Chapter 52 #2
“It’s great to see you, Nancy.” Some of the brothers-in-law called Cherry’s mom Mom. Tom called her Nancy.
“You look good,” she said. “Have you lost weight?”
“Um . . .”
“Everyone’s losing weight. Have you seen Hope? She lost a whole person! I never thought I’d have a skinny daughter.”
Tom glanced up, reflexively. Hope had just walked over, wearing a jersey wrap dress that showed off her narrow shoulders and
slim arms. His eyes widened, also reflexively—then he caught himself. “Hey, Hope. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Tom.”
“And look at your hair,” Cherry’s mom said, smiling up at him. “It suits you.”
“California must suit you,” Hope said.
Being single must suit him, Cherry thought.
Her mom was still holding Tom’s hands. Her dad had settled onto the couch—where he wouldn’t move for the rest of the day.
“It’s so good to see you,” her mom said again, squeezing Tom’s hands. “You’re my son, you know that?” She was tearing up.
“You’ll always be my son.”
“Thank you,” Tom said, letting her squeeze him.
Cherry should intercede, but if she came any closer, her mom might grab Cherry’s hands, too. She’d handfast them back together,
right there in Honny’s living room.
“Mom!” Honny called from the dining room. “Come on in—we’ve been waiting for you to start eating. Did you bring the mashed
potatoes?”
“Well, Danny has them.”
Hope’s husband, Danny, had stalled out in front of the football game. He was carrying a big soup pot.
“I’ll grab them,” Tom said, pulling his hands away from Cherry’s mom. “Hey there, Danny.”
“Oh, hey, Tom—Merry Christmas.”
The tables were ready. The buffet was ready. Honny had one of the kids turn down the volume on the football game. She made
her husband, Carl, stand up to say grace.
Cherry’s brothers-in-law took turns saying prayer on holidays. (They’d offered it to Tom one year, and he’d declined.) It
was Carl’s turn today. Carl was a sturdily built Mexican American guy. He and Honny spent every other Christmas with his family
out in Grand Island. He put an arm around Honny, and Joy’s and Faith’s husbands followed suit. They all looked round and rosy
and comfortably in love.
Cherry was standing next to Tom. She gave him a smile, just to make it less awkward, and he smiled back, tight-lipped, making
the best of things. They bowed their heads.
Carl encouraged them all to be thankful. He encouraged them to remember God, who gave His only son for them and watched Him
die on the cross—which struck Cherry as more of an Easter sentiment—but Carl brought it back around to generosity. To family.
To kids growing older. To families getting bigger. “How fortunate we are to be here together,” Carl said. “How fortunate we
are to have this day.”
“Amen,” Cherry and Tom agreed, with everyone else in the room.
“Oh, Carl, you made me cry with that one,” Cherry’s mom said.
“Amen,” Faith said.
The nieces and nephews went through the buffet line first. Honny spotted the kids’ paper tablecloth, and said, “Oh my god,
Tom—are you kidding me? No! We are not letting that get ruined. Everybody lift up your plates!” Honny pulled the paper out from under them, and Cherry helped her
spread it out against the actual fireplace (which wasn’t lit). “We have to hang this up after dinner,” Honny said. “Tom has
outdone himself this time.”
Honny was probably thinking that this was the last of the Tom tablecloths—and her last chance to hold on to one. (Tom really had outdone himself.)
Cherry made her dad a plate. There was no alcohol at Honny’s house, so he’d probably filled himself to the brim before he
got there. Their father was an accomplished drunk. He could plan his work and work his plan, around all his daughters’ machinations.
Cherry wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him sober. Imagine having that sort of stick-to-itiveness for forty years.
Right now, he was topped up and sullen. He might mellow into chatty and loudly bemused, or he might just get nervy and short-tempered.
It was hard to get their father to family gatherings. He didn’t like to feel trapped.
“Hey, Dad,” Cherry said. “I brought you some lunch.”
He didn’t look up from the game. “Thanks, honey.”
Her dad was a heavyset guy with wavy hair and deep, craggy dimples. He’d been handsome once. Roguish. He looked a lot older
than Cherry’s mom, even though they were the same age.
Cherry set down the plate. “You want to come sit with us, in the dining room?”
“Nah, I’m all right. I’m watching the game.”
He wouldn’t want to move around much. He wouldn’t want any of the grandkids to bother him. Just like he hadn’t wanted any
of his own kids to bother him.
Cherry’s mom had always gone overboard on holidays. They never had much money for presents, but her mom would cook for days.
They’d decorate the whole house with paper chains and popcorn garlands. They’d make pomanders out of oranges and cloves.
Hope said their mom was always dancing in double time to cover for their dad, to distract from him. “All of those frantically wonderful Christmases.”
They really had been wonderful . . .
Cherry made her own plate, carefully taking tiny portions so she could try everything.
Honny had brined the turkey and stuffed the skin with sage and butter. Hope had made the bread-crumb dressing with celery
and chestnuts. The green bean casserole was Joy’s—plus the brussels sprouts with maple syrup and bacon. Faith had baked yeasty
yellow rolls and spent a whole day making homemade noodles in chicken gravy. Everyone brought dessert. Pumpkin pie, apple
potica. Red velvet cake, a Swiss roll. There were plates and plates of cookies and homemade candy. Peppermint bark and Christmas
crack.
Cherry and Tom ended up together at the table, sitting just where she’d sat with Russ—with Hope in the same place, too, sitting
next to Tom and looking like she’d shown up at the wrong family dinner. Tom’s plate was so full, he’d had to stack his roll
and pastieri on top of everything else. He was being just as polite as Russ had been. But softer, more hesitant.
Maybe Tom was thinking about how everyone at this table knew his marriage was over. And how everyone at this table knew he’d
been unfaithful.
But Tom had always been soft-spoken and hesitant, so it was hard to say what he was thinking.
Her sisters had already forgotten to be strange with him. They’d shifted into their holiday selves, loud and happy. Their
husbands had not forgotten. They were being even more taciturn than usual. They must not appreciate Cherry dragging all these marital nightmares
to the table, the ghosts of Christmas past and future. Hope’s husband, Danny—usually warm and quietly witty—wouldn’t look
at Cherry, even when she asked him a direct question.
After dinner, they played cards. Tom wasn’t a games person.
At least not like this, with everyone shouting and getting competitive.
He let one of the nieces take his spot at the table and went into the living room to sit on the couch next to Cherry’s dad, forever willing to take one for the team.
Cherry drifted away from the card game to go sit with them.
She and Tom ended up playing Uno with some of the younger kids—and then having great seats to watch everyone open presents.
Cherry drank afternoon coffee and ate cookies. (All bets were off on Christmas.)
Her family always took time with the presents, opening them one by one. They took photos. They made it a whole production.
The television was still on, because their dad wouldn’t let anyone turn it off, and it was driving all of his daughters crazy,
including Cherry.
He’d sobered up enough to start talking Tom’s ear off about Nebraska football and what the coaches needed to do. Tom didn’t
care about Nebraska football, but her dad seemed to have internalized that Tom had played football once and was a good target
for this sort of monologue. Tom was being a good sport about it. Cherry caught herself patting his thigh, like thank you and I’m sorry. At least he’d never have to do this again.
Cherry wondered whether her dad even knew about her and Tom . . . Probably not. He hadn’t been at Thanksgiving.
When it was Cherry’s turn to open a present, someone handed her an envelope. Joy had drawn Cherry’s name and bought her an
individual membership to the botanical gardens—which was as good as saying, “I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.”
“Thank you,” Cherry said. “I’ve never been.”
The nieces and nephews wanted to eat the gingerbread cookies, and the older ones had prepared an argument that the younger
ones shouldn’t get to pick first every year.
Cherry and Tom heard them out, and decided they were right. Cherry let the middle kids pick first. Everyone told Tom how great
the cookies looked, and Tom told everyone that Cherry had made them. And Joy said, “Cherry, sometimes I forget you can draw.”
Tom got Cherry another cup of coffee, and one for himself, and a poinsettia-shaped napkin piled with tuile cookies for them
to share.
One of her nieces wanted to sit next to Cherry, so Cherry scooted closer to Tom. He put his arm on the back of the couch behind her, to make room.
The little kids were playing with their toys on the floor. And Cherry’s sisters were playing cards again. And Tom was so solid.
So warm. The sun was starting to set. The neighbors’ Christmas lights came on.
“I think I’m going to run your dad home,” Tom said.
Cherry leaned forward to look at her dad. “You’re not staying, Dad?”
His eyes were red. His eyebrows were disordered. “I’m ready for an early night.”
Cherry’s mom was in the other room, playing cards. There was some back-and-forth about whether she should leave with him.
He told her to stay—he was just going straight to bed.
Cherry and her sisters all knew that if anything, he was going straight to the bar. But they didn’t get involved. It was pointless.
Faith finally said, “Mom, stay. Let’s finish our game.”
“I’ll be back,” Tom said.
“I’ll save your seat,” Cherry said.