Cherry Blossoms

by KT Morrison

  “Hey, if I find out you're fucking him I'll goddamn kill you.”

  An anger swelled in her and even though she was definitely fucking this woman's husband she was awash with an indignant righteousness. “Excuse me? I’m fuckin married, Maria...” She touched her chest, spread her fingers across her collar, her posture rigid, her hand there ready to protect her face if this woman tried to scratch her.

  “Nice fuckin ring,” she said, looking at the sweet gift Geoff had brought her. “He buy you that? He’s not as rich as he says he is—”

  “Hey, my fuckin husband bought me that in New Yo—”

  Maria had stopped listening. She turned now and grabbed a sample of pool tiles, small square lozenges stacked in the size and shape of a brick. She hefted them off a cluttered office chair that had been wheeled under an empty coat rack. She turned and hurled it towards Rocco's office. It bounced off Susan’s desk, separated into twelve different stone samples, breaking apart and clattering all around the entrance to his office. She stormed out.

  Nia's heartbeat pounded in her ears. She looked to Rocco, wished she was anywhere but here. Thought to run off as well, jump in her car and go home but Maria was still out there and she was behind the wheel of a five-thousand pound weapon. Rocco shrugged and sighed, put his hands on his hips and looked at the mess she'd left. Outside, an engine roared and gravel scattered, pinging off the metal door even. Nia exhaled.

  She went to her desk and put her things on her chair, avoided looking at Rocco, but headed towards his office, looking at the ground, bending then and picking up the broken bits of tile. She stopped as his big boots scuffed towards her, watched them as they passed, listened as he made his way to the door and left.

  GEOFF

  “Dude...no, I’m telling you this guy is, like, my idol...yeah...no, I know...”

  Winslow was on his phone, standing outside at the front of the garage/studio unaware Geoff was inside on the other side of the glass door. Winslow had just arrived, standing now on the stoop, finishing a large Red Bull before coming in, rim lit in the low morning bright, barely peeking now over the roofs of the houses on the other side of the alley. Winslow hunched while he talked, hugging the big silver can to his chest, kicking rocks back onto the gravel off the step that led to the studio’s door. He looked younger than he was like this, talking like he was younger too. Geoff smiled and moved towards the white brick wall, leaned against his Cinelli, pretended to look through papers.

  “He seriously got, like, a dream assignment...I’m not supposed to say...but bigger than big...he’s got a house, a family...what? No, I can’t say...ha, ha, no, children’s books can be a big deal, dude...I know...oh, dude, and his wife...she’s a ten...huh? I said she’s a ten...hottest woman I’ve seen...I’m not kidding...”

  Geoff nodded, pretending to read an invoice from two months ago, a smile crept across his face and he was holding his breath. He was one lucky guy, wasn’t he?

  He heard footsteps coming from the house, little quick sneaker hops, and he panicked, started shuffling himself sideways away from the door before Winslow might see him.

  He made it to his tall, oversized drafting table and ducked down under it before she came in from the other door. He heard her footsteps inside, bold, then tentative, then she must have seen Winslow out the front door and she skipped that way. He lunged out and grabbed her around her waist and pulled her to him. She screamed high and loud and it buzzed his brain, hunched his shoulders to protect his eardrums, but he squeezed her tight anyway.

  “Da-ad!”

  “Got you!” he said and he nuzzled his face into her neck and shoulder and got his daughter giggling. “You ready for a long day drawing?”

  “Yess-ss,” she laughed louder as he tickled her and she squirmed away from him. She continued past him, skipped to the front, reached up to turn the handle and open the door for Winslow.

  He came in, tucking his phone in his pocket, holding the empty can of energy drink, got down on his knees and sang, “Odieee.” They hugged.

  “Hey, Geoff?” he said then, walking and tossing his bag on one of the desks. “Car’s out front, I think it’s Jenny. From Evergreen.”

  “Jenny?” he said.

  Sure enough, coming up the walk, way too early for a Wednesday morning, was Jenny from Evergreen. She was smiling, her hair shining in the sun. She had a satchel over her shoulder, a pink paper box held at her chest between both hands, and a tray of coffees on top of it. Geoff jumped up and rushed to get the door for her.

  “Hey, Jenny,” he said as she passed, coming into the studio and heading to put her burden down on a desk. “What are you doing here so early?”

  “I come bearing gifts,” she laughed. Winslow came and took the tray for her and she set the box down. “Coffee for Geoff and Winslow,” she said, Winslow’s face taking a subtle, happy tone, probably because Jenny remembered his name. “And hot chocolate for Odie,” she said, taking the last paper cup out, thoughtfully the same size as everyone else’s. She knew little girls.

  Odie took her cup with both hands and thanked her, and Jenny kissed the top of her head, said, “I had them add extra caramel.”

  Geoff sipped his coffee, beaming at the smile that put on his daughter’s face. Jenny turned to him, said, “Well, there’s the man of the hour...”

  “Me?”

  “Everybody talking about you.” She smiled and narrowed her eyes.

  “You heard?”

  “Yeah, of course I heard. It’s big news.”

  “Big news?” he laughed, fiddling with the plastic tab on the lid of his coffee.

  “It really is. Geoff, you deserve it. We all knew it. Knew it was a matter of time.”

  “I feel bad...”

  “Don’t. We’ll get you again. Your deal is three books, plus...” she let the Lily book hang. “But after that we’ll get you. I’m sure of it.”

  “It would be nice,” he agreed. Evergreen had always been so good to him.

  “Now,” she said, and put her coffee cup down on a desk behind her. “Why I’m here.” She slung the wide fabric strap of the satchel off her slim shoulder, and hefted the bag in both hands. “Odie,” she said, “would you do the honours?” She presented the bag to Odie and she put her hot chocolate down, mesmerized by the possibilities of what exciting object might be in this canvas bag. She pulled the snap buckles off, little face held in awe and then withdrew a plain paper-wrapped rectangle bound with twine, tied in a ribbon in the centre.

  “Whoah,” Odie said, sensing importance despite the understated wrapping. It was a thick rectangle, the thickness of O’s grip, and about the size of her torso. She clutched it to her and then walked it to the leather couch and worked the bow undone with her little fingers. They gathered around to watch. Odie peeled the paper away, tearing it with excitement.

  “Holy,” she whispered.

  Inside were three pristine, glossy copies of the Big Book of Choo. Appropriately printed to be a much bigger size than the first book, the Little Book of Choo. Powerful smell of clayed paper and fresh inks wafted up. These were hot off the presses.

  “Oh, wow,” Geoff said. They looked stunning.

  “Can I open them?” Odie asked.

  “Sure,” Jenny said, “they’re yours. Go ahead.”

  Odie cracked one open, the spine bristling and lightly crackling. The book was beautifully produced. It looked like a winner. All the success with Sparrow House had overwhelmed him and while he was aware of Choo, he’d forgotten how big it could be. Seeing it now he got scared. This was a tremendous package they’d put together.

  “Oh, Jenny,” he said. “They’re unbelievable. Look at them.” He picked one up and held it out. He flipped through it. This was going to be big.

  “Winslow, go on, you can take one,” he said and turned and lay it out on his drawing table and spread it open.

  There were all his trains, all his detail, the happy faces, the tracks, the villages, everything he’d strived for reprod
uced brilliantly in bright cheery ink. He looked at the townspeople, forgotten little montages he’d added, all his hard work rushing back to him now. Each line bringing a memory to him. Where he was, what he was listening to on the stereo, where Odie was, God, lines he made the day after Nia revealed she’d cheated on him. “Whoo, wow,” he sighed heavily and leaned over the book with his elbows on the table.

  Jenny put her arms around him, looking over his shoulder at the book. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  “You did it. You brought this together.”

  “They’re your drawings, Geoff. We just turned them into this wonderful package.”

  She stood then, turned to Odie and Winslow, said, “Now, I have to get back to the office, but first I think it’s time for cake.”

  Odie’s eyes went wide. This morning could not possibly get any better for his daughter. He laughed, leaned his butt against his table, folded his arms and watched Jenny open the pink box and get help from Odie, peering very seriously in there to see what kind of cake it was.

  “Hey, Dad, come see,” she said.

  Geoff came up behind them, looked over Jenny to see the cake in the pink box. White frosting, with swirls and ribbons, candied cherries, chocolate sprinkles up the side. In the centre was a drawing of a train with a happy, celebratory face. Written in red syrupy script above, it said, CONGRACHOOLATIONS, GEOFF! He laughed out loud, a great warm feeling coming over him. “Oh my God, that’s amazing.”

  Jenny smiled up at him over her shoulder. He said, “Where did you get that?”

  “I did it,” she said.

  “You decorated it?”

  “Yeah, I made it too,” she said and she went up on her toes and lightly kissed his cheek.

  She served the cake then, and they sat for ten minutes and ate and finished their drinks. Odie flipped through her book. Geoff moaned about all the work he had to finish, all the things he had to clear off his plate before he had to buckle down for Sparrow House. Jenny reminded him of all the promo he still had to do for the launch of Choo. He nodded. She didn’t remind him he was obligated, didn’t need to. He wanted to help with the book, but he was feeling the pressure now. There was so much to do and so little time.

  NIA

  “You mad at me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She was worried that she shouldn’t have talked back to Maria like that. It was unprofessional. This wasn’t high school. This wasn’t boyfriends and girlfriends. And as familiar as she was with Maria and Rocco from growing up in the same town, Rocco was her boss. She’d stepped over a line. But the lines had got scrambled a long time ago. She’d fucked Maria’s husband. Quite a few times. Not an affair per se. Just sex. Being confronted made her react in the only way she knew how. Maybe she should have just kept her big mouth shut.

  They were driving too fast, north up the 400, headed to Aliston. Rocco hadn’t said a thing to her since the incident. Only grunted. Grunted Get in the truck, grunted Get the computer, even grunted for her to wear her seatbelt. Now they were out of the city and traffic was sparse. They seemed more alone and the quiet between them became more pronounced and uncomfortable.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “No. I’m not mad at you.”

  “You okay?”

  “I told you it was all shit, didn’t I?” he said, shrugging, gripping the wheel tight.

  He hadn't mentioned his baby in days, hadn't talked about anything but work. She hoped Peter was okay but she hoped the fight hadn't been about her either. “How’s Peter?”

  “No good,” he said, turning the corners of his mouth down. “You didn’t take shit from her.”

  “Maria?”

  “Yeah, you gave it right back, didn’t you?”

  “Is that okay?”

  “I don’t care. Maybe it’s not.”

  “Hey. She suspects us?”

  “She fuckin told you, didn't she?”

  “Is that why she’s mad?”

  “I don’t need to talk to you about it, okay?” he said, growling it, turning and looking in her eyes to show her he meant it.

  “I know, I know. If it’s about me...”

  “It’s not.”

  She watched his face for a moment while he drove. He was aware of her eyes on him, but he didn’t look over. He was scowling, she could see he was filled with anger and frustration but he wasn’t mad at her. The muscles in his cheek and jaw made steady flexion as he ground his teeth. “Are you fucking someone else, Rocco?”

  “What? No,” he said, his face pinching further into its scowl.

  “Rocco, fuckin look at me. We have unprotected sex, if you’re fucking some fuckin stripper from—”

  “Don’t be fuckin ridiculous, Nia, who do you think I am?”

  She leaned forward to get his eye, said, “Tell me you’re not.”

  His arms flexed and bulged suddenly as his hands gripped and choked the steering wheel. “Fuck you, Nia. That’s what you think of me? Fuck you.”

  She sat back, convinced, shifted in her seat uncomfortably, tried to be silent, afraid the sound of her innocent inhaling would be construed insolent. She chewed her lip for the next fifteen minutes, watching out the window as the landscape hurtled past.

  She asked him, “You talk to Dino?”

  “No, why? About what?”

  “He seems to know things about me. I wonder how he does.”

  “You think I talk to him about you? Wait, you talk to him?”

  “You don’t talk about me to him?”

  “You think I’m going to tell him I’m fucking you?”

  “You don’t?”

  He laughed humourlessly, “The fuckin girl he loves. I’m going to tell him that?”

  “He doesn’t love me.”

  “Bullshit, he doesn’t,” he said, talking to the windshield.

  “He thinks he loves me. He’d be mad we fucked?”

  “I don’t know. It’s better I don’t say anything.”

  “He's married.”

  “Jesus, Nia we're married.”

  “Yeah...it's just sex.”

  “You don't think I'd leave Maria for you?”

  “No,” she laughed. “You better not.”

  How could Dino think he loved her? Maybe he did she supposed, it wasn't impossible. Ten years was a long time though, she didn't love him, but she did at one time. She had loved him more than anything for a while. Where do those feelings go? How could she have so much love then feel nothing? Not nothing, just not the same.

  He had been bad to her, but she had been bad first. That had ended it. But she didn't stop loving him right away that fateful day. They both just vowed they couldn't be together, that they were wrong for each other.

  “When do you talk to Dino?”

  “Me?” she said.

  Rocco’s personal phone buzzed. He took it from the console where it sat sideways in a pocket filled with coins and washers and wingnuts, flipped it to see the screen. Nia could see Maria’s face lit up there, a photo from a happier time. He put it back, face down. He was tense again. Shaking his head imperceptibly like he was talking to himself, his lips pursed and tight.

  She wanted to reach out and console him, make him feel all right, but he was so frightening she would prefer to just ask him to let her out and she’d hitch a ride home. His tension was oppressive. Filling up the cab of the truck and making it hard for her to breathe.

  There was a highway rest stop up ahead, a Tim Horton’s and a Wendy’s. He signalled, moved over three lanes of traffic and slid off the highway along the exit lane and into the rest complex.

  It was morning-commute busy, the lot packed with people stopping on their way to work. The drive-thru line wove through the parking lot, but Rocco pulled the big truck to the very back, out of the way to the right, where there was a line of empty parking spaces that nosed out to picnic tables and a young but densely wooded area.

  He turned the truck off, stared out into the trees, rubbed his chin with his thum
b, his elbow up on the window ledge. Nia watched him, unsure what to say, felt for him, wished she wasn't so afraid to be his friend. His right hand rubbed his thigh, and she watched his thick wrists flex, the dragons twist on his forearms as he struggled with whatever thought had him this anxious.

  “I can step out, Rocco. You want me to go get us some coffees?”

  “Huh?” he said, breaking out of it, and looking down at her legs. “No. No, I gotta do something,” he said, and he picked his phone back off the console and he opened his door and dropped out of the truck. “You stay here,” he said. He slammed the door and he walked to stand under a tree that reached out over the picnic table.

  Nia’s stomach tightened, she felt it right down in her guts, in her sphincter. She didn’t like it. This wasn’t good. And she felt it somehow involved her.

  Rocco wandered, huge hand clutching his phone still, both hands up on his hips, building nerve or putting his thoughts together. He stopped then, looked at the phone, pressed a button and put it to his ear.

  Nia’s hands had gone sweaty, and she rubbed them together in her lap, watching the big man out there, the man that was a hothead and an asshole and not afraid of anything. Saw the trouble in his face as he talked to his wife. He wasn’t yelling but his voice did rise to a shout every once in a while. He paced and wandered in circles around the peaceful little picnic bench. A place usually reserved, she imagined, for happy smiling white families to congregate, mom and dad and kids, all sharing a meal from a brown paper bag filled with burgers. Right now it was turned to an emotional battleground. Rocco grew more agitated. His body postured like he was arguing with her face to face. He stopped then, said, “Maria? Maria?” Looked at his phone, looked like he would crush it. Instead, faced out to the woods, hauled back and launched his phone high and far up into the treetops. Two leaves fluttered the long distance to the ground. The phone was gone.

  Her forehead broke in a sweat, a damp hot flare passed over her, flushed up the back of her neck. Her stomach lurched and she suddenly felt the urge to vomit. She hyperventilated, controlled, purposeful, rolling her stomach in and out, distant thoughts of yoga class trying to reach out from her memory and help her here, get control of her heartbeat and her widening wild eyes.