Cherry nodded. “Okay,” she choked out. “Thank you.”
“Please don’t worry.”
“Okay,” she said into his chest. Tom was so wide and warm. He smelled so familiar, it made her feel faint. Tom was the only person under sixty who used Irish Spring.
It took a few minutes for Cherry to catch her breath... to come back to herself. Her neck stiffened, and she sat up, away from him.
“Okay,” she said again. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Tom’s hands fell to his sides.
Cherry wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Good for you, Tom. I mean, starting something new. That’s—That’s great. Do you have an idea?”
“No...” He was still watching her. Still ready to catch her if she started crying again. “But... I didn’t have an idea forThursdaywhen I started. I literally named it that because I wanted to commit myself to posting once a week.”
“Yeah, I heard you say that onThe Late Show.”
“Oh.” He looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m like a talking doll with a string—I only have five anecdotes.”
“No, it’s fine. I just meant—I didn’t know that before I heard you say it on TV.”
“You didn’t?”
She shook her head.
“Huh. Well...” He’d set his soup down on the table. He picked it up. “There you go. I don’t even know what it’sliketo have an idea.”
“Maybe you could do something likeThursday, in a new setting.”
He glanced up at her without lifting his head. “I’m not sure why you’re encouraging me, Cherry.”
“Do you think I should bediscouraging you?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
Cherry’s eyes welled up. She bit the corner of her lip and waited until she thought she could speak without relapsing into tears. “I know that we’re not in a good place,” she said. “But I still want you to be happy.”
Tom closed his eyes. He didn’t look up. He nodded. “Okay, well... thank you.”
They finished their soup in relative silence.
When Cherry was done, she made room for her empty bowl on the coffee table, amongst all the stuff Tom had laid out there. It was an insane assortment: A stainless steel apple peeler. Antique bookends shaped like cartoon bears. A cookie jar that looked like the hot air balloon inThe Wizard of Oz,still full of odds and ends.
“So,” Cherry said. She wiped her eyes again. She tried to be rational, or at least to look rational. “Let’s talk through this.”
Tom sighed. “Well... you’ve read my notes.”
“I have,” she said. “And you’ve read my notes.”
“And nothing seems to be moving.”
Cherry rested her elbow on the arm of the couch and her chin inher palm. “I think what’s happening is... we’re arguing over who should keep things thatneitherof us really want.”
“Okay,” Tom said, “butalso...you don’t want to let go of anything.”
She sat up. “That’s not true. I keep telling you to take it all.”
“Yeah, but then if I don’t want something and I put it in the Goodwill pile, you take it out.”
