“Um...” Tom’s forehead wrinkled. “Would it be okay if I came back tomorrow?”
Cherry clenched her jaw. “I have plans tomorrow.”
“Right,” he said. “Maybe Monday night?”
She didn’t want Tom here at night. It was too grim. She needed the sun to help keep her head up. “Never mind,” she said. “Just come back tomorrow.”
“But if you have plans—”
“They’re movable.”
“Thanks, Cherry. Sorry.”
Cherry shook her head, like he didn’t have to apologize. Tom gave Stevie a few more scratches, and the dog followed him to the door.
Cherry went into the kitchen. She didn’t want to see him out.
“I’ll text you before I come over,” Tom called.
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”
Cherry set the groceries on the island. When the front door closed, she hung forward over the counter. She took a few deep, intentional breaths, letting a great wave ofsomethingwash over her.
What was it... Sadness? Loss?
Whatever it was, it hurt.
She sank to the floor and leaned back against the cabinet under the sink, then stayed there, staring at the baseboards.
Stevie came in to investigate—pushing her wet nose into Cherry’s neck and face.
Stevie didn’t like it when Cherry was on the floor. Or bending over. Or even lying on the couch. (She wouldn’t let Cherry do anything resembling yoga.) Her protective instincts kicked in. She’d barksharply and nose at Cherry’s face. Sometimes she’d rest her teeth around one of Cherry’s wrists.
“I’m fine,” Cherry said now, patting Stevie’s muzzle.
Stevie seemed mostly satisfied that Cherry was all right. She flopped down heavily on the floor next to Cherry and laid a paw over her leg. This was one of Stevie’s more charming habits—the way she’d rest a leg on you, like someone putting a hand on your lap. Cherry mindlessly combed her fingers through the fur on Stevie’s neck.
Cherry had always been a furious thinker, the kind of person who could never really turnoff. It was sort of incredible how grief could clear her head—how Tom could make Cherry go totally still inside. None of her gears spinning. None of her neurons firing. The way the sadness settled inside of her like concrete.
Cherry hadn’t told her sisters that Tom was coming over today. They’d make too much of being angry and offering Cherry support. One of them might have shown up to snub him.
She hadn’t told Stacia for the same reason.
The only person Cherry had told was Russ—because it seemed like the sort of thing youshouldtell the person you were dating. And also because Russ had asked her if she wanted to get together today.
He’d been very careful when Cherry told him why she couldn’t. They were lying in her bed. Undressed. Sexed. Cherry was draped over him, and he was playing with her hair.
“I can’t,” she’d said. “I have plans on Saturday.”
Russ toyed with her bangs. “What kind?
“Tom’s coming over to pack up his things.”
“Ohhh,” Russ said. (Just like that, with threehs.) His eyebrows dropped down, concerned. “That sounds awful. Do you want to talk about it?”
“To you?” she said, trying to smile. “Right now? Absolutely not.”
He laughed softly and tugged at her hair. “Okay.”
