Page 18 of A Game Plan for Love

The last woman I dated, Gia, is a perfect example. She was standoffish to my friends, refused to do anything unless the cost ended in multiple zeros, and shehatedapple pie. Who the fuck hates apple pie?

It was the final nail in the coffin that was our short relationship.

The only reason it had lasted that long was because I forced it—told myself it may not be perfect, but it was better than being alone.

“Good. You’re all here.”

I survey Maren and Jack’s home and the love that pours out of every inch of the space. The light wood and creams of the space are inviting, and the few weeks I spent here in spring were some of the most peaceful I’ve ever had.

I’ve never been able to voice the words, but the days when Jack and I silently worked together in his greenhouse healed some of the small fissures in my soul. I could acknowledge the grief creeping up my throat like bile without the pressure to convince everyone I was coping. Jack understands the pain of losing a parent, and he never pushed. I’ll never know how to thank him for his kindness.

A chaotic ball of onyx fur darts down the hallway and crashes into my legs. Ragnar, Jack and Maren’s energetic puppy, swirls between my legs.

“Ragnar!” Maren chides when he leaps up onto my chest. Her tone demands submission, but Ragnar ignores her like she’s dust in a high corner. “Ugh, who am I kidding? He doesn’t listen.”

I drop the tote bag hanging off my shoulder onto the kitchen island. Snacks for each person tumble out, and greedy hands snatch them away.

Jack rips into a piece of jerky. “Why are we all here?”

“This better be good. It’s the first night of our dating show,” Deon adds, mouth full of pretzels.

“Don’t worry,” Nathalie whispers to Deon, “I recorded it and blocked all the social media accounts so I don’t spoil it.”

He drops a reverent kiss to her forehead, and my heart squeezes. I’m glad he’s finally allowed himself the love he deserves.

“I’ve got it, Declan,” Maren says, wheeling the large whiteboard from her office into the living room. She sets it up in front of the couch. “Everyone, sit.”

“What’s going on?” Henry asks, clasping my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

I let the giddy smile I’ve been holding back slip. After my chat with Sharon today, I’m lighter than I have in a long time.

There’s a sense of anticipation flooding my veins, like a dam has been broken.

“Does this have something to do with your zing?” he asks quietly. I nod, and Henry chuckles. “Well, alright. I can’t wait to see what wack shit you and Maren came up with.”

He sits down beside his wife on the large L-shaped sofa and pulls her into his lap. Deon and Nathalie are huddled close, and Jack sits like a lone wolf, watching his wife with a wary, yet affectionate gaze.

Maren stands on one side of the whiteboard. Her smile is wide, if not slightly manic. I stand on the other side and nod for her to flip the board.

There’s no one I trust more with creating a plan than Maren. She is a scientist after all, and she executed Deon’s grand gesture for Nathalie with efficiency, even if she did bark orders like it was her calling in life.

She flips the board, and the words “a game plan for love” are written in large pink letters at the top. Small hearts and stars are drawn around the words.

“Welcome to the planning session,” Maren says, whipping out a long pointer I didn’t know she owned. She taps the whiteboard three times in quick succession.

Nathalie raises her hand and waves it wildly. She speaks before being called upon. “Is this about Addie?! Please, tell me it’s about her.” She turns to Deon. “What do you know?”

“Even less than you,” he grumbles. “She gave him a trash can and he zinged.”

“Aw, you’re like a little raccoon,” Sawyer coos.

Jack stifles a laugh, but Henry doesn’t bother, outright cackling at his wife's statement. My shoulders curl inward slightly at the teasing. I know they mean it in jest, but her gesture means something to me. Even if it was unorthodox.

“Enough!” Maren booms, and the room goes silent. She drags her pointer in the air, pausing on each of our friends who stare at her with shocked gazes. Even Jack looks on with concern. She stops on Henry, who cowers beneath her gaze. “We are here to scheme. If you’re not going to participate, then you know where the door is. We have ground to make up for after our care package fuck-up. She was theonlyperson to think of Declan, it doesn’t matter that she gave him a trash can.”

She levels each person in the room with a look that harbors no argument, and Sawyer’s lower lip quivers. “We’re really sorry about that,” she says softly. Henry runs a hand over her spine.

“I know.”

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