Cherry smiled. She liked Jim. “It seems like the perfect amount of people. Everyone’s having a good time.”
Stacia was still looking around. “You know what, I should introduce you to some of these volleyball players... A few of them are single.”
This was something that Stacia had started in the last couple months—and something she used to do before Tom. She’d make a fuss about how she was going to fix Cherry up. As if anyone in Stacia’s circle would date a fat person.
Stacia had grown up beautiful with money, and then married someone beautiful with money. Her kids went to expensive schools, and she worked out at an expensive gym. Her clothes all looked like something Meghan Markle would wear on casual Friday. And most of her friends had a similar vibe.
Cherry had always been the outlier. Cherry had been a scholarship kid at Creighton. She was poor and fat and artsy. She and Stacia might never have become friends if they hadn’t been thrown together as roommates freshman year. They lived together all through college.
After Cherry graduated and got a corporate job—and several promotions—her world had moved closer to Stacia’s. Cherry worked almost exclusively with Stacia types now, on the top floor of the Western Alliance building, but she still never quite felt like she belonged.
Stacia’s other friends had stayed skinny even as they got older and had kids. Actually, none of them seemed to begettingolder. According to Stacia, they were all on semaglutide and testosterone—so they were skinnier and hornier than ever.
This checked out; Cherry was the only one eating the spinach dip.
Stacia herself was naturally lean and worked hard to stay that way. Her husband frowned on prescription drugs, so there was no Mounjaro in her life. (Stacia wasn’t even vaccinated for Covid.)
Cherry got through Stacia’s parties the same way she’d gotten through college surrounded by upper-middle-class, thin people—by keeping her chin up and being a good hang. People generally liked Cherry.
But there was no amount of good humor, or wine spritzers, that would make anyone at this party romantically interested in her.
“I’m serious,” Stacia said. “You should think about it.”
“About dating a sand volleyball player?”
“About datingsomeone. It’s been almost a year.”
“Well.” Cherry tipped her head and stuck a chip in the spinach dip. “Sort of.”
Tom had left a year ago, but they’d only been separated for six months.
“I know you’re not ready”—Stacia grabbed a handful of chips—“but you might neverbeready. You don’t want to wallow away your youth.”
In Stacia’s mind, the worst thing Tom had done was waste Cherry’s fertile years. (Cherry’s sisters would agree.)
“I’m not wallowing,” Cherry said.
“The last time I asked about your weekend, you told me you were making curtains.”
“I’ve always made curtains. I’m crafty.”
“Yeah, but it was different when you were married. Single women shouldn’t be making curtains on weekends. It’s getting you nowhere.”
“Where I am supposed to be going?”
“Forward,” Stacia said. “Into the future.”
“I’m not defying the rules of time and space by making curtains. The future will still happen.”
Stacia dug into the spinach dip, frowning. “Cherry, you know what I mean. You’re treading water.”
“You’re supposed to be happy that I didn’t drown.”
“Iam.” Stacia sighed and repeated herself in a nicer voice, looking in Cherry’s eyes. “I am. But I don’t want you to end up like”—her voice dropped—“Elaine.”
Jim’s mother had never gotten over her husband cheating on her with his receptionist. (He was a chiropractor, too.) She’d never remarried or even dated, and now she was too much a part of Jim and Stacia’s life. Elaine was never happy. She was sitting in the family room now, probably sighing.
“You’ve got to get back out there,” Stacia said. “Before you’re ready.”
