“Cherry, I’m a red-blooded man in my prime. What do you expect from me?”
She laughed and went back to the bracelet. There was a Dumbo charm with ears that flapped.
“I hated to think of someone selling it for parts,” Tom said. “I polished it, to the extent that I could.”
“I love it.” Cherry looked up into his eyes. “I love it.”
Tom smiled a little and glanced away. Pleased.
“I didn’t get you anything,” she said.
He lowered his eyebrows. “You gave me today,” he said softly.
“More like I took it from you,” Cherry whispered. There were tears in her eyes. “I wanted it.”
Tom met her gaze. His face was serious. The corners of his eyes were very, very tense.
Cherry felt the loss of him so keenly in that moment. As if the final stitch between them was popping. As if he’d been carved out of her for a year, but someone was finally pulling the meat of him away.
The list of ways that Cherry’s life would be unrecognizable without Tom was too long for her to fathom. It was an uncountable number. It wasn’t just Christmas. It wasn’t just sleep and sex. Every night that she wouldn’t spend with Tom counted individually—every one was a loss.
Why did she feel so awful? Why now?
Tom had been gonea year. Cherry had already passed through several stages of grief. Was this the end? Was the final stage “exquisite pain”? And if she survived it, would she be free?
Tom shook his head. “Cherry,” he said, as if her name meant “no.”He shook his head again. He looked sad and sorry. “I...”
Cherry should let him off the hook. Send him on his way. She should reach inside her ribs and finish scooping out the last bits of him.
Tom shook his head one more time, and then his head lurched down toward her.
Cherry’s head pulled back—reflexively, the way you’d move your head if there was a baseball flying toward your face.
Tom stopped himself.
Cherry stopped herself.
“Sorry,” they said at the same time. All of this happened in a second, and Tom was already pulling away.
Cherry reached up and grabbed the neck of his sweater. His head caught. He looked in her eyes.
“Tom,” Cherry said. It meant “yes.” It meant “Tom.” It meant “I’d do anything, anything.”
Tom lurched again. His hand caught her jaw, beneath her chin, and Cherry’s weight nearly gave out. She pictured herself hanging from his grip, her feet swinging.
His mouth hit hers too hard, and she made a noise at the very top of her throat—a sob, maybe. Yes, probably. Her eyes were burning. Her mouth felt wet. She was kissing Tom back clumsily, her jaw was working too hard. She pulled on his sweater. She sobbed again when his arm locked tight around her waist. “Tom,” she said into his mouth.
Tom moved his other hand from her chin to the back of her head. He was holding her waist so tight that he was doing all the work of holding her up. She was swaying on the balls of her feet.
Tom’s mouth was as clumsy as hers. Kissing and kissing. Missing her lips. Humming from his sternum. Cherry was still holding on to the charm bracelet. She wrapped both arms around his neck. If Cherry were magic, she’d grow six more arms to hold him.
He kept kissing her. He kept holding her. Cherry’s feet hurt. Her back hurt. Her pussy felt like a hand, grasping. Her heart felt like a wind tunnel. Her head had stopped working.
Tom pulled away and pressed his face into her cheek. “Tell me what to do, Cherry.”
“Stay,” she breathed out. “Tom, stay.”
He nodded. His face was still in her cheek. Cherry hugged him as tightly as she could.
