About the Heart

Sensitive Feelings

My worries began to subside when Dion called an hour after my ignored call. Sorry, that was the first word he said for making a fret. That's how he is, I interrupted his concentration to work but still he apologized.

"Tonight I'm home more tonight. My job is a little more, go to bed first. Don't wait for me, yeah! Honey, I just got to go with you to the doctor on Saturday, not 'pa'pa, right?" dion said what I answered with a yes.

His sentence summarized into one showed that he was being time-hunted. "Go back to work, Mom. Don't forget lunch" I said before hanging up.

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"I've got meatballs, won't I?" bargain Kristy as soon as she enters the apartment with a white pocket in hand.

"Seriously? Just know you if I want meatballs," I said as I picked up the package Kristy had brought and took it to the kitchen.

"Let me, Ma'am. Bumil can't be tired. Ohya, Ma'am resigned? How 2 days not working?" kristy as usual.

To be honest, I forgot I had to work today. The tiredness that made me wake up in the afternoon finally fell the decision to do nepotism. Looking to profit by getting to know Mr. Aryan well, I asked for permission for the second day. That's the detail of the answer I gave to Kristy's question.

Picking up Mr. Aryan's name made me remember my interrogation of him last night at Mama's house. Discussion about the closeness of our parents who both only live alone.

"Kris, like Mama and Pak Aryan's dad really, really? I suspect," I explained as I put the first mouthful into my mouth.

"Good dong. They can be good friends" Kristy replied lightly.

Yeah ... It's good, anyway. But I think their closeness is not because of friendship intentions but more than that. Believe me if the relationship between men and women in any age range is nothing sincere, all modes. Let alone the age of those who may be in the middle of puberty second, the child is different sex already know the love of monkeys.

"What if they fall in love, Kris?" suddenly the question just came out of my mouth.

Kristy who heard not feeling uncomfortable but she actually laughed with width. "Means we're gonna have a stepfather, Ma'am."

I stopped my meatball feed for a while. My sister's reaction was completely beyond my guess. "You, would you?"

"Love belongs to whoever. Make happy. As long as they are happy, I will be happy too. Who wouldn't want to be Mr Najendra Dharma's family? The most loyal man," explains Kristy, whom I've allowed all.

Kristy's statement about love is true. Love is fair. Dropped on everyone's hearts regardless of background. Age also cannot be used as an excuse to reject love that comes, because love is needed throughout the age not only at a young age.

When it comes to loyalty, Mr. Najendra Dharma is a symbol of male loyalty to his wife. Living in the glamour of the film world does not necessarily make it easy to replace the owner of the throne of his heart. Like most people who will drop the choice on young leaves. And that loyalty seems to be declining to his only son, Pak Aryan Satya Dharma. You know for yourself how that man hasn't changed my name in his heart even though we can only be fraternal.

"I don't think Papa's willing to be replaced, Kris," I'm honest.

My feelings suddenly turned mellow. Imagine if Papa's existence as a special man in your heart will be replaced by someone else, making me very sincere.

"Come, Kris. Why am I being so selfish? My feelings are more sensitive and easy to cry," I said as I blinked my eyes, holding the clear circles that had peered at both corners of my sense of sight.

"The effect of pregnancy hormones, Ma'am. Feelings become sensitive and easy to baper. Come smile, pregnant must be happy!" pinta Kristy while nudging my cheek to smile.

"When do you want to go to the doctor?" ask Kristy without pausing I spoke from the previous explanation.

"Saturday, Kris. Dion is busy. Actually, I haven't calmed down since last night. There seems to be a problem with his job but he won't say," I confided while putting the spoon and fork in the bowl, stopping eating meatballs.

"Quiet, Ma'am. I believe the same with Dion. Didn't Ma'am himself say that Mas Dion is not the type of person who likes to share work problems at home? Pretty Mbak is by his side, then it's the biggest support he needs."

Kristy's words of advice are like copy paste from Dion. Same. And it seems like I should ignore my excessive worries and listen to them. Maybe I was being overwhelmed by the pregnancy hormones that made me feel more carried away.

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The sound of the apartment bell rang when I was relaxing. I saw the night just touch eight o'clock. Who visits at this hour? Is the apartment ahead?

"Avocado dough, 'nih," said Mr. Aryan while thrusting a clear bag with a print of the name of a famous restaurant.

"What about avocado doughnuts?" chirp me while accepting his gift.

"Some, if I bring it. Avocado Donut Uncle Aryan," the joke I answered with a splash.

"Dion hasn't come home yet? How did your tumben open," asked Mr. Aryan while folding the sleeves of the shirt.

"Lots of work" I answered briefly.

"Come in, eat the donuts and the avocados keep resting! If there's anything, call me!" mr. Aryan's orders were directly obeyed. Closing the door and struggling in the kitchen prepare trays, knives, sugar and serving plates.

Fruit is a food that I can swallow when nausea begins to attack. Well received by my mouth and stomach. And not a day goes by without him. And Mr. Aryan diligently brought me all kinds of fruits once every two days. The refrigerator is not inferior to the fruit shop.

Although Dion asked me not to wait for him, but I haven't slept so far. The clock, which had not touched nine, kept me awake in front of the television. While singing the fruit brought by Mr. Aryan, I hope Dion will come soon. In spite of the fact that my eyes could not stand to not be closed, I was still alone.

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My eyes stared at the nanar as my half-opened net found Dion asleep on the sofa next to me. The shirt looks worse. His face was wrinkled and his tired face looked very real. Curl her messy hair and I peck her forehead.

"Mas, what's wrong?"