Cherry Lover (Cherry 2)

“Sure,” Cherry said as he walked away. “I’ll kick your ass then too.”

I sat across from her and watched her shuffle the deck before she returned the cards to the box. “What’s wrong? You’re awfully serious.”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh? I’m listening.” She folded her hands on top of each other on the surface of the table.

I pulled out the listing I’d printed off and set it in front of her.

She looked down at the townhouse, seeing the picture of the front as well as the images from inside. Her serious expression turned to one of pure bewilderment. She flipped the page then raised her chin to look at me. “What’s this about?”

“You said you always wanted to live in a townhouse.”

“Yeah, but why are you showing this to me?”

“Because it’s just a few blocks from here, it’s in Manhattan, and you could walk to work.”

She looked at the paper again. “It doesn’t show the price, but I can guarantee you that I could never, ever afford this place.” She pushed the papers back toward me. “Maybe someday when I invent something and become a millionaire. But until that happens, I’ll be a renter for the rest of my life.”

I pushed the papers back toward her. “Cherry, I bought it for you.”

Her features looked exactly the same, frozen in shock. It took her several seconds to

process what I’d said, as if she couldn’t believe any part of it. “What did you just say?”

I just gave her the one thing she wanted more than anything, so she probably couldn’t believe her luck. It was a dream come true. Before she met me, she had nothing. She struggled every single day of her life. But now I’d wiped away all the terrible things that haunted her. “I bought it for you. It’s yours.”

The look she gave me was one I didn’t expect. Her eyes formed a thin layer of moisture, but it seemed to be from fury rather than touching emotion. She slowly sat back against the chair, like I’d just given her the worst news she’d ever received. She looked down at the papers I’d pushed toward her and then ripped them into pieces.

I watched the shredded pieces fall from her hands and litter the table and floor. When I looked at her again, she seemed even more furious than she was just a second ago. I was meeting the gaze of a woman I didn’t know. “Cherry—”

“I don’t need you to buy me something, Slate. I’m perfectly happy in an apartment in Brooklyn.”

“But—”

“If you really want to keep me safe, you could ask me to move in here with you—permanently. Slate, I don’t want your fucking money. The only reason I agreed to this arrangement was so I could be with you a little longer. When will you get that through your damn head?” She tapped her forefinger against her temple. “I don’t want you to buy my dream house so I can move out and never see you again.” She rose to her feet and brushed the pieces of paper onto the floor. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want the townhouse. I just want you.” She stormed off into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

I stayed at the table and listened to the silence once she departed. The shreds of paper were scattered everywhere, and I replayed the conversation we’d just had over and over. I imagined her face lighting up when I presented my generous gift. I never anticipated such painful rage. I never imagined it would hurt her instead of making her happy. Now I didn’t know what to do, what to say. So I just sat there, hoping she would come back.

An hour later, Coen returned downstairs.

He approached the table and looked at the scattered pieces of paper everywhere. He stared at them on the floor before he rested his arm on the back of Cherry’s vacated chair. “Did you get a new shredder or something?” He grabbed a few scraps and pieced them together, trying to rebuild what Cherry had destroyed. He kept working until a small fragment of the picture was restored. “Looks like a house.”

“I bought Monroe a townhouse.” My voice came out emotionless because I was dead inside. My gesture had been turned upside down. She’d used it as a weapon to stab me to death. Now I was bleeding all over my kitchen table.

“Oh…that’s nice of you.”

“I thought so too.”

He helped himself to the chair. “I guess she didn’t see it that way?”

I shook my head.

“I told you Monroe was nothing like Simone. She doesn’t want your wallet.”

No, she certainly didn’t. She had a greater chance of getting my cash than my heart, but she still chose my heart. She could have accepted the townhouse and moved on with her life. But instead, she wanted much more.