Chapter 17
Cherry didn’t sleep well that night. (She’d had sex with Russ in the blinds-closed afternoon darkness of his bedroom, then fallen asleep for an ill-advised six-o’clock nap.)
But she woke up Sunday morning in her own bed, determined to handle things better than she had the day before.
Cherry needed to help Tom get this done—to help him out of her life—the same way she’d always helped Tom get things done.
Tom got bogged down. He got overwhelmed by decisions. Cherry thought too much and moved too fast; Tom thought too much and barely moved at all. He broke every decision down into a thousand smaller decisions until all he could manage was to back away, completely discouraged.
And that’s how he was about normal things—like what kind of cell phone to buy—notactuallydiscouraging situations. Like this one.
Plus, Tom hadn’t been living in the reality of their failed marriage for a year. Not like Cherry had. It must have been jarring for him to walk back into the house and have to reckon with their sad ending. It must have beenshocking.
Cherry could help. Cherry was velocity—she was speed plus direction. And helping Tom would be helping herself. Even if it hurt (even if it wasexcruciating) in the short-term.
On Sunday morning, before Tom got there, Cherry took Stevie for a long walk so she wouldn’t be so excitable. Then Cherry came back to the house, opened all the curtains, and turned on a generic Spotify playlist. “Sunday Morning Vintage Vibes.” She made a pot of coffee.
Tom had left the pack of moving boxes in the foyer. Cherry opened it and unfolded one, taping up the bottom.
When Tom rang the doorbell, she’d already packed up most of their DVDs and all of the video game cartridges.
Stevie went crazy when Cherry opened the door. (Long walk be damned.) Tom immediately knelt down to give the dog the full treatment. He was wearing pants Cherry had never seen before. Very expensive-looking cargo pants. And bright white Air Jordans. His hair was as cherubic as yesterday. Cherry was still pissed about it.
“I made coffee,” she said. “Let me get you a cup.”
Tom looked up at her. He was scratching Stevie’s ears. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”
Cherry came back with his coffee—cream, no sugar—in aThursdaymug. (From Tom’s very first merch drop. Cherry had designed this mug and set everything up with the vendor.)
He stood up to take it from her.
“I got started on the living room.” Cherry walked that way. The main floor of the house was built so that all the rooms connected in a circle: foyer, dining room, living room, kitchen, foyer. Tom followed her.
She gestured at the box of DVDs. “I kept a few of the boxed sets, but these are all yours.”
He frowned down at the box. “This looks like everything.”
“It’s not. I keptPushing DaisiesandBuffy. I mean, you can haveBuffyif you want...”
He picked up a DVD. “You don’t want the Disney movies?”
“They’re all streaming.”
“They’re not all streaming.”
“Well”—Cherry put her hands on her hips—“I just think you’re more likely to watchHerbie Goes Bananasthan I am.”
Tom looked confused. “Why would I watchHerbie Goes Bananaswithout you?”
“That’s how I feel about that whole box!”
Tom clenched his jaw.
Cherry closed her eyes. A few tears leaked out anyway. This wasn’t going well.
She wiped her eyes and took a breath. “If you don’t want something in the box, set it aside. I’ll either keep it or give it to Goodwill.”
Tom was still staring at the DVDs. “Okay.”
