Chapter 56
Cherry woke up alone.
The down comforter was pulled up and tucked around her.
She lay quiet, listening for sounds downstairs or in the bathroom . . .
Nothing.
She sat up, looking around for some sign that she hadn’t slept here alone . . .
There wasn’t any. Tom’s clothes weren’t lying on the floor. There was no wet washcloth.
A desolate feeling settled in the pit of Cherry’s stomach. A loneliness without borders.
Then she heard the front door open.
And Tom’s hushed voice.
Stevie running back and forth.
She heard the baby gate clicking open, then closed.
And Tom on the stairs.
How many times in the last twenty-four hours had Cherry wished for time to stop? She wanted to be stuck in this moment, like
a fly in amber—naked in bed, with Tom climbing the stairs.
He got to their room. He was wearing his coat and hat, and holding coffee. “You aren’t supposed to be awake.”
Cherry clenched the blanket in front of her chest. “Where’d you go?”
He sat down on the bed. “Stevie was at the bottom of the stairs, whining—I think she thought she was being punished. I took her for a walk, so she wouldn’t wake you up.” He frowned at Cherry’s face. She must still look hurt. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He held up the cup. “I brought you a latte.”
Cherry took it. She smiled.
“And,” Tom said, reaching into a bag she hadn’t noticed, “something called a Christmas scone.”
“What’s a Christmas scone?”
“I don’t know. The girl at the bakery said it has ham, orange glaze and Madagascan cloves.”
Cherry was taking a sip of her latte. She raised her eyebrows. “Well.”
“I know,” he said. “Our neighborhood has gotten very bougie. There’s almost nowhere left to buy vapes.”
She laughed.
Tom reached into the bag. “I also got an egg wrap with spinach and feta.”
“Like Starbucks.”
“Like Starbucks,” he said, “but make it bougie.” He held up both paper-wrapped parcels. “Your choice.”
“I kind of want both.”
“You can have both.”
Cherry just smiled at him. She’d been trying to pretend that everything was normal . . . that Tom had gotten up early to walk
Stevie and get breakfast, and now he was home, and he was just home. But her eyes were getting glossy.
Tom watched her face. He wrinkled his forehead. “Hi,” he whispered.
“Hi,” Cherry said.
He kissed her cheek, and she closed her eyes. “Hi,” Tom said in a softer whisper.
“Hi,” Cherry breathed out.
“Can I come back to bed?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Tom stood up and took off his pants. (He’d put on yesterday’s clothes, even though there was a dresser full of clean clothes a few feet away.) He left on his T-shirt and underwear, and climbed back under the covers.
“You can drink your coffee,” he said, “but come here.” He put his arm around her shoulders.
Cherry leaned against him, taking sips of the latte. Tom unwrapped the scone with one hand and broke off a piece for her.
She took it. She glanced up at him, and smiled when he smiled.
“You grew out your hair,” she said.
“I didn’t want to find a new barber. And every time I did a TV interview, the hair person would tell me my hair was too short . . .”
He frowned at her. “Do you hate it?”
“No. You look like the guy from The Bear.”
Tom snorted. “I look more like a bear.”
Cherry laughed. He handed her another chunk of scone. It was delicious. “I like it,” she said, tilting her chin up at him.
“You look nice.”
“ ‘Nice,’ ” Tom said, like it was a dubious compliment.
She pushed her bare shoulder into his chest. “I liked it before,” she said, “but I like it now, too.”
Tom picked up the egg wrap and took his arm back so he could peel off the paper with both hands. “Well, thanks. Here—try this.”
Cherry was still holding the comforter in front of her chest, clamped in her armpits and under her elbows. Still holding the
coffee. Tom held the egg wrap up to her, and she leaned in to take a bite. He took a bite, too.
“Not bad,” Cherry said.
“Better than Starbucks,” he said with his mouth full, “but not enough better, you know?”
She nodded. Tom was making her laugh. He was in a good mood. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.
He looked over at her. At her face. In her eyes. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
Cherry swallowed.
Tom leaned in to kiss her. He leaned in slowly—she had plenty of time to get away. Cherry lifted up her chin.
It was much gentler than anything they’d tried last night. She smiled.
He moved his head to kiss her from the other angle. She smiled even bigger.
Tom put his hand on her coffee cup, to take it away. Cherry held on to it. She broke the kiss—“One more drink.”
She took another gulp of latte, then handed it to him. He took a swig, too, before setting it on the table. Then he turned
back to Cherry with both arms. She let go of the blanket. Tom got his hands on her and sighed. She kissed him.
“You’re still warm,” he said, dragging her down onto the pillows.
She went.
“It was so hard not waking you up . . .” he said in a hushed voice. “I had to leave the building.”
“You could have woken me up.”
“I didn’t want you to tell me to go,” he said even more quietly.
Cherry kissed him—because nothing she was thinking could be said out loud. “I would never tell you to go” was a lie. “I never want you to go” was too true. She didn’t want to say anything that would cast them too far into their past or their future. She didn’t want
Tom to wake up.
“So warm,” Tom said between kisses. He was rubbing her back, her hips, her bottom. He pulled her knee over his hip. With her
leg open, Cherry smelled like last night’s sex. She knew it wouldn’t bother him. She knew that almost nothing like this did.
He reached up between her thighs to touch. “Are you still wet, or are you wet again?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Tom pushed his fingers deeper into her. She closed her eyes. He was pushing. Exploring. It felt good. Good.
“Wait,” she said. “Let me go to the bathroom first.”
“Yeah.” He was already breathing heavy. “Okay.”
Cherry pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed. Tom’s hands followed her. She stood up, unsteady at first, and his hands
kept following her. She looked over her shoulder. Tom had sat up, too. She took a step away from him.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “Turn around.”
Cherry did.
Her hair was hanging over both her shoulders, skirting the tops of her breasts. She was naked, mostly—she was still wearing
one pink fishnet knee-high.
Tom was motioning for her to come closer.
She took a step toward him.
“Sorry.” His voice had dropped. “Come back.”
“Tom.”
“Come back.” He had her hands. She let him pull her closer and push her down, so he could climb on top of her. “You look totally
debauched, Cherry.”
“I feel totally debauched.”
He licked her chest. “You’re covered in crumbs.” He licked her again. He rubbed his face between her breasts. His hand was
between her legs again. Questing.
She inhaled. “Tom, I have to pee.”
“That’s fine,” he said, pressing his fingers in.
She laughed—it turned into a whine. She did have to pee. It felt good like this, and he knew it.
“Touch yourself,” he said, pressing.
“Tom . . .”
He pulled away long enough to take off his T-shirt—then bunched it up and shoved it under her bottom. “There.”
Cherry laughed genuinely, bringing the backs of her hands to fall over her eyes.
“Touch yourself,” Tom said, pushing his fingers into her again.
She reached down and touched.
Tom reached inside and pressed. He watched.
Cherry worked herself over. It was almost immediately too much—she was afraid to come. “Tom. I’m going to leak.”
“Cherry, you’re so wet, I won’t notice.”
She laughed again.
He hooked his fingers. “Come on, baby.”
She gave in—she let herself fall over the edge. It was disturbingly easy. And felt so good. She did it again. She knew that
Tom was watching, even with her eyes closed. Her orgasms felt sharp and dangerous. Overlapping. She cried out. Stevie barked
at the bottom of the stairs. Cherry laughed.
“More,” Tom said.
“No more,” Cherry said. She planted her foot on his chest.
He drew his hand away, then leaned over to kiss the inside of her thigh.
Cherry was boneless. Tom gently turned her onto her side and lay down behind her. His hand slid into her again, from behind.
She sighed and hitched up her knee. Tom pushed his cock in. He wasn’t pressing on her bladder like this. And he was being
very gentle. It still felt good. He held on to her hip. It didn’t take long.
Neither of them moved when he was done.
“Did I leak?” Cherry whispered.
Tom felt between her legs. “I don’t think so . . . Maybe next time.”
She pushed her elbow back into his chest. He was laughing.
Cherry sat up, away from him, and stood up. “I might take a shower.”
“Don’t take a shower. Come back and be filthy with me awhile longer.”
He looked so happy, she couldn’t say no.
But then, once she was in the bathroom, Cherry felt so disgusting that she couldn’t not get in the shower. She rinsed off quickly. She didn’t wash her hair.
When she came back, Tom was lying under the comforter, on his side—and on his side of the bed. He looked perfect like that. The room looked perfect with him in it.
She got under the covers again, lying on her side, facing him.
He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Oh no,” Cherry said. “Did I give you too much time to think?”
Tom smiled and looked down at the mattress between them. “Maybe.”
She exhaled. Bracing.
“Cherry . . .” he said. “I know you’re seeing someone.”
“No,” she said, surprised. “No. Tom, I’m not.”
He looked up at her, even more surprised. “But you said you were.”
“I was,” she said. “I’m not anymore.”
“Oh . . .” he said, processing.
Cherry was processing, too. “Wait, you thought I was seeing someone? And that didn’t give you pause? Last night?”
“It gave me pause . . .” he said. “Not a long pause.”
“Really?”
“You’re my wife,” Tom said. Half fierce. Half indignant.
Cherry huffed out a laugh. She tried to be offended by it all. She couldn’t. She was his wife. She had been, all along.
(And that wasn’t to say that she agreed with her sisters. Or that she felt guilty about Russ, or believed that she’d done
something wrong. It was just to say—she’d never stopped wanting to be married to Tom.)
“You’re my wife . . .” Tom said, more brokenly.
Cherry nodded.
“Cherry, I want to come home.”