What did Cherry want him to feel when he looked at her?
Guilty.
That wasn’t a very noble goal, but it was true.
She ended up in jeans and a T-shirt and an oversized pear-colored cardigan that hung around her hips.
She’d had Stevie groomed that morning. (Cherry definitely wanted Tom to think thatSteviewas living her best life.) She vacuumed while she waited for him. Her pulse was racing. She thought about calling him and saying that today wouldn’t work after all. That no day would work. That she’d pack up his things and ship them to California. That she’d pack up theentire houseand ship it to him. Money, as her therapist said, was no longer a limiting factor.
Cherry herself was the limiting factor. She didn’t have the heart for this.
Tom used the doorbell when he got there. (Because he doesn’t live here, Cherry told herself. She felt like throwing up.)
Stevie was already at the door, barking. Cherry held her collar to keep her from squeezing through the open door. The dog jumped up onto Tom before he could even walk in.
Cherry stepped back. Let them both do whatever.
Stevie was goingwild—did she recognize Tom? He squatted down to greet her, and she was all over him. He was grinning and petting her roughly. “Stevie Nicks, what a good girl. Did you miss me? I missed you, too. What agoodgirl.”
Tom was wearing ratty old green corduroys and a black hoodie. (He was going to be covered in white fur.) His hair was longer than Cherry had ever seen it.
Tom had curly blond hair. Truly blond, even as an adult. His hair was so light that you almost couldn’t see the color when it was short—and he’d always kept it short because he didn’t like dealing with the curls.
But it was grown out now, just past his ears. Ash-blond curls as thick as Cherry’s thumb. He must be using some product to smooth them out.
It was a knife to Cherry’s heart that Tom had waited to leave her to grow out his hair. (Probably the first of many knives headed her way that afternoon. She’d have to make room in her chest for them.)
Tom stood up, still petting Stevie. He looked at Cherry. Less excited, less at ease. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Cherry said.
Tom wasn’t quite six feet tall, but he was big, so he seemed taller. He’d played football in high school, but he hadn’t been good at anything but standing there and letting people plow into him. At least that’s what he’d told her.
Tom had always been heavier than he wanted to be—but he seemed to have lost weight. California, Cherry figured. And no more desk job. And money to spend on protein boxes and sea moss smoothies. (Cherry had also lost weight in the last year, but it was purely from misery and self-neglect.)
His face was changed... Still handsome. Still thick-boned and rugged. Still just a little bit strange—with his wide-bridged nose and narrow eyes, and high, wide cheekbones that pushed out into his temples. But Cherry had missed a whole year of wear.
“She’s gotten so big,” Tom said, rubbing Stevie’s flank.
“A hundred and thirty-eight pounds at her last visit. Dr. Lewis thinks she’s finally done growing.”
Tom scratched Stevie’s ears with both hands. “What a beauty. What a good girl.”
“Did you just get in?” Cherry asked.
“A couple days ago.” He was still scratching Stevie’s ears.
“Well...” Cherry looked around them. “I didn’t know where you’d want to start...”
“Oh.” Tom looked up again. He was frowning. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Did you bring boxes?”
“They’re in the car.”
“I guess, start with the boxes,” she said.
He nodded. “Right.”
