Maybe this was a message from the universe...
Ithadto be a message from the universe—it was too strange and specific for happenstance.
Cherry had gone out for the first time since Tom left to do something just for herself—she’d gone outbyherself for maybe the first time ever—and this strangely perfect night was here waiting for her. A band she loved, an album she loved... and a boy she’d once liked an awful lot.
An awful,miserablelot.
Maybe the universe wasn’t on her side—would a benevolent god send Russ Sutton onto Cherry’s path? This ache in her stomach was familiar and delicious, but it had never led to satisfaction, not where Russ was concerned.
Andyet...
There was satisfaction in feelingsomething, wasn’t there? In standing close to someone this attractive and exciting? It felt good tobeattracted. To buzz a little.
Russ shifted his weight and rested his arm on the back of Cherry’s chair.
And Cherry let herself enjoy it.
Chapter 4
Everybody was going to the Galway that night.
They were twenty-two and still feeling like they had to go out and drink legally every weekend just because they could—because it’s what adults did. Adults drank in bars, not in dorm rooms and basements.
On Friday and Saturday nights, and sometimes on Thursdays, Cherry’s friends put on low-cut, high-cropped, slit-up-the-side silky tops, and they went out to the bars.
Cherry was never the most enthusiastic participant—partly because she was too fat to pull off a crop top, butmostlybecause her dad was an alcoholic. Being around drunk people made Cherry anxious, not merry. And being drunk herself didn’t improve the situation.
Cherry didn’tgetdrunk the way her friends did. She had to drink way more than they did to feel anything at all. Because of her weight, maybe. Or possibly genetics. Cherry could pound shot after shot and never feel soft or silly. She’d feel persistently sober for a couple rounds, then overheated for the next couple, and then—if she kept going—sick.
There was no upside to it. She didn’t take any pride in holding her liquor. Cherry didn’t want to be one of those women who was always proving she could drink like a man. That seemed... expensive. And caloric. And sad.
However... itwasFriday night. And everyone was going out. And Cherrylikedto go out. The Galway at least had music...
She put on a tight dress with a low-cut neck and a full skirt, and offered to drive.
The Galway drew three types of patrons: Creighton University students, career alcoholics, and people who really liked Irish folk music. It was downtown, shoved into a narrow gap between two office buildings. A bar this skinny didn’t have any business offering live music. The musicians were always crammed into the back on a plywood riser, and there was nowhere to sit and listen. There was hardly any place to stand.
Cherry dragged Stacia to the stage end of the bar so they could see the band. Stacia was drinking a Moscow Mule. Everybody was drinking Moscow Mules that spring. Stacia didn’t care about music, but she knew that Cherry did, and regularly indulged her.
Stacia was Cherry’s roommate and one of her closest friends. She was very pretty. On Friday nights, she was hot. Her breasts werejustsmall enough to skip wearing a bra, and even though she wasn’t tall—just a little taller than Cherry—she had the snakelike torso of anAmerican Idolcontestant. She was still wearing low-rise jeans to show it off. (Low-rise jeans in 2010!)
Cherry had stopped wearing low-rise jeans the second it became possible. She wore skinny jeans and yoga pants during the week, and on weekends, she wore one of two spendy rockabilly dresses that she’d bought online.
(The problem with rockabilly brands was that they wereobsessedwith cherries. Cherry hadn’t worn anything with cherries—or even fruit—since she was old enough to dress herself.)
Tonight she was wearing a yellow dress with a vintage cowboy pattern. It was Cherry’s favorite dress—even though the last time she’d worn it out to the bars, some guy as old as her dad had offered to take her for a ride. Cherry always wore this dress with a baby blue cardigan and bright red heels. Her friends told her she looked adorable.
You’d think that going out with her hot, skinny friends and watching them get hit on all night by law school students would be depressing for Cherry... But she’d be a shut-in if she let herself get depressed by things like that. Cherry hadalwaysbeen fatter than her friends. She’dalwaysbeen less attractive to guys. Being mad or depressed about it would be like getting mad at the sun for rising.
It got her down sometimes...
It ate away at her, constantly, sure. Low-key.
But it didn’t get herdown-down. It didn’t keep her from goingout.
Cherry was drinking Coke. The band sounded like Mumford & Sons but with whistles and bagpipes.
“I like your dress,” somebody said.
