Page 61 of Average Joe

I stood straight and opened the cupboard to my right. “I have no use for teacups. Thought you might like your pick before I pack these lovely ladies up for donation.”

Marley released her death grip on my waist, turned, cleared her throat, and sighed, “Oh, Joe.”

“You can have them all if you want.”

Liquid eyes met mine. “Alice loved tea parties.”

“She hid the most expensive sets in the back of her closet. Took them out maybe once a year to enjoy. Those are yours, too, if you want them.”

Nodding, Marley said, “She shared them with me once. We had a tea party in the rose garden with some of her friends. She insisted I wear a dress and hat, but since I only own baseball caps and beanies, I borrowed one of hers.” She ran a hand down the length of her hair. “It was this ridiculous teal and lace monstrosity.” Marley laughed. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath as if struck with an idea. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to share them with her friends. I think that’s what she would’ve wanted, don’t you?”

If I could’ve plucked my heart from my chest and served it to Marley in one of those porcelain fancies, I would have, because that woman owned me. How that happened, and how it happened so fast, was a mystery, but one I didn’t care to solve.

“Perfect idea.”

Marley turned her attention to the shelves of teacups. “She loved these so much.”

A lifetime of memories sat on those shelves. Those cups and saucers reminded me of happier days, and to be honest, getting rid of them would sting. “You know, when I was younger, Alice tried to make me drink tea. I hated that shit.” I laughed despite the heavy ache in my ticker. “But, damn, I’d kill for a cup of Earl Grey with my aunt right now.”

“Me, too,” she whispered, then sniffed.

God, how I wanted to pull her close, kiss the sadness away.

Marley beat me to the punch, burying her face in my chest, hugging my middle. Into my shirt, she mumbled, her voice cracking, “Thank you, Joe. This gift means the world to me.”

Little did she know that in that small confession, her little gesture of thanks, her trust and welcoming my embrace, she’d given me the world, the moon, and all the fucking stars, too.

* * *

I nudged the laundry basket aside, aware of the stench from my workout gear. If Marley noticed the aroma, she hid her reaction.

“The room looks…” She ran a hand over my black comforter, took in my surroundings. “Masculine.”

Gone were the doilies and floral prints. Gravity gray paint covered walls once adorned with hideous floral-striped wallpaper. Alice’s squeaky ancient bed ensemble, now laid to rest, had been replaced with a simple, sturdy black platform frame. Antique furniture no longer lined the perimeter. New nightstands and dressers occupied the space, industrial steel and repurposed wood. Not polished, but rugged and indestructible.

“Masculine, huh?”

Marley offered a slow smile. “Suits you.”

The woman had no clue the depth to which those words pierced me or the heights they boosted my ego. She stood an arm’s length away, smelling sweet and looking edible. Took all my strength to stay firmly planted instead of tackling her to my bed and demonstrating my manhood.

I turned to the closet, cleared my throat, and drew a cleansing breath. The old, heavy door stuck in the top corner, so I had to twist and yank the refurbished knob. Inside, the narrow space left little elbow room. I dug in, clearing clothes, shoe racks, and plastic containers to get to the box labeledTEACUPSburied in the back corner.

Marley helped stack items on the bed.

“Who’s this?” she asked, holding a framed photo, the box next to her having lost its top.

I set the container I held on the bed and snagged the pic from her hand. “That’s Bill.” Rage welled, but I tamped that shit down tight.

“Bill?”

“Alice’s husband.” I tossed the frame back into the open container of old pictures. “My dad’s brother.”

“Weird.” She dropped her butt onto the mattress. “This is the first time I’ve seen his picture. I knew she was widowed, but she didn’t have photos out. She rarely talked about him.”

“That’s because he was a piece of shit, cheating bastard,” came my clipped reply. Arms crossed, chest tightening, I leaned against the doorframe. “Though, honestly, nobody cared he shacked up with other women. Didn’t hit her when his attentions were focused elsewhere.”

“Hit her?” Marley clapped a palm to her mouth, her liquid eyes melting my insides. “She was so vibrant. So strong,” she muttered, shaking her head. “It’s hard to imagine she’d been hurt that way.”

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