Chapter 3

(Cherry)

“If he’s my new dad, can we get a dog, too? Like a huge, fluffy Golden Retriever that sleeps on my legs?” I practically vibrated in my seat, my spoon clinking against the ceramic bowl in a frantic, rhythmic beat. I didn’t even notice that my cornflakes were turning into a soggy, beige mush. All I could see was the way John’s shoulders filled up a doorway, and the way he’d looked at us, like we were a puzzle he couldn’t wait to put together.

Mom didn’t answer right away. She was staring into her coffee, her expression like a cloudy window. She looked tired, the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with a nap, but there was a flush on her cheeks that hadn’t been there yesterday. I leaned in, my voice a loud, hopeful whisper. “He’s so nice, Mom. And he’s strong! He could carry all the groceries in one trip. He wouldn’t even need the cart!”

Suddenly, Mom sighed, a long, heavy sound that made the air in the kitchen feel thick. “Cherry, honey, being a ‘dad’ isn’t just about carrying groceries or playing space games at the arcade,” she said, her voice cautious, almost fragile. “John is ... he’s very young. He’s in college. He doesn’t have a career, or a plan, or a house of his own. What happens if he gets bored? What happens if he decides that being a father is too much work and just ... vanishes like the others?”

I frowned, the excitement dipping for a second. “He won’t. He looked at you like you were a movie star. He likes me too! I can tell.” I remember the way he held my hand, firm and warm. It felt like a promise. I wanted to tell her that I could feel it, that the air around him was different, like he was a big, protective wall that would keep the rest of the world away from our little apartment.

“Liking someone is easy, Cherry,” Mom murmured, finally taking a sip of her coffee. “Building a life is the hard part. I can’t just let a boy into our world because he’s handsome and smells nice. I have to think about the rent, your school, and ... everything.”

“But you like him!” I countered, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. “I saw how you looked at him on the couch. You were practically melting!”

Mom jumped, nearly spilling her coffee, and a deep, crimson blush crawled up her neck. For a moment, she didn’t look like the cautious adult in charge; she looked like a girl with a secret. She didn’t scold me for noticing. She just looked away, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped her mug, and for the first time, I realized that maybe Mom wanted John just as much as I did.

At lunchtime, I told my best friend Pam about him. “He’s like a giant,” I breathed, leaning so far over the cafeteria table that my ponytail was practically dipping into my other friend Molly’s mashed potatoes. “Like, actually huge, six and a half feet tall! When he hugs you, you just ... disappear. And he doesn’t just pretend to listen, guys. He actually looks at you. Like you’re the only person in the room.”

Pam sighed, her eyes glazing over as she poked at a limp piece of green bean. “Do you think he’d actually stay?” she whispered, her voice sounding small and hollow. “My house is so quiet it feels like it’s screaming. I just want someone to come home and ask how my day was without it being a trick or a chore. I’d give anything for a dad who likes me.”

Molly didn’t look up. She was chewing slowly, her gaze fixed on a scratch in the plastic table. “I don’t want a ‘giant,’” she muttered, and her voice had this sharp, jagged edge to it. “I just want my dad to stop. Just ... stop the yelling. Stop the booze. I’m tired of the shouting matches at 2 AM when the walls feel like they’re shaking.” She finally looked at me, her eyes tired and old for a fourteen-year-old. “Is he actually nice, Cherry? Or is he just another ghost waiting to vanish?”

“He’s different,” I insisted, feeling a fierce need to protect the image of him in my head. “He’s real. He’s solid. And he looks at my mom like she’s a goddess.”

Suddenly, the bell shrieked, a harsh, metallic sound that tore through the conversation. As we stood up to head to algebra, I felt a surge of restless energy. All I could think about was the way John had whispered to Mom on the couch, the way the air had practically sparked between them. I didn’t know what “solid” felt like for most people, but for me, it felt like John.

(John)

I spent the entire hour of my 101 Econ lecture staring at the clock, my leg bouncing with a manic intensity. The professor was droning on about profit effects of taxation, supply scarcity, blah blah. All I could see was the curve of Ann’s waist and the way her breath had hitched when I touched her. My skin felt too tight for my body. Every time I closed my eyes, I could smell her, that intoxicating mix of her perfume and natural feminine fragrance that made my head swim.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d pushed me away. It wasn’t a ‘no,’ not really. It was a ‘not yet.’ It was a challenge. She was the anchor, the responsible one, but I knew there was a storm brewing underneath that green dress. I wanted to be the one to break that anchor. I wanted to see her lose that composure, to hear her voice crack not from stress, but from a pleasure so intense she couldn’t remember her own name.

The second the class ended, I was out the door. I didn’t care about the notes or the assignment. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over her name. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a wild, hungry beat.