Chapter 58
They were lying in bed. They both smelled like sweat and sex. Their hair still smelled like gingerbread.
And Tom wanted to come home.
And Cherry wanted him to come home.
Cherry wanted Tom back more than she’d ever wanted to marry him in the first place. Because now she knew what it was like
to have him, and what it was like to lose him.
Cherry loved Tom like a wild beast. Like a hurricane. She loved him boundlessly.
“It’s not that easy,” she said.
“Why not?” he whispered. “It feels so easy, Cherry.”
They were naked. They weren’t touching.
“Because you left,” she said.
Tom looked genuinely confused. “I never left.”
“You left,” she said again.
He lowered his eyebrows. Still at sea. “You told me not to come home.”
“You were long gone by then.”
He shook his head. “What are you talking about?” He was still whispering. If they whispered, it wasn’t a fight. It was barely
a conversation.
“I’m talking about how you checked out,” Cherry said. “And left me here with our entire life. You moved on.”
“I didn’t move on,” Tom said, raising his voice an inch. “I went away for work, and you told me I couldn’t come home.”
“There was nothing stopping you from coming home,” Cherry said clearly.
“You were stopping me. You literally told me that I couldn’t.”
She sat up, away from him. She took the comforter. “You’re a grown man.”
Tom sat up, too. “Cherry, you wouldn’t even talk to me.”
“Because you were with someone else!”
“I was never with her!”
“You were literally with her.”
He winced. “Okay.” His voice dropped. “I know. I’m sorry—please listen to me.”
“I still don’t want to hear your apologies.”
“You don’t want to hear me at all.”
“Because there’s nothing you can say to make it all right!”
“Will you please just talk to me?”
“Talk?” she said incredulously. “You don’t talk, Tom. You sulk. You draw. You go away.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” Cherry was shouting.
“We’ve been together for eleven years!” he shouted back. “And you cut me off like I was nothing to you! Like our marriage
was nothing to you!”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. You wouldn’t let me explain or apologize—or beg you to forgive me.”
“You didn’t beg me for anything!”
“How could I?” Tom yelled. He’d gotten out of bed. Cherry wouldn’t look at him—she could hear him getting dressed. “You wouldn’t
take my calls!”
Cherry still didn’t look up. She shouted at the floor between them. “You gave up so easily, Tom! Like I was nothing. I wanted you to fight for me!”
Tom laughed, like she was being ridiculous. (Like he hated her. Like he was giving up again.) “Jesus, Cherry,” he said softly. “When have I ever fought you and won?”
Cherry sat at the edge of the bed.
Tom was standing across the room, fuming. Breathing heavy. She could hear him. She still hadn’t looked up.
“This was a mistake,” Cherry said. “I want you to leave.”
Tom walked past her. She saw him scoop up his shirt in her peripheral vision. “Whatever you say.”
She heard him go—he slammed the front door.
He’d left the baby gate open. A few minutes later, Stevie shuffled into the bedroom to nose at Cherry’s knees.
“I know,” Cherry said as Stevie sniffed and pushed at her. “I know.”