Snack (13 page)

Snack calls, “Minnie!” but I don’t turn around.

“Good-bye,” I say over my shoulder and walk out.

I didn’t see Snack the next day or most of the day after that. He showed up at the train station as I was waiting to leave to get to the airport.

I’m standing on the platform, talking to my dad and Sid and telling my crazy red-headed brother how much I’m going to miss him, when I sense Snack. My Extra-Snack-Perception is confirmed by Sid looking up over my shoulder, waving a quick hands-up wave and then swiftly turning away from me.

“Minnie?” Snack’s voice is rough and cracks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t miss Charlotte. I miss you. I miss you and you’re not even gone. Do you hate me for the other night?

He’s so sincere and his eyes look red and puffy like he’s been crying, but it doesn’t matter. We broke up and I’ve always held the belief that if someone breaks up with you, there is no going back. It’s over. I frown and shake my head. “No, I don’t hate you. I so don’t hate you. But I can’t be with you anymore. I can’t be the girl that dated the dead girl’s guy anymore. I can’t stay here.” My eyes start to fill with tears and I can feel my chest shaking. This is difficult. I mean, seriously, what did I expect? That we’d be together forever? I’m working really hard to repress the sobs building in my throat.

Snack looks at the ground and then up at me. “Neither can I.”

I’m confused. “What?”

“I’m not staying in town after all. I’m going to Stanford. I got a letter the day we fought. They bumped me up from the waitlist. Minnie, I swear we’ll call each other. E-mail. We’ll see each other at Thanksgiving.

“It doesn’t matter we’re still broken up.”

“Nope.”

“What the fuck?”

“Never broken up. We’re
never
broken up!”

He leans in and kisses me. I know it’s the last one we will have. I don’t know what it means to him, but to me it is a real good-bye kiss. My brain screams, “Let me go, Snack!” in an attempt to convince my heart, but I don’t say the words aloud.

And with that, I essentially ghosted from Snack’s life. From that moment forward, I would only haunt Downers Grove for a few hours at a time, rarely spending the night. Sure, my family lived there, but for a long time, it was too painful to be there. I didn’t see him that first Thanksgiving. I stayed in Vermont.

I open the door to let Snack in and find him with his back to the door waving at the Honda Odyssey pulling away from the curb. I can easily make out my dad, two small blond heads, and a little Yorkie face staring back. Aiden is smiling and waving, Fifi is not.

He slips through the door. “Could there be anything more awkward than being over thirty and being dropped off in minivan by the father of your date, your children, and a dog in tow to observe the whole event?”

“Oh yeah, really sets the tone for the evening.” I tease.

“Let’s start over…,” he says. Before I have time to agree, Snack strides up the stairs, wraps his arm around my waist, and tugs me up against him. “Guess I’ll just have to work extra hard to wipe that memory from your consciousness.”

And with that he leans down, never breaking eye contact and licks, nips, and then sucks my bottom lip with fervor. A whimper slips out of me and it seems to fuel our kiss. Snack palms the back of my head, holding me to him. I, in contrast, seem to have lost control of my limbs. Seriously, I’m so… so… I don’t even know. My arms hang limply at my sides. My brain screams at me to reach up and put my arms around his neck, but I’m focused on kissing and tasting him, and I’ve apparently become motorically impaired. Once my brain catches up, I place my hand on his tensed, muscular upper arm. When I touch him he breaks the kiss and steps back.

“How come I didn’t spend more time kissing you?” he asks breathlessly. “I was really stupid back then.”

I laugh out loud. “We actually kissed a lot, Snack.” I step toward him, but Snack retreats, holding his hands up to stop me.

“Minnie, if you touch me, we’ll never go on this date.“

The thought of taking with him right here on the landing is not unappealing. I move toward him again. “That’s OK,” I say with meaning.

“No, no, no! No, it’s not! We’re
not
making out on the landing or in your bedroom. I have more planned for you. I have a lot to make up for. Get your coat and give me the keys to the car.“

He’s really taking charge tonight. “So bossy. I like it!”

I already had my coat draped across the railing, so I grab it, put it on, dig in the pocket, and hand Snack the keys to the El Camino.

When he turns away, I can’t resist and I reach forward and grab his butt.

Over his shoulder, Snack says, “So grabby. I like it!” He then leans in and adds, “I also like what you’re wearing!

I have on skinny jeans tucked into tall black boots with tall lugged heels and a black deep V-neck cashmere tunic. The fact that he likes my outfit and I’ve pleased him, makes me smile.

Snack reaches over and takes my hand. He brings it up to his lips and kisses each one of my knuckles. Then, head still bowed, he lifts his hooded eyelids. “Ready?”

I could easily say, “More than you know,” given the fluttering in my chest and the growing need in my core, but I don’t. I simply whisper back in a low tone, “Oh, yes.”

Snack smiles and tugs me down the stairs to the door. “Then let’s go!”

We drive north on the highway for about twenty minutes. I repeatedly ask Snack where we’re going, to which he repeatedly replies, “You’ll see.” In between asking, I listen to the radio and play catch-up with Snack.

“I’ve read some of your stuff online. I’m so glad you’ve gotten to do what you love. You always did such a great job with the school paper, Minnie.”

“It seems I’ve become the Jeanne Moos of indie hipster narrative journalism.” I’ve been very lucky to have had jobs at a string of progressive papers and magazines covering all kinds of news and features. “My favorite thing to write is a small obscure story that tugs at your heart. The tiny tales that are secretly epic.” I don’t tell him, but I think our story is just that.

Snack plans to stay in Downers Grove permanently. He left his job as a mechanical engineer with a big motor company in Dublin, Ohio with enough savings to spend a few months getting the kids adjusted and settled. He says he’s not sure where he’ll work next, but is being recruited heavily by a Chicago automotive consulting firm. Evidently, he was the head engineer for much of the inner workings of some of the most popular cars sold in America. I’ve been so removed from Snack, I had no idea how very successful he’d become.

When the song “Fall For You” by Secondhand Serenade comes on, the first lyric stops both our chatter. The singer sings about the night he fell for his girl all over again. The sentiment is so familiar, I feel myself blush. Snack turns the radio up. Then he takes my hand and runs his thumb across my palm. His every touch makes me wish I’d pushed the issue back at my dad’s house and insisted he make love to me there. My mind is not on dinner at all.

We pull into the lot of a very busy suburban mall. I’m growing more confused by the moment. This can’t be right. I’m about to give Snack a heap of verbal teasing when he stops at a valet parking sign. Not what I expected at a mall that is advertising LEGOLAND and Rainforest Café.

“Welcome to Ginza Pub,” the skinny teenaged valet says as he opens my door. When I look behind him I see a small restaurant with the name. Snack walks around the car to join me. I hear the valet enthusiastically say, “This car is
so
cool,” as he gets in the El Camino and drives away.

Snack ushers me into Ginza Pub by guiding me with a hand on the small of my back. Even through my coat and tunic, it still makes me shudder a bit.

Ginza Pub is small and dark with about ten tables of varying heights. The décor and feel is a combination of high-end Tokyo nightlife and izakaya pub. Sort of classy, uptown meets casual dining. Throughout are neon signs for Japanese beers, large posters of more traditional geishas, and samurai scenes mixed with modern posters of concerts on the gray walls. The low lighting makes it intimate, while the house music fills the space with energy. I love it immediately.

“This place is unexpected in a strip mall,” I whisper loudly to Snack once we’ve stowed our coats and are seated. I can either move closer to him and whisper in his ear or yell over the table. The first option is much more appealing and I have a sense Snack planned it that way.

“Yeah, I found it by accident when I first moved back. The kids don’t like sushi and I needed to get away from being
daddy
for a few hours. Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids—more than anything.”

I smile at him. I’m pleased he loves his kids so much.

Snack clears his throat and puts his arm around the back of my chair. “More than anything—so far.” I turn to him so our faces are inches apart. His pupils are dilated and his irises are a deep midnight I’ve not seen before. “Anyway,” he continues, “I came here on a recommendation for some sushi and a beer. The whole time I was here I kept thinking how great it would be to share this experience with someone. I was hoping you’d appreciate it when you agreed to go out with me tonight.”

“We haven’t even eaten yet and I already like it.”

“Just wait until you’ve had the food. You may not want to leave.”

I reach up and stroke Snack’s beard and run my thumb across his bottom lip, a lip I’d like to suck into my mouth right now. “I doubt that very much.”

Snack shifts in his chair. I hope I’m affecting him the way he’s affecting me.

A young Asian-American waiter, who not by accident I’m sure, looks like an anime character, interrupts our canoodling. He has a tall jet-black hairdo and huge eyes.

“Welcome to Ginza Pub!” he says. “I’m Ren. I’ll be your server tonight. We work as a team here, so you’ll meet lots of other servers. Just ask any of them if you need anything throughout your meal, OK? What can I get you to drink?”

Snack orders us Sake bombs. I’ve not had one since college, and I hope I remember how to do it without ruining my clothes. He also orders something called flying tiger shrimp tacos without even looking at the menu.

After Ren sets up our drinks with a shot of sake balanced on chopsticks above our Sapporo beers, I ask for a brief refresher. He gives us a few pointers and moments later we’re banging on the table, counting in Japanese,
ichi, ni, san,
until the shot glass falls into the beer. Snack and I both yell
Bomb!
and immediately down the drinks. When I slam the glass back down on the table, the room spins. Hmm, maybe I should’ve eaten first. Ren asks if we’d like another and we both decline. I order a large water and another Sapporo. Snack orders a Coke. I shoot him a look.

“I’m driving and we don’t want to have to call a cab, do we?” he whispers in my ear.

“Absolutely not”, I think but don’t say. When I look at him and nod, his eyebrows raise and a devilish look crosses his face.

After perusing the menu a bit more, we order several kinds of sushi and a hot rocks. Hot rocks is just what the menu says. Hot round river rocks on a bed of rock salt are delivered to your table and you lay pieces of meat or fish on it to cook it to the level of doneness you like.

Our dinner is fun and interactive. Cooking the food at our table and sharing plates makes for lots of opportunities to touch and feed each other with chopsticks.

Ren comes back and asks, “Would you like a happy ending?” I look at him incredulously. Snack laughs aloud. Ren laughs too and quickly calms my fears. “Don’t worry, a happy ending is just what we call dessert here at Ginza Pub.”

Snack tells Ren that we just need that check. “We’ll save the
happy ending
for later.” I punch Snack on the shoulder.

Ren lifts an eyebrow. “I see.”

I punch Snack once again.

He rubs his arm and laughs again. “What? I meant dessert!”

I have to say his ability to get me riled up is masterful—in every way.

Back in the car I start quizzing Snack about our next destination and he finally tells me, “I know a better place for a happy ending.” I decide not to punch him again. It hurt my hand.

I can tell by landmarks that we’re headed back to Downers Grove. Once we turn off the highway to another area filled with shopping malls, I have a feeling deep inside that I know exactly where we’re going. My gut feeling is confirmed when we pull up in front of Baskin-Robbins. Our Baskin-Robbins. From years ago.

“Perfect,” I say as Snack parks the car.

“I thought you might like it,” he says as he helps me out of the car. Again he has his hand on the small of my back and is holding on to my other to insure I don’t slip and fall in the icy parking lot. When we pass by the curb where we first kissed, I notice the mailbox is decorated in a wrap to make it look like R2-D2. I shake my head.

Snack must notice. “What?”

I chuckle. “This could be the most perfect date ever.”

We stop next to the mailbox. “I’m glad you think so. I’d love to stay out here and kiss you next to this droid mailbox all night for the sake of nostalgia, but I think we’d both freeze. So how about one kiss and then we’ll go in and get that happy ending—I mean, dessert.”

He barely finishes the word dessert before my lips meet his. Our lips are cold, but quickly warm to each other. My brain travels back to our first kiss, virtually sighs, and then switches direction and starts to fantasize about what could be in the very near future. What
this
kiss could lead to.

I can sense neither of us wants to stop kissing, but Snack shows some restraint and between kisses says, “Let’s. Get. That. Jamoca Almond Fudge.”

It’s only my laugh that ends the lip lock.

It’s nine o’clock at night and Baskin-Robbins is packed. Why are all these families getting ice cream in the dead of winter? On top of the families, the entire Downers Grove Synchronized Ice Skating Team is there. I can tell by their overly made up faces and heavily styled hair that they must have just had a show and are celebrating. A few people stop and talk to Snack. I go pretty much unnoticed. I must look different than I did back in high school. Snack orders our ice cream. The exact same order we’d made when we were twelve.