Another point for this perfect dog.
“Someone has a leash now,” I say, nodding to the cat.
“Every now and then people can change,” she says. “I had to change to keep him safe.”
“Smart move.”
“And look at you, being a dog dad now,” she says, standing and coming down the steps to join me, leash in hand.
“Just a foster-dog dad,” I clarify.
She gives me a look. “You say that like fostering isn’t important.”
“Well, it’s just—it’s all I can manage right now,” I say, then sigh. That’s something I’m learning a lot about unfortunately. What I can actually handle, and what I can’t.
Annabelle shoots me a worried look. “What’s going on? Your energy is…” She narrows her eyes, studying me, and here we go again.
“I’m sure my energy’s fine. I just had coffee,” I say, trying to make light of things.
“No. It’s…dark. Inward,” she says, tilting her head. “Painful. Like a thorn.”
No shit.
But wait. Hold on. Last time she read my energy, I was dismissive. Turned out she was right. Maybe this time, I should let her. What if she can help me manage…life without Mabel?
“Yeah, that’s true,” I admit, more vulnerable than I want to be, but maybe I have to be.
She motions to her porch, and I join her, the dog gamely trotting by my side. “What’s going on? I sensed you were happy. Falling in love. Learning the colors at my shop for a woman. Buying flowers every day for a woman. Bringing me cake…for a woman. Now you’re walking around like…honestly, I haven’t seen you like this since your mom was diagnosed.”
I bristle. “It’s not the same. How could I compare the two? This is just a breakup.”
She pauses, as if she’s giving that some thought. “Why did you break up with her?”
“How do you know I did it?”
“You did, Corbin.”
I drag my hand through my hair. “I didn’t think I could manage it all. And I was messing things up for her—a luncheon for her mom, some of the orders, the scheduling. She wanted to focus on the bakery, but I kept trying to convince her she could manage a romance too. Turned out I couldn’t manage things, and I was late to practice. It was all a mess. It was all too much. So it’s not the same as my mom.”
Annabelle hums, doubtful. “When your mom was first diagnosed, you felt helpless. Out of control. Like there was nothing you could do.”
“That’s true,” I admit.
“And then you moved her in. You and Ray found some help. You learned about Parkinson’s. You walked with her when you could. You baked with her to keep her moving.”
I nod, remembering those days all too well.
“And now you feel like you can’t manage a relationship. Or that Mabel can’t.” She stops, furrowing her brow. “Corbin, you don’t like it when you’re not in control. When you think you could fail.”
I pull back, feeling a little too seen, a little too raw. “I…don’t…but…”
“You hate it when you’re not the one holding things together. When you’re the one being helped instead of helping.”
“I don’t need help,” I insist. I don’t. How could I? I’m a grown-ass man. A dad. A hockey player.
She smiles, squeezes my hand, then nods. “That’s a lie.”
Ouch.
