Tom brought the whole box down. “I thought you might need the cookie cutters, too.” He stopped in the doorway to the kitchen.
Cherry had just taken a pan of tuile cookies out of the oven, but she didn’t have anywhere to set it. She was using the sleeve of her sweater as an oven mitt.
Tom dropped the box on the floor and grabbed a kitchen towel from the fridge handle. “Here.”
Cherry let him take the pan. “They’ve got to be rolled while they’re hot,” she said. She felt tearful.
“I’ve got it.” He glanced at the oven. “Are there more?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got these.” He moved a plant off the window ledge and set the pan down. “Should I use a dowel or something?”
She handed him a wooden spoon and set the second pan over the sink. She rolled the wafers into tubes.“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”They were sohot.
Stevie had picked up on the excitement and was pushing between Cherry’s legs. Cherry shoved the dog back with her thigh. “Not now, Stevie.”
“I didn’t wash my hands,” Tom said.
“These cookies are going to burn off your fingerprints, I don’t think it matters.”
“Did you pipe these flowers?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“They look great.”
Cherry’s pan was already cooling off. A wafer cracked under her fingers. She exhaled heavily. “I shouldn’t have made so many at once—I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Sorry. I took you off your game.”
She stood up and arched her back. “I was already off my game.” She looked over at Tom. “How many did you get rolled?”
He held up a pan of perfect tuile cigars.
“Nobody likes you, Tom.”
He smiled.
“Maybe I should scrap this idea,” she said. “I’m so far behind already.”
“What do you have left to do?”
Cherry laughed. “What don’t I have left?” She looked at the list on the refrigerator. “The cheese balls are half done. The Jell-O’s half done. I wasted all morning trying to make gluten-free pastieri, and they taste like hardtack...”
“Are you gluten-free?”
“Joy is. And Jeff. Or at least they were last week.”
“You’re not making gingerbread this year?”
“No. I am. I just haven’t really started.”
Tom set his pan of cookies on top of a dirty mixing bowl on the island. “I can help you whip through the rest of these butter cookies. You already have the batter, and they’re so pretty.”
Cherry shook her head. “You don’t have to do that. It’s Christmas Eve.” What she meant was,You don’t have to do that. We’re not married anymore.
The corner of Tom’s mouth quirked up. “My Christmas Eve plans were to clean up the oil stain on the floor of the garage. My dad’s driving me crazy.” He tipped his chin up, like he was pointing at her. “Let me help.”
