Chapter 22 #3
She kisses my cheek, gleefully dancing around a bit with a silent squeal of delight, and then the door closes behind her.
I turn to the stove, splitting the two servings of eggs into three and putting them in the microwave.
It’s not the best way to eat them, but I suspect breakfast is going to be awkward enough that I won’t taste them anyway.
I set the three plates on the table and then realize it’s presumptuous. Maybe Bruce won’t want to stay? He might want to get the hell out of here after getting caught unaware this morning. Or maybe I should have him go so I can do this on my own? I don’t know if that’s the right thing, either.
The decision’s made for me, though, when both Bruce and Cooper come back into the kitchen together, both in jeans. At least everyone’s dressed now. Well, I’m not, but I can pretend this is a regular nightgown. It’s certainly long enough, reaching halfway down my thighs. “Breakfast is served.”
As they sit down, I look between them. Do I deal with Cooper or Bruce first? I mean, obviously, Cooper is my priority, my number-one always, but what do I even say to him when I don’t have any real clarity from Bruce?
As my mind races, they both look cool as cucumbers, though. Dare I say zero fucks given? Well, about Bruce. I wouldn’t cuss, not even in my head, about Cooper. But he does seem fine.
“Where’d you get the bear, Cooper?” Bruce asks, shoving an entire slice of bacon in his mouth.
Cooper grabs one too. “Ms. Michelle took Liam and me to the arcade and I played skee-ball. I got four 462 tickets. The bear was 450 so I had plenty.” He sounds so proud of himself, which makes me inordinately happy too.
My mom mode kicks in, glad for the distraction from the elephant in the room. “So 462 tickets minus the 450 for the bear left you with how many?”
He quickly does the math in his head, his fingers not moving at all, and answers, “Twelve. Come on, Mom, that’s too easy.”
His sass is strong, letting me know how easy that was for him. He’s getting so big. But is he mature enough to handle this thing between Bruce and me? Am I?
“Thank you again, honey. That really was so sweet.” He smiles at me and then looks over to Bruce for approval too. Bruce smiles and even winks at him, so fast I think I imagined it. It’s only the glow on Cooper’s face that lets me know it was real.
Cooper looks up to Bruce so much, as a coach and as a role model.
Admittedly, there’s a tiny sliver of me that feels left out of that, but I know this is one of the reasons I signed Cooper up for football in the first place.
He needs that positive male presence in his life, even as I try to be everything he needs.
And Bruce . . . a boy could do a lot worse, and not much better, in having him as a role model.
“So, are you two like boyfriend and girlfriend now?” Cooper asks as he carefully spreads jelly on his toast.
I’m glad Cooper’s eyes are on his task so he doesn’t see my gaze lock with Bruce’s across the table. He smirks, popping his brows like he’s interested in the answer to that question himself.
“Well . . . you know how I told you that Bruce and I were going on a date yesterday?” Cooper nods, licking sticky grapey goodness from his fingers. “We’d like to do that again, maybe have dinners and hang out together, all three of us too. How’s that sound?”
Did I do that right?
Shit, I wish I’d had time to read this chapter in the parenting books. Not that I had time to read any of those. I’ve been winging this gig since day one, but so far, that’s worked mostly okay.
Cooper finishes his jelly spreading and his head swivels left and right, from me to Bruce. I feel like I’m awaiting a judge’s verdict on a major case, but this is way more important. He shrugs. “M’kay.”
That’s it.
It’s a bit anticlimactic. No drama, no muss, no fuss, no tears. He’s better about this than I am.
Bruce smiles and reaches across the table to take my hand, soothing my nerves with his touch and silently telling me that I did well. It feels like a major step . . . for me, for us, even for the three of us.
Holy shit. I’m dating Bruce Tannen.
The pleasant soreness between my thighs says I’m doing a hell of a lot more than that, but my decision to slap a label on it is even more important than what we did last night. This is me moving on . . . finally.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” Bruce says, crunching another slice of bacon.
“It’s Sunday, so it’s ‘bless this house’ day. All cleaning and grocery shopping. Ugh.” Cooper groans as he rolls his eyes.
I laugh, even though he’s right. That is our routine so we can start the week fresh and prepared. “Maybe we could do something a little different today, just this once.”
Bruce shakes his head. “No way. If that’s what you do on Sundays, then point me to the vacuum. I can make some mean lines in the rug, just like driving a tractor through the fields.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that Bruce is willing to clean with us, but it warms me that he’s comfortable doing such mundane things with us. It makes it feel more real, more like . . . family.
I search my body for those telltale signs of panic but find none. No tension in my muscles, no clenching in my jaw, no bees buzzing in my chest. I just feel . . . good. Such a bland word, but the feeling is powerful.
“Chore day it is,” I tell them with a smile.