One is a Promise(57)
I resent the concern in her eyes. It reminds me of that godawful part of my life, the months that followed Cole’s funeral, when she repeatedly dug me out of the alcohol-induced abyss I numbed myself in. Which is why I’m also so fucking thankful for her. Every damn day.
“I’m good, Bree. But I think you’re off-base about Trace. He’s not waiting for anything. I mean, it’s not like he’s competing for my attention. Cole’s dead, and I’m here, single and available.”
“You’re single. But you’re not available.”
“That makes no sense.”
She eyes the mug of coffee in my hand. “Hold out your cup.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.” She guides my fingers to the handle and adjusts the position of the mug over a patch of grass. “Imagine that the cup is you, and the coffee is all your love for Cole.”
The mug is full, sloshing over the sides as I hold it in place. “This is stupid.”
“Shut up and pay attention.” She stands over me and lifts her mug, which is equally full. “My cup represents Trace, and all the love he wants to give you.”
I snort. “As if.”
She ignores me and proceeds to pour her coffee into mine. As it flows over the sides and into the grass, she continues pouring, her expression taut with concentration.
“You just wasted all that coffee,” I say. “Maybe you should stick with teaching first graders.”
“I swear, Danielle.” She fists her hands on her hips, the empty mug dangling from her fingers. “Sometimes you’re denser than a first grader.”
“I’m not dense, Gabrielle. I get it. My cup runneth over because it’s half-full of shit.” I grin, knowing full well that’s not what she’s insinuating. “I need a bigger cup.”
“Wrong.” She plops down beside me. “I was trying to demonstrate an old Chinese Zen saying. You can’t fit Trace’s love into the love you already possess. It’s supposed to ask the question…” She meets my eyes. “Do you have the right cup full?”
“Apparently, I don’t.” With a sigh, I stare at the mug. “So I empty my cup.”
“Empty the cup,” she echoes.
“But it’s also filled with my love for you and the demon—”
“Don’t call her that.”
“The angel and mom and dad—”
“Nope. That’s a different cup. This is the man cup.”
For the love of God. My head hurts. “What if I’m in a polyamorous relationship?”
“Do you want that?”
“Well, no.” I can’t even hold onto one man. “But—”
“Empty the damn cup.”
I do it to make her happy, dumping delicious java all over the grass.
Emptying the metaphorical cup, however, will be much harder than flicking my wrist.
“I’ll go get us more coffee.” I stand, needing a moment to regroup.
“Danni,” David calls from beneath the car. “Come here.”
“I’ll get the coffee.” Bree takes my mug.
“What’s the verdict?” I step beside his supine position on the ground.
Clothed in athletic gear, he’s recently acquired a dad bod, with the requisite extra around the middle. But he’s still a good-looking guy, especially for a high-school math teacher and soccer coach.
He doesn’t move his head from beneath the undercarriage. “When was the last time you had your brakes replaced?”
“Umm…”
He rolls out on a scooter thing and stares up at me with grease smeared across his brow. “Did Cole do it?”
I nod.
“So at least three years ago.” He sits up and blots a towel over his swarthy face. “As hard as you ride the brakes, I’m not surprised they’re already grinding metal on metal.”
Shit. I blow out a breath. “What does that mean?”
“It means your car doesn’t leave this driveway until I have time to replace the brakes.”
“I can have it towed—”
“It’ll take longer.” He collects his tools and climbs to his feet. “I can do it tomorrow night.”
“Are you sure? I’ll pay you.”
He laughs. “Your sister would castrate me if I took your money.”
It’s clear who wears the pants in their family, but who I am to judge? They’re in love, and I’m enviously happy for them.
After they leave, I change into a mini dance skirt and strappy crop top. Then I head into the dance studio and send Trace a text.
Me: I need a favor
My phone rings within seconds, displaying his name on the screen.