“Not really,” Tom said. “I wasn’t raised anything. But there’s a Catholic cathedral near my house, and I go sometimes.”
“Are you trying it on for size?”
He smiled again. Gently. “Possibly. I just like the vibe—it’s tranquil. And I like all the stained glass.”
Cherry hummed. “Maybe I would have liked church better if there was something to look at. Our church looks like a hotel conference center.”
She kept bouncing on her knees as she talked. Gesturing too much. She was too excited about Tom being here. Too excited about him, generally speaking. She wished she’d engineered it so they could sit on the same side of the table.
The truth was, Cherry was ready to do whatever Tom wanted that night—he’d kept getting more attractive to her, every minute she was with him. If you charted Tom’s attractiveness to Cherry over those first few weeks, it would have looked like runaway inflation.
She liked the wide planes of his face. The way his cheeks propped up his eyes and pushed them closed. She liked howpinkhe was. Pink cheeks, pink lips. The way the back of his neck flushed red. Cherry liked all Tom’s colors—she liked his changeable hair. In her brightly lit kitchen, Tom’s close-cropped hair was as blond as a toddler’s. In her dimly lit living room, it was sandy brown.
She liked his clothes, even though he didn’t seem to care about them. Tom had worn almost the same thing on all their dates: brown moc-toe boots with gold laces, cargo pants with holes worn along the pockets, and a T-shirt under a plaid shirt. She wondered if he could tell any of his clothes apart.
Cherry had dressed carefully—sexily—every time she saw him. In low-cut sweaters and jeans that were three percent elastic.
“When am I going to see your Channel 42 Kids Club clothes?”Tom had asked her.
When I’m not trying to seduce you,she’d thought.
She’d bought a pint of ice cream for dessert, and they passed it back and forth between them. (Cherry had spoons but no bowls.) Tom looked uncomfortable sitting on the floor, with his legs stiff and to the side. He reminded her of a Ken doll with limited articulation.
“I wish I could offer you a chair,” Cherry said, for the sixth or seventh time. “Or even a box.”
“I’m fine,” Tom said, like he’d been saying all night. He glanced around the room, taking in the big windows and high ceilings. “This is a nice apartment—you don’t have a roommate?”
“No. If I had a roommate, maybe I could afford a couch.”
“I could help you find a couch.” He seemed serious.
Cherry smiled. “Do you have a couch guy?”
He shook his head. “No. I...” He lowered an eyebrow. “I go to a lot of estate sales.” He said it like he knew it was weird.
“Your apartment must be very well appointed,” she said.
“Actually...” He looked down. “I still live at home.”
“Like, in your old room?”
Tom shrugged, glancing up at her. “It isn’t really my old room if I still live there.”
“I guess that’s true...” Cherry didn’t want to offend him—he already seemed embarrassed—but she couldn’timaginehaving moved back home after college. She’d gotten her own place before she could even manage the rent. “You don’t want to move out?”
“I don’t know...” He looked down again. “I think I’d still have to take care of my dad, even if I left. May as well stay and save on rent.”
“Is your dad sick?”
Tom didn’t reply right away. He tapped his spoon against the table,then set it inside the empty ice cream carton. When he looked back up at Cherry, his lips were pursed like he was thinking. “He’s a heavy drinker.”
“Mine, too,” Cherry said quickly, without thinking at all.
Tom looked like she’d told him something much sadder than what he’d told her. “Your dad?”
She nodded.
“Is that why you don’t drink?”
