14- Playing the piano for her

Dakota is next to me talking about things related to her job and how she has gotten used to it even though she hates it. She mentions that she would like to be a makeup artist, but she sees it as something far-fetched at her age of 22. I take a deep breath. Talking about frustrated dreams is not something that particularly encourages me today. I share the frustration and the feeling. Just that. I don't aspire to say more. I didn't know she wanted to be a makeup artist, but if I think about her strange makeups, I can deduce that it was the most obvious choice.

"Have you been playing the piano, Eron? We would love for you to play something for us when we get home," Diana Hope inquires.

Speaking of frustrated dreams that I don't want to think about…

The five pairs of adult eyes are fixed on me, expectant of my response. If the baby knew, maybe she would be looking at me too.

I don't know what to tell them. I can barely think about what we just did, let alone digest the fact that I haven't played the piano in seven months or more. Besides, should I make this depressing? We just got out of that sad aura a little while ago.

"Umm, it's complicated," I limit myself to answering.

"If you'd like, there's a song you could try," the older woman smiles. I see her expression lines becoming more prominent. "It was one of Faven and Angus' songs. Sometimes she would sing it to him over the phone. I believed her because my little boy could break a window if he set his mind to it."

I take a sip of the soda in front of me to buy some time before I have to respond to Diana Hope. According to Faven's words, she is very persistent and likes to get what she wants. I'm a little annoyed that she uses her son's memory to her advantage, knowing that just because it's him, I'm likely to give in. Especially now that my level of sensitivity is strangely heightened.

It's not fair.

"What could that song be?" I dare to ask. I'm not sure if I should play something, but I can't just stay silent like an idiot.

"It's a song by The Goo Goo Dolls. I'm sure you know it. It's called Iris," she mentions as she wipes her mouth with a napkin. Yes, of course I know it. We rehearsed it countless times. "Faven loved it when she was a child. Angus used to sing it to her as well and it became their favorite song. It brings back nice memories."

I release as much air as I can through my nose. The melancholic tone in her voice dispels my theory that she's asking me to play the piano just out of whim. In the end, on the 18th of every month, she will be thinking about her son. I suppose that being with two of his closest friends, having the opportunity to feel him again, opened her heart enough to ask for that song that reminds her so much of Faven. At least, that's what I can assume.

I'm not usually the best at reading emotions, but seriously. My damn level of sensitivity is unbearable. I feel like today I can understand everyone's feelings with greater clarity. Even those of the strange Chad. The guy has been trying to be the comedic relief for all of us so that we can laugh a little in the midst of everything.

"Angus was worried about you because you didn't wake up all day yesterday," Diana Hope comments. The mentioned person lightly elbows his arm, indicating for him to be quiet. "He was about to take you to the hospital. It was Dakota who explained to him that you had your care equipment with you and that you hate hospitals to death. The good thing is that you came back in time and there was no need for an IV."

I feel my chest tighten. This time, it's for something that I recognize as a feeling of appreciation. Almost immediately, Angus Hope asks for permission to get up and informs us that he's going to the bathroom.

A few seconds later, I decide to stand up, ask for permission to leave, and follow him. I can't be a coward twice in the same period. I'll have little time here and then I'll be overthinking like an idiot if I don't do something.

I reach the men's bathroom door and take another minute to fill myself with adrenaline again and fulfill what had been promised to me.

Once I gather enough strength, I enter. Once inside, I come face-to-face with the image of Mr. Angus washing his face over and over again in front of the large bathroom mirror. He does it almost anxiously. He splashes water on his face repeatedly and doesn't look at himself in the mirror for more than a second. It seems like he doesn't like seeing himself in that vulnerable state.

"Mr. Hope…" I speak up.

Upon hearing me, he startles. He turns off the faucet and grabs a tissue to wipe his face. Then he straightens up and clasps his hands behind his back.