses of wine down on the counter while I waited for her. She picked up the phone, a grin still curving her lips up as she panted out a “Hello?” I waited, doing my best to give her some privacy. I stop pretending to look anywhere but at Maria when I see her freeze, her expression no longer one of carefree love laughter, but of complete and utter shock and horror. The phone slides from her limp hand, and I move across the living room just in time to keep her from slumping to the floor and hitting her head on the table next to the couch. I wrap my arms securely around my waist and slowly sink to the floor, unable to support her weight entirely.

“Maria.” I breathe, my heart pounding. I hold her and do my best to calm her down; she'd begun hyperventilating. I rub my hands up and down her arms, and pull her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears. I murmured nonsense into her ear, repeating her name over and over, and promising her that it'll be okay, that she's all right. “Come on Maria, tell me what's wrong baby?” I plead softly, looking into her wide, dark eyes. In that moment, she is framed in the black window as a bolt of lighting flashes outside, her eyes shining with tears, darker than I'd ever seen them, her hair falling haphazardly around her face. I'd never seen her so incapacitated by pain, had never seen that look of horror and awful knowledge in her eyes before, and still, she'd never looked more beautiful or seemed so human, so real. I had never loved her so much.

I held her, my arms securely around her, for a long time. The rain continued to pour, and the night grew older as I held her, our wine glasses sitting forgotten on the counter. After awhile (it could have been several hours, or just thirty minutes, my sense of time was awful), Maria tried to stand up, and I quickly rose to my feet and helped her up, and over to the couch. She sat close to me, leaning into me, and I wrapped my arms back around her.

“Tell me what happened, Maria.” I encouraged. Her hand tapped frantically against her knee, and I gently folded my hand around hers. She looked down at our intertwined hands, seeming to realize for the first time that her hand had been shaking. She looked up at my face, and I saw an emotion I had never previously associated with her: fear. I had never been the protector before, only the protected, but I felt an overwhelming urge to envelop Maria in my arms and keep her safe from the world. Instead, I settled for resting my hand lightly against her cheek. She relaxed into me, closing her eyes briefly. Maria twisted her face slightly to kiss the palm of my hand, then opened her eyes.

“My step-sister, Alyssa, just called. My mom just passed away.” Maria told me, her voice quiet and lifeless.

“Oh, Maria!” I cried softly, hugging her to me and for the first time since she'd answered the phone, Maria started crying. She gripped me tightly, shaking us both with the force of her sobs. Her warm, salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked through my shirt, but I didn't mind. Though I was solely focused on Maria, her pain, and how to help her, a part of that focus was grateful that I was the one holding her, that I could be the woman to comfort her.