“Itcouldn’thave been okay...”
Tom shrugged and raised his eyebrows like,Well, you know.
Cherry felt suddenly tearful. She shook her head and looked down at her pizza. Her chin was wobbling.Eight.
Tom reached out and covered her hand with his—was that the first time he’d touched her? “Hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”
“It’s just...” A few tears spilled onto her cheeks. “...eight is reallyyoung.”
“I know,” he said.
Cherry wiped her eyes with her other hand and glanced up at him. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be... doing what I’m doing.”
Tom’s eyes were glossy. He squeezed her hand. “You’re okay.”
She laughed, embarrassed, and he pulled his hand away. He was still smiling.
Their second date was at the Western Alliance Railroad Museum. It was Cherry’s idea—neither of them had ever been. (It didn’t seem likeanyonehad been to the museum since the early ’70s. Even the volunteer docent needed dusting.)
Afterwards they got coffee and talked about how they’d change the museum if they could. Tom would change everything. He sketched out a new logo on the back of a napkin, and it was so brilliant, it made Cherry lightheaded. Tom acted like it was nothing—he shoved the napkin into his coffee cup when they were done, and Cherry had to rescue it.
By their third date, Cherry wondered if they were actually dates at all.
Tom still hadn’t kissed her. If she thought about it, he hadn’t ever asked her out. He’d only called her when she’d told him to call.
He was very polite to her and very attentive—his eyes followed Cherry everywhere—and he seemed gently amused by everything she said...
Tom laughed at Cherry’s jokes with his eyes and the very corners of his mouth. (Was that as good as a real laugh? Was it maybe better?)
There was something cool about him—like he was watching Cherry from a distance. Observing her. But observing hercarefully. There were moments when she felt like there must be something in her teeth or on her lips. (She’d turn away from him to wipe her mouth.) And there were moments when she felt magnetic. Bewitching. It made her dizzy to be paid attention to like that. It turned her on.
Hope said that Tom was keeping Cherry in the friend zone—that even a church boy would move faster than this. (Hope was Cherry’s least judgmental sister and the only one she could talk to about boys.) (Hope was stillveryjudgmental.) “You can’t make a relationship happen by force of will, Cherry.”
“Maybe I can,” Cherry countered. “I’m very willful.”
She invited Tom over for Christmas Eve. He didn’t have plans, and Cherry canceled hers. She made the only fancy thing she knew how to make—lasagna—and they sat on her living room floor, on either side of her coffee table because Cherry didn’t have any chairs.
She sat on her knees mostly, craning over the table toward him.
“Is this cottage cheese?” Tom asked, taking a bite of lasagna.
“Yeah,” she said. “My Italian grandmother made it like this. She probably couldn’t afford ricotta.”
He tipped his head and covered his mouth. “You’re Italian?”
She shrugged. “A little. I’m all of western Europe. I’m Ellis Island, incorporated.”
He smiled. “And you’re Catholic, right?”
“No, I just went to a Catholic school because I got a full ride. My church growing up was like, I don’t know—stand-alone Lutheran.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it was unaffiliated with the larger church, so it could be as conservative as it wanted. My sisters still go. And my mom.”
“But not you?”
Cherry shook her head. “I feel like I went to church enough as a kid to cover me for the rest of my life. What about you, are you religious?”
