Did I make a mistake by not interfering with Mike's rant? My history of running away from conflict isn't lost on me. I'd be a terrible soldier: the fight or flight reflex, in my case is always flight. I had no stake in Mike's conflict with his in-laws, but I didn't want to be the next one to get kicked out, and interfering might've led me straight into that trap. So I ran.

"D'you mind if I call Ben?" I ask Tall. "He found out Mike flew off the handle."

"Tell me about that. Gossip is better than eclairs."

"I'm trying to pretend you didn't just say that. I'll be right back."

"No-no, stay here. They don't like people using cell-phones in the hallway. It disturbs the residents."

The glint in Tall's eyes betrays his desire to eavesdrop, but I don't get a chance to contradict him because an incoming video call from Ben pops onto my screen.

"I couldn't wait any longer." Ben's pacing in a room in front of a floor-to-ceiling window.

"Sorry, was explaining to Tall here."

"You're on speakerphone." Tall waves me over to the head of his bed. I sit on its edge and center the phone, so we can both see Ben.

"How's New York treating you?" Tall looks at Ben's image on the screen in my hand.

"No small talk, please. I don't have much time. I need Amelie to help Mike and Angie work through their current crisis."

"Can't they talk to each other?" Mike's a bit of a mystery to me, and Angie can be, ok, is impulsive and emotional, but this can't be more than a lover's spat.

"In most circumstances, but I don't think it's the case at this point. You'll mediate. Don't let them point fingers or assign blame. Focus on them expressing their views of the problem without the other one interrupting. Don't let them leave until they agree on what they'll do to work things out."

"You sound like my therapist." Except in English. My therapist only spoke French.

"I'm nothing of the sort, but the first time I got stuck in the middle of their argument, it freaked me out. Basic research into mediation prepared me for the next one. They're consistent in their bouts of fights and reconciliation."

"Not sure I'm the best person for this. Can't it wait until you're back?"

"Just go there and make them talk to each other, my girl." Tall's hand lands on my shoulder. 

"Ben's overcomplicating things. And you've got nothing to lose: you have a place to stay now."

"You found an apartment?" Ben stops pacing, to the relief of my head, which is starting to get woozy.

"We've reached a deal," says Tall. "She's going to housesit for me, come visit me a lot, bring me eclairs, and I promise to get out of bed once in a while."

"You haven't started walking?" Ben's voice rises in volume so much that I move the phone further away from us.

"You are not my doctor." Tall matches Ben's loudness. He's not a shy or quiet man, but it's the second time I've ever heard him raise his voice like that.

"According to recent studies, the mortality rate of elderly men over eighty with a second hip fracture and subsequent hip replacement is around twenty-six percent. If you don't start walking every day, your chances to be part of the twenty-six percent increase exponentially."

"Thank you for the information I already know. I don't need your help. My mental faculties are intact."

"I don't want you to die." Ben's plain and simple words punch me in the heart. Tall dying didn't even cross my mind.

"It's not something you can control, Ben, nor can I, for that matter."

"You can improve your chances if you walk. I've read the research, and movement is the most effective way—"

"Can you get me my toiletries? I don't want to drip all over the floor." Linda's voice in the background forces Ben to turn away from the screen. "They're in my suitcase in the silver pouch." Her wet hair covers her naked shoulders while Ben blocks the rest of what I'm sure is a view of a naked Linda.

"I'm not going to discuss this any further, and it looks like your help is needed elsewhere." Tall hangs up the call. "I hate it when he meddles."

I can usually get his sarcasm, but this is not that. My mind swirls between me moving to Tall's, my impending conversation with Mike and Angie, Tall's anger at Ben, Ben's anger at Tall, my anger at Linda. My anger at Linda. I'm so stupid. Of course, they are staying in the same room, and he's fetching things for her. It's myself I should be angry at because Ben and Linda aren't doing anything wrong.

***

Mike sits on one side of the square kitchen table, his t-shirt damp from the run. Angie sits opposite him with a steaming cup of chamomile-ginger tea I've brewed for her, and I sit in between them with a larger mug of my own. Tea can fix anything.

"Are we agreed on the rules?" I look from one of them to the other—neither answers.

"One of the rules was for you to answer when I ask."

"Fine," says Angie.

"Mike?" They can't keep behaving like children.

"Ok, fine."

I place a quarter on the table.

"Angie's heads, and Mike is tails. Any objections?"

Silence.

"Any objections?" I raise my voice, annoyed.

"No," they answer in unison.

The coin spins on the table and lands on tails. I'm already exhausted.

"Mike, tell Angie why you decided to book a hotel for her parents, what motivated you."

"Isn't it obvious?" says Mike.

"I'm not a mind reader." Angie takes his bait.

"Angie, stop. Mike, I don't have to be here, you can continue being angry at each other, or you can make an effort and tell Angie what your thought process was."

"I thought I made it pretty clear to everyone, but sure, let me spell it out again. I'm tired. I just sunk all my savings into opening up a new location for the Taekwondo Academy. I haven't slept for longer than four hours at a time in three weeks. And even when Kora is asleep, I can't relax in my own home, because it's been occupied. The constant insults about my mom not being here while they're heroically helping us. What help? The crib's half-assembled, and I would've done it in no time and not three weeks. Why didn't they get a hotel room in the first place?" Mike slumps back in his chair and avoids eye-contact with Angie.

To make sure Mike's done, I give it a couple of minutes before switching to Angie, who is quiet. Much too quiet. She looks breakable with her head hanging low, her hands grasping at her cup, and tears trailing down her cheeks.

"Do you need a moment?" I massage her shoulder, unsure if we should keep going. "Do you have any questions for Mike?"

"No. Nothing he says is technically untrue, but he hasn't mentioned me once in his story." Angie's loud whisper is nothing like her usual vibrant soprano. "It's like my feelings about this don't matter. Like I'm not the one up pumping every two hours, and not sleeping, and healing from the C-section. I know my parents aren't as much help as they assume they are, but I haven't seen them in a year. And they are my parents. I can't kick them out when they want to stay."

Mike's selfishness is undeniable but he's an exhausted new parent too. Why haven't I talked to my friend, my best friend, presumably, about how she's been feeling?

"I'm sorry. You know I love you." Mike's hand crosses the too-small table and covers Angie's hand.

"I love you too. Not sure that's enough, though. How can we live together under the same roof, and you not tell me you got my parents a hotel room until you kick them out in front of me without even talking to me about it first. I'm your wife and your partner and now the mother of your child. You can't make unilateral decisions like that."

"I was going to tell you. I got the hotel room this afternoon and was going to talk to you tonight and then tell your parents, but your Dad set me off. I'm sorry. I am. It's never been the plan to exclude you."

"I don't know anymore."

"Maybe it's time to agree on the next steps? Now that Rose and Fred are at the hotel, and I'm at Tall's, you can have your privacy back. That's a good step, right?" Mike nods while Angie stares at her tea. "What d'you think you should do next?" I ask Mike.

"Apologize to her parents," he says.

"Not a bad move." I smile in encouragement. "What would you like to happen next?" I ask Angie.

"I'd like my parents back and for Mike to move to the hotel."

My head swivels to see the look of indignation on Mike's face. "It's my—"

Kora chooses this moment to wake up.

"I'll get her." Mike's up and gone before Angie or I have a chance to react.

The right questions I should've asked Angie in the first place come to me.

"Have you written any new music or lyrics since Kora was born?"

"It's gone." She shakes her head. "Music isn't around me anymore. I'm empty, and the well of song water has run dry."

"Who's the pretty baby?" Mike's voice is high-pitched and bubbly. He brings Kora, who's no longer crying, but is looking around as he carries her. "Here's your mommy, here she is." Mike hands Kora to Angie. "I'm going to warm up her bottle, and then I can change her."

Angie's expression doesn't shift at the sight of her daughter. She's stone-faced and apathetic. That's when I know it's not about Mike or her parents, and we have a much bigger conversation on our hands.

***

Moving is too grand of a word for me driving my suitcase and a box of stuff I've accumulated in the last weeks into Tall's apartment. It's the easiest thing I do this Saturday because all of the morning and most of the afternoon was spent shuttling people between the hotel and Angie's and Mike's apartment, preventing new arguments from escalating into flights and persuading Angie to schedule an appointment with her gynecologist to get evaluated for postpartum depression.

With the first step into Tall's apartment time rewinds to Ben and I visiting this place five years ago. Nothing has changed. The ceiling in the living room is high, and the moldings are formidable. Bookshelves cover every wall, the spaces above the doors and below the windows. The row of glass-door fridge-like humidity-controlled cabinets for books that are old or require special care are in the same spots. I admire the first editions: Ulisses, The Great Gatsby, Casino Royale, and Pride and Prejudice.

The only bedroom has two twin beds with a side table in between. One is covered with a delicate lacy coverlet, while the other has a utilitarian white and gray comforter with a geometric pattern. Tall said the one with the lacy cover was his wife's. It's going to be mine for the duration of my stay there.

Tall and I didn't see eye to eye initially, but our shared love of books, tea, eclairs, and Ben brought us close. I unpack the few belongings I have and wander around, brushing my hand against the countless volumes around me. The kitchen is cozy, and after opening some drawers, I find Tall's stash of tea and take-out menus. I place an order and settle down with tea and a copy of War and Peace in Tall's recliner—the only flat surface not covered by books.

How's the additional internal monologue faring in Am's POV? Did you like it or was it too much? Or maybe still not enough? 

NaNoWriMo: Day 17 31,292 words.