Chapter 52 #3
“Save my cookies.”
As soon as their dad put on his coat, Honny turned off the TV.
Joy’s four-year-old daughter immediately claimed Tom’s seat and his cookies. Cherry played with her for a while, then got
up to gather napkins, crumpled-up gift wrap, and dirty dishes. She went into Honny’s kitchen. Honny’s husband was in there,
emptying the dishwasher. “I’ve got this,” Cherry said. “Take a load off, Carl.”
She got another batch of dishes going. She put the kettle on. She leaned over the sink, trying to stretch her back.
Tom found her like that.
When Cherry looked up, he was standing in the kitchen doorway. One of Cherry’s nephews squeezed past him to get a spoon and
then squeezed out again.
Tom walked over to stand by Cherry at the sink. He rested his hand on her back. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m up,” she said.
He rubbed her back for just a second. “You’re supposed to be saving our prime seats on the couch.”
“Thanks for taking my dad home.”
“It was fine. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.”
“Do you want to leave soon?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine. I stopped by the house and let Stevie out.”
“That was smart. Well . . . just tell me when you’re ready.”
“Cherry, I’m fine. It’s been nice, thank you.”
Another hip-high nephew was running into the kitchen.
“Slow down,” Cherry said.
“Uncle Tom, will you play Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza with us?”
“What’s Taco . . . What was it again, Taco Goat Pizza?”
The kid cracked up. “It’s a game.”
“Uncle Tom’s been playing with you all day,” Cherry said. “He might need a break.”
Tom smiled at her. “I don’t mind.”
Tom had known all these kids since they were babies. He’d sat in the hospital waiting room when they were born. If you asked
the little ones, they wouldn’t be able to tell you that Cherry was their aunt by blood and Tom was their uncle by situation.
This was his last Christmas with them. He wouldn’t go to any more birthday parties. He’d miss their graduations and weddings.
Cherry followed him into the family room to play Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza. (Which was a very silly card game.)
They stayed at Honny’s house long enough to have a second plate of turkey. And to hear Cherry’s mom tell the story (for the
thousandth time) of going into labor with Faith on Christmas Eve. How Hope and Honny had cried because Santa didn’t come,
and how Cherry told everyone at church that Santa had brought the baby, and everyone thought it was so cute, they didn’t correct
her.
They stayed at Honny’s long enough that everything hard fell away.
They sat at the dining room table, and Tom’s arm hung off the back of Cherry’s chair.
Tom cracked open almonds and pecans, and Cherry and Hope stole them.
Tom didn’t say much, but he never did. He laughed.
And when everyone was trying to get Cherry to do her impression of Joy’s husband that time Joy wrecked their Prius, it was Tom who nudged her over the edge.
(You had to know Joy and her husband, and to have seen the Prius, to get it.)
Hope left first, with their mom. Who hugged Tom too hard and looked too long in his eyes.
After another hour of making fun of their mom and gossiping about Hope—who’d hardly eaten, even Dan hadn’t eaten, was Dan on Ozempic now too, did Tom know lots of people on Ozempic out in Hollywood,
Joy’s gynecologist was skinny now, and so was Faith’s pediatrician, plus Whoopi Goldberg, have you seen her, she looks great,
they all look great, not Joy’s gynecologist, she looks gaunt—everyone stood up from the table and stretched.
Tom went to get the car while Cherry rounded up her pans and platters. All her cookies had been eaten, and all the meat pies,
too, and Honny said she’d keep the leftover cheese spread. Faith stood by Cherry at the kitchen sink and squeezed her arm.
“You okay, Cherish Anne?”
Cherry smiled. “I’m good.”
(That was a lie. If Cherry had been good—essentially, fundamentally, in a core and abiding way—she would probably still be
married. She hadn’t been the one to break things, but she suspected that she was the one who’d worn them down and made them fragile. The person who had put pressure
on their relationship’s weakest points. The points of wear and past damage.) (It was also a lie in the more immediate sense:
Cherry wasn’t good or all right or fine or holding up or keeping her head above water.)
Tom left the car running in the driveway and came back to the house to help Cherry out. He held on to her elbow all the way
to the car.
It was cold—“bitter cold,” her mom called this weather. Cherry got into the car and sat on her hands. The roads were clear, but she was still glad Tom was the one driving. He turned on the radio. “You sick of Christmas carols?”
“Never,” Cherry said.
“I wasn’t prepared for Hope,” he said.
“Every time I see her, she’s lost more weight. Her eyes look huge. I wonder if my eyes would look that big if I lost weight . . .”
He glanced over at her. “Would you want them to?”
“I don’t think so. She looks like someone drew a picture of her from memory and got the eyes and mouth wrong.”
“Honny’s being vicious about it.”
“Yeah,” Cherry sighed. “What else is new.”
Tom glanced over at her. “You look tired.”
“I am.”
“Me, too.”
When they got to the house, Tom parked the car in the driveway. “You could start using the garage now if you wanted. There’s
room.”
“Meh,” Cherry said. “Seems like an extra step.”
Tom carried the Christmas stuff, and Cherry took his arm on the steps. They both stopped outside the door. Stevie had already
spotted them. She was barking at the front window.
Tom was squinting up, almost like he was looking through the porch ceiling at the sky. His chin stayed tilted, but his eyes
found Cherry’s. “Could I come in for a second?”
“Yeah.” She nodded so hard, she felt her cheeks wobble. “Of course.”
They both waited.
“You have my keys,” she said.
“Oh.” Tom shook his head. “Right.”
He got her keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door, pushing it open so she could walk in first.
Stevie ran up to Cherry, snuffling at her legs, then switched to Tom, who petted her and scratched behind her ears. “Hey there,
Stevie Nicks, did you have a long, lonely Christmas?”
Cherry took off her coat and hugged it against her waist. She was watching Tom. Watching his big hands in Stevie’s fur. Watching the curls bounce on the top of his head.
“Okay,” Tom said. “Okay, good girl. Why don’t you go rest. Here—” He grabbed a chewy treat from Stevie’s kennel and gave it
to her. “There you go. You go rest.” Stevie dropped to the floor, preoccupied with the treat.
Tom looked back at Cherry, his eyes narrow and concerned, and the bridge of his nose creased. “I have something for you.”
“Like . . .” She took a step back. “Like what?”
His face fell. “Like a present.”
“Oh.” For a second there, she’d really thought he was going to whip divorce papers out of his jacket. In the most dramatic
way possible. “You didn’t have to get me a present.”
“It’s Christmas,” Tom said, pained. “I wasn’t not going to bring you a present . . .”
Cherry didn’t say anything.
“Can I . . .” Tom asked.
She nodded.
He reached into his coat pocket and took out a long pink velvet jewelry box. It was tied with dark green ribbon. He held it
out to her.
Cherry took it. It looked old. She untied the ribbon and pried the hinge open. Inside was an antique charm bracelet with sterling
silver Disney charms. Fancy ones, with moving parts. With levers and beads. Snow White holding an enameled red apple. Cinderella’s
coach with wheels that spun.
Cherry clicked her tongue.
“It’s one person’s collection,” Tom said. “I got it at an estate sale, in Pasadena.”
She looked away from the bracelet. “You’ve been going to estate sales?”
“Cherry, I’m a red-blooded man in my prime. What do you expect from me?”
She laughed and went back to the bracelet. There was a Dumbo charm with ears that flapped.
“I hated to think of someone selling it for parts,” Tom said. “I polished it, to the extent that I could.”
“I love it.” Cherry looked up into his eyes. “I love it.”
Tom smiled a little and glanced away. Pleased.
“I didn’t get you anything,” she said.
He lowered his eyebrows. “You gave me today,” he said softly.
“More like I took it from you,” Cherry whispered. There were tears in her eyes. “I wanted it.”
Tom met her gaze. His face was serious. The corners of his eyes were very, very tense.
Cherry felt the loss of him so keenly in that moment. As if the final stitch between them was popping. As if he’d been carved
out of her for a year, but someone was finally pulling the meat of him away.
The list of ways that Cherry’s life would be unrecognizable without Tom was too long for her to fathom. It was an uncountable
number. It wasn’t just Christmas. It wasn’t just sleep and sex. Every night that she wouldn’t spend with Tom counted individually—every
one was a loss.
Why did she feel so awful? Why now?
Tom had been gone a year. Cherry had already passed through several stages of grief. Was this the end? Was the final stage “exquisite pain”? And if
she survived it, would she be free?
Tom shook his head. “Cherry,” he said, as if her name meant “no.” He shook his head again. He looked sad and sorry. “I . . .”
Cherry should let him off the hook. Send him on his way. She should reach inside her ribs and finish scooping out the last
bits of him.
Tom shook his head one more time, and then his head lurched down toward her.
Cherry’s head pulled back—reflexively, the way you’d move your head if there was a baseball flying toward your face.
Tom stopped himself.
Cherry stopped herself.
“Sorry,” they said at the same time. All of this happened in a second, and Tom was already pulling away.
Cherry reached up and grabbed the neck of his sweater. His head caught. He looked in her eyes.
“Tom,” Cherry said. It meant “yes.” It meant “Tom.” It meant “I’d do anything, anything.”