They slept in Cherry’s room, on her mattress on the floor, and had started having clumsy, eager sex. Cherry was pretty sure that Tom had never done it before, but she didn’t feel like she could ask him directly. She never wanted to embarrass him or scare him back into his shell. She liked him so much—too much, probably.
Tom was so smart.
He was so funny.
He was an effortless artist. A good thinker. She’d quickly realized that Tom had a hand in all the best pieces of the railroad’s more recent advertising.
He liked to solve problems and fix things. When Cherry’s car radiator was leaking, Tom bought a repair manual on eBay and, after a few tries, patched it up.
He wassohandsome...
She wasn’t sure whether other people thought so. Tom was heavier. His hair was too short. His head was a block.
Cherry kind of hoped that no onecouldsee him like she did. She’d never be able to keep him if other women caught on to how hot he was. Tom was all shoulders. He was all thighs. He was a minotaur. Cherry liked to hold her hand up to his, to see how short her fingers were in comparison. She was constantly rubbing up against him like a cat, just to feel how solid he was. Just to get his attention.
Now, when Cherry got Tom’s attention, he kissed her. It didn’t really matter where they were or what they were doing—it was like he was making up for that first, failed kiss. It made Cherry insatiable.
It made her rash. She told him that she loved him after just a couple of weeks together. Cherry was like a drinking glass sitting under a faucet—she’d said “I love you” as soon as she’d felt full, and then she kept saying it, as her feelings slopped over the edges.
Tom had looked startled the first time. And concerned the secondtime. And then he’d started kissing Cherry every time she said it—tenderly—which was just incentive for her to say it more.
Cherry’s sisters knew she was dating someone, but she was nervous about bringing Tom to a family event. Her sisters were a lot. Her mom was a lot. Cherry was afraid that Tom would realize that Cherry herself was a lot if he saw her in that context.
At Easter dinner, when her sisters were badgering her about meeting her boyfriend, Cherry googled Tom from Honny’s desktop computer, trying to find a photo to show them. (He covered his face whenever Cherry tried to take his picture.) Tom wasn’t on Facebook, but he had a distinct last name—Valentine.
She found his photo on the ad agency’s website.
“He looks young,” Honny said.
“He’s twenty-four,” Cherry said.
“Oooh,” Joy said. “You’re robbing the cradle.”
Cherry was only twenty-five. “Coates & Branch almost never hires people right out of college, but they hired him because he’s so talented.”
She backed out of the page to look at the other Google results. There was a MySpace page. She clicked on it, thinking there might be photos of Tom from college. (She’d love to see those.)
There were no photos—but there was a section for his comic strip.Thursday.
“Go back to his photo,” Joy said. “Make it bigger.”
Cherry quickly, guiltily, clicked back.
Tom wasn’t smiling in his work photo. His face looked flat. He never looked like that with Cherry—when Tom looked at Cherry, there was always a smile hiding out in the corners of his eyes and the corners of his lips.
“I guess he’s cute...” Joy said.
“His hair’s too short,” Honny said.
“Oh my god,” Cherry said, closing the browser window. “I’m never introducing him to you people.”
Tom was staying at his dad’s house that night because Cherry hadn’t been sure how late she’d be. She got home a little after midnight and went straight to bed, already missing him. She lay awake awhile, listening to the radiator turn off and on...
Thinking about Tom.
And how diligent he was about his webcomic.
On Wednesday nights, Tom wouldn’t come over until he’d finishedThursday. (It posted once a week.)
