Chapter 31
Thursday turned into something else—before the first book was even published.
The webcomic caught fire in certain corners of the internet. There were Tumblr fan blogs and Twitter memes. A reference in
a Kanye lyric.
Tom stayed away from it all. He wasn’t on social media.
Cherry watched it from a distance. She set up a Google alert.
Her more culturally plugged-in friends were the first to become aware of Tom’s comic. Another designer at work mentioned it,
and then a few people from college posted about it on Facebook . . .
But whatever was happening still wasn’t happening in the real world. Tom had never monetized Thursday. Nothing in their life changed. The New York Times wrote a small piece about the comic, but nobody in Cherry and Tom’s circles read The New York Times.
The first Thursday collection—at that time, the only planned collection—debuted on three bestseller lists. Ophelia, Tom’s editor, said this was unheard of for an adult graphic novel.
Everything about publishing was unheard of for Tom and Cherry, so the impact didn’t really sink in.
They still lived in the same house and drove the same car. They still went to work every day for the railroad, and Tom still
hated it.
Cherry had been promoted again. They were talking about getting pregnant. They were talking about getting a dog.
Tom had gotten twenty thousand dollars for the first Thursday book, and they’d used it to pay off their credit cards.
There’d be royalties eventually, but not for six months, and even then the royalties would be held back against returns.
Tom didn’t know what that meant. Tom didn’t know how many books had sold exactly or how much he got from each sale.
Cherry’s sisters all bought the book. Or said they did. Cherry told them that she didn’t want to talk about it. She was sure
they started a new group thread without her.
Some of their Western Alliance coworkers bought the book, but it didn’t seem like they were actually reading it.
The local library wanted Tom to give a speech. He said no.
His publisher wanted him to go on a promotional tour. He said no.
But then Charlie, his agent—Tom had an agent now—said that he was contractually obligated to promote the book, within reason.
No one could say what “within reason” meant.
Tom really, really hated his job at the ad agency. Cherry encouraged him to take a month off and go on tour.
Tom didn’t want to. “What will I even talk about?”
“The comic. The characters.”
“There’s nothing to say—everything I had to say is already in the book.”
“Talk about your process.”
“I sit at a computer.”
“Just be handsome and funny and sign books.”
“So now you’re asking me to become a different person . . .”
“You’re very handsome and very funny, Tom.”
“To you. Maybe.”
“To me, definitely.”
“I don’t want to do this, Cherry.”
“How do you know? You’ve never done anything like this. Let them pay for you to see the country. Stay in nice hotels. Try
regional takes on eggs Benedict. Visit comic book stores.”
“You’re making it sound like a vacation.”
“It is.”
“If it was a vacation, you’d come with me.”
Tom’s bookstore events sold out, so they moved him into bigger venues.
Into theaters and community centers. He did readings from Thursday; they were apparently hilarious.
Vox did a piece on him, but Tom wouldn’t comment.
Then The Atlantic called, and Charlie the agent and Ophelia the editor and Rachel the publicist—she was new—made him comment.
A production company wanted to option the first three volumes of Thursday for film.
(Tom’s publisher had decided to release six volumes, one every six months. They were already rereleasing the first book in hardcover. Tom was doing new art for a boxed
set.)
This production company was top of the heap, according to Andrea, Tom’s new film agent. It was the kind of place that cranked
out Oscar bait. Though Tom could also make a deal directly with or Netflix . . .
Every time that Andrea called, Tom would leave his cell phone in the house and go for a bike ride. Or out to the yard. Or
to walk their new puppy.
Cherry finally took Andrea’s call.
Andrea was going to get Tom everything: An executive producer credit. A piece of the backend. First run at the screenplay.
Tom quit his job, and it was the first real thing that happened because of his success—and the first unalloyed good thing. He got to walk away. (And Cherry didn’t have
to be a party to firing him.)
They went out to dinner to celebrate. They called it their sixth anniversary celebration, too, because Tom was going to miss
the actual date of their anniversary—his publisher was sending him to a librarians’ conference in Cincinnati. Rachel, the
publicist, said that librarians loved him.
There were so many conferences. And award ceremonies. And book festivals.
The production company wanted Tom to come out to Los Angeles to collaborate with an experienced screenwriter on the movie script. And then they wanted him to come back to L.A. to meet with the director.
Tom’s suitcase sat in the foyer when he was home. He never unpacked it; he did laundry on the road. “Hotels will wash your
pants for fifteen dollars,” he told Cherry, “and your underwear for seven.”
His first big royalty check hit their bank account with a thunderclap. Tom wasn’t home enough for them to talk about how to
spend it. When he was home, his head was somewhere else. He was always on deadline. He was struggling to keep up with posting
new comic strips. He actually missed two Thursdays in a row, for the first time ever. The Washington Post ran a story about it.
Rachel booked his first TV appearance.
The Cut ran a column about how he was “your new grumpy Midwestern crush.”
The second royalty check landed with a sonic boom. Tom was huge in France and the Philippines. Tom went to a book festival
in Brazil.
Cherry had to come home for lunch every day to walk Stevie Nicks.
Tom sent her photos of high-speed train cabins and room-service cheese plates. His publicist took photos of him for the Thursday Instagram account. Cherry followed the account because Tom never sent her selfies.
Cherry went along on one promotional trip with him, fairly early on—to Japan. They were going to go to Tokyo Disney when he
was done with his book events. They were going to fly first class. Her nephew came to stay with Stevie.
The flight was long, and Rachel kept coming up from coach to go over business stuff with Tom. She was in her mid-twenties
with messy red hair, and she was very, very sharp. She reminded Cherry of Natasha Lyonne.
When they got to Tokyo, Cherry was exhausted and perpetually in the way. She went to a giant bookstore signing—it was the
first time she’d gone to one of Tom’s events—and one of his readers called her “Baby” and asked for a photo.
She skipped the rest of Tom’s Japanese appearances. She had so much work, and she was fourteen hours ahead of the Western Alliance team in Omaha. (Or ten hours behind.)
Tokyo Disney was wonderful. A rare charmed day with Tom. Followed by a rare charmed night in his arms. Both of them still
jet-lagged. Cherry only mostly sure she wasn’t ovulating.
Tom was going on to Sydney after that.
He tried to talk Cherry into going with him, but she had to get back to work. And to the dog. And what would she do in Sydney,
anyway—sit in Tom’s expensive hotel room and feel unnecessary?
She was melancholy and upside down. She cried on the plane on the way home.
She just wanted to get back to Nebraska.