He shook his head, just a little. “My notes aren’t passive-aggressive. They’re just passive.”
Cherry laughed again. “Touché.”
Tom gave Stevie a few more scratches, then stood up straight. He reached for his hoodie—it was lying on the kennel—and started putting it on.
“Tom,” Cherry said. Impulsively.
His head popped through the neck of the sweatshirt “Yeah?”
“I picked up Aunt Ida’s for dinner. Do you want to stay and have some? I ordered too much.”
Tom looked at her for a few seconds, like he was trying to read between her lines. He shook his head again. “You don’t have to do that, Cherry.”
“No,” she said, “I know. I just—Why don’t you stay for dinner, and we can settle some of this stuff face-to-face?” She waved a hand toward the dining room. “I’m out of blue Post-its.”
Tom was still studying her expression. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
Cherry raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know if I want it, but I can definitely get through it.”
“That’s what she said,” Tom murmured.
Cherry snorted. They’d once spent a month saying,“That’s what she said”to make fun of a guy in Tom’s office who always said it. They said it so much that for about a year, they couldn’tstopsaying it. And then they spent another six months saying,“Okay, that was the last one, I promise.”
“Come on.” Cherry walked into the kitchen. “It’s just soup. I didn’t order bread or anything fancy.”
He walked in behind her. “You think bread is fancy?”
Cherry got out two bowls. There was a new batch of miscellany arranged on the kitchen island, along with several Post-it notes. She ignored it all.
“Sorry about the mess in here,” Tom said. “I’ve been bringing things down from the attic—and up from the cellar. There’s still a bunch of stuff down there from the previous owners. I was thinking about getting a dumpster... unless you want me to leave it?”
“A dumpster is fine,” Cherry said, dishing out some chicken and noodles for him. “I just don’t want it to sit out there forever.”
“It won’t sit out there forever.”
“Then that’s fine. Maybe I could make a salad...” She opened the fridge. There was a bag of lettuce, but it looked rusty. “Never mind.”
“I was thinking I’d clear out the garage, too. While I’m here.”
She handed him the bowl. “That’s fine. I haven’t been in the garage in years.” Cherry parked her car in the driveway.
“Who’s been mowing the lawn?”
“No one lately, but I hired someone.”
“Smart.”
“My therapist said to throw your money at problems,” Cherry said, fixing herself a bowl.
Tom bristled. “It’s not my money.”
She raised her eyebrows but decided not to argue. She got out two spoons.
“You should hire someone to shovel, too.” Tom sounded aggressive. Like he was giving her an order.
“I do.”
“Good.”
