Coffee. Caffeine and lots of it. It’s the one thing that I’m sure of.
I pull two mugs down from the cabinet. Mine is chipped on the rim just above the handle. It’s painted a streaky yellow with a badly sketched heart and uneven writing on one side. Jillian made it for me at one of those paint-it-yourself places the summer before junior year.
You talk too much.
You laugh too loud.
You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a friend.
And then on the bottom, she wrote:
I love you but I hope your boobs sag first.
I pour the coffees, top mine off with milk and sugar, and I carry the mugs and an extra glass to the front door. Cole’s head is bowed to the wall so that I can’t see his face. His hand is curved around his shoulder linking his arm to his chest. He barely moves when I sit down on the threshold.
“Cole,” I whisper, lightly running my index finger over his temple and into his hair.
He stirs, rotates his shoulders and cranes his neck back. Disoriented, he yawns and blinks three times. I think he’s going to ask me why he’s waking up outside and why he feels like there’s sandpaper scraping over the surface of his brain, but then I see the flicker of awareness spark behind his green eyes.
Before he can say anything, I shove a glass of water in his face. “Drink this.”
Not peeling his eyes from mine, he takes it and drinks it down in two gulps. He sets the glass on top of the soft, black dirt just to the side of the walkway.
“Now coffee,” I say.
With the barest hint of a smile, he picks up the mug and blows across the top of the coffee. After a few seconds, he takes a small sip. “I feel like I drank five gallons of battery acid last night.”
“I think that you actually did,” I say.
He looks at me for a moment, reaches into my eyes like he’s trying to find something. “Nothing happened,” he croaks. “With Kate last night. Nothing happened. I know what I’m like… I know what people say about me, but you have to believe me.”
I gaze into the distance, past the brightly painted wall that borders the patio to where a car is backing out of a parking space on the street. Above our heads, a few blue scraps of sky wink from in between the passing clouds. If it weren’t for the musky smell of wet asphalt, you’d never know that a storm came through last night.
“I believe you,” I say, closing my eyes, trying not to see the image of Kate Dutton, disgustingly beautiful and blonde, sitting on Cole’s lap, running her tongue over his neck. “I’m not going to lie. Last night, I was pissed and hurt and a million other things and I...” My voice fades out as I swallow hard and blink back my tears. I don’t want to tell him how, last night, I cried until I was numb and Mara had to force me into a freezing cold shower to get me to calm down. “B-but after I had some time, I think I knew that nothing really happened between the two of you. Maybe it was the yelling and hitting my front door all night that convinced me.”
Cole winces, reaches for my hand and turns it over in his. “I’m sorry, Aimee. I’m so fucking sorry about everything.”
I stare at the way our hands are linked together, fingers weaving in and out of each other, his thumb rubbing circles in the center of my palm. “I know you’re sorry but that doesn’t make it all okay. It’s not like yesterday just goes away if we want it to. I mean…” I struggle for the right words. I’m seriously reconsidering my own sanity right now. I think that I know what I need to say, but maybe I’m making a huge mistake. Maybe I should just shut up and throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. Maybe I should grab hold of him and never let go. “Even if you hadn’t let Kate Dutton climb all over you and lick your neck, I’d still be hurt and upset.”
“Fuck.” He tries to turn my face toward his but I fight it. “Is this because of the stuff with my mom?”
“It’s not stuff, Cole. It’s you. It’s all a part of you.” I pull my hand away from his and I touch the leaves on the small plant that Mara bought the day that we moved into the townhouse. I can’t think of what it’s called but she told me that it symbolizes hospitality. “Do you remember when you told me that my scar was a part of me and that it mattered?”
He nods reluctantly.
“It’s the same thing with your mom. She’s a part of you. And even if you’re angry or ripped up inside, you’ve got to understand that once she’s gone you won’t be able to go back. Not ever. All we get are moments, Cole. One at a time, like heartbeats. Once one of them is gone, that’s it. No do-overs. No repeats. Every moment possesses its own kind of magic and what we do with it counts. It counts.”