Snack (17 page)

I swear I don’t breathe more than three times over the next twenty minutes as I watch the only man I’ve ever loved marry somebody else. Really, it is the matrimonial equivalent of rubbernecking at a fatal accident on the highway. It leaves me nauseated and light-headed. I already regret my decision to not take up residence on a barstool all day.

Snack kisses his bride.

The pastor announces, “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Snackenberg.” The congregation breaks into applause.

With that, I turn to Adam. “Let’s get the F-U-C-K out of here.” I figure I’d better spell out the F-word since I’m in a church and all.

I didn’t stick around to talk to my dad or Sid or Clip or anyone besides Adam that day. I’m pretty sure no one else saw me there. As far as Snack’s wedding was concerned—I was never there.

Adam and I jump in his Toyota Corolla and hit Day N’ Night on the way back to Downers Grove. We buy a fifth of Jack Daniel’s simply because I want to get drunk and Adam is sick of going to weddings, so that’s as good a reason as any to join my pity party.

While Snack and his new bride and the rest of my family were partying at the local country club, I was hunkered down at three o’clock on a beautiful fall Saturday afternoon in Adam’s crappy little apartment above the cigar shop in downtown DG. Adam went to University of Illinois and graduated, but never really left Downers Grove. As a matter of fact, he’s now a writer, reporter, and photographer for the local paper,
Suburban Life
, which documents all the doings of the western Chicago suburbs. When he told me, he also informed me that we were going to have to make up some shit about the Snackenberg reception, because he was supposed to be detailing the whole wedding and after party for the newspaper. It was nice of him to add that he’d much rather be drinking with me. I agreed to help him fabricate the details.

With all honesty I can report that I had no idea how many shots of Jack I did that afternoon. I had every intention of having a few Jack and Cokes and then hopping the train back to the city. That all went out the window when Adam failed to mention he had no Coca-Cola at his apartment, and I decided it would only slow down the much-needed numbing process.

I kick off my shoes and curl my legs up under me in one corner of Adam’s futon. Bottle of Jack in one hand, a Welch’s grape jelly jar glass in the other. Adam chooses a plastic measuring cup as his drinking vessel. It’s not surprising to me that the entirety of Adam’s drinkware is comprised of jars, plastic tumblers from bars, or some form of cooking equipment. If he’d offered me dinner, I’m pretty sure I’d be eating ramen from a re-purposed Cool Whip container. I wonder for a moment why I’m here instead of at a plated wedding reception. But only for a moment. I know I’d never be able to sustain a civil demeanor, let alone stay sober and keep from vomiting if I’d had to watch Snack’s first dance with his new bride.

To avoid discussing the wedding, Adam and I drink from midday until sunset or until the fifth is obliterated. Or should I more accurately say,
we
are obliterated.

“Well,” I slur as I make an attempt to extricate my legs from under my body, “I gezz I shood go!”

The minute my feet hit the floor, my knees and then my face quickly join them as I plant it on the hardwood.

“Shit! My fucking legs are asleep!” I force myself to gain control of my al dente noodle extremities and push myself up onto all fours. I very ungracefully shove myself back until I plop on my ass, grateful that the couch is propping me up. I begin laughing like a madwoman.

Adam is completely entertained by my futon dismount and chuckles. He crawls his intoxicated way across the apartment to slide down next to me on the floor.

“Minnie, you are the funnest and funniest chick I’ve ever known.”

“Funn-est is not a word.”

“Fuck that. I’m a writer;
you
are a writer. We have creative license. Funn-est is so a word.”

I rest my head on Adam’s shoulder and close my eyes. He reaches over and strokes my cheek. Then he runs his thumb down my jaw and turns me to face him. I feel his lips touch mine and immediately open my lips and allow Adam to consume me. It’s nice. Nice to be kissed. Nice to be numb.

In the midst of our lip smashing, Adam chuckles. “I don’t think Snack’s going to break in and stop us this time,” he says, recalling our thwarted homecoming make-out session in the journalism room. The one that ended with me becoming Snack’s girl and, eventually, Adam and Charlotte’s accident.

I agree. “No, I don’t think he is. And I think that’s OK.”

I throw myself at Adam and he slowly lowers me to the floor on my back.

I feel so relaxed like the floor is swallowing me up. Everything spins when I close my eyes. I don’t feel my lips anymore. Or Adam’s.

Somewhere I hear someone calling my name.

“Min. Minnie!”

I can’t open my eyes. They’re stuck. I smack my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Fuck! It feels like somebody poured Tidy Cats in there. Tastes about that good, too.

“Hey, Minnie! Wake up.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. One minute I swear we were about to hook up and the next, I’m asleep, half on the futon and you’re on your side on the floor in a puddle of drool.”

I can only be grateful the puddle of drool is not vomit, because I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

“Well, that’s fucking depressing. What a waste of a good drunk.”

“Can you really say it was a good drunk if all we did was kiss a little and then pass out.”

“I guess not. Adam, I don’t think this is ever gonna happen.” I wave my index finger flaccidly back and forth between us.

Adam nods in defeat. “I think you’re right, Min. Better just stay friends… and drinking buddies.”

Mimicking Adam’s moves from the night before, I manage to crawl to his bathroom and somehow scale the toilet and pee. My head throbs, but I won’t allow myself to whine about it because, really, I deserve this pain. I, for all intents and purposes, invited it to replace the pain in my heart. Really I should be grateful for it. It’s the distraction I need.

In the midst of admonishing myself, a torrential wave of nausea hits, and I spin my naked ass off the toilet and onto the floor just in time to vomit, splattering puke into the bowl. The splash back hits my face and gets in my hair.

I have no choice but to hop in the shower. The water feels so good on my face and in my tangled, matted, vomitrocious hair. My headache is almost gone. With an asston of caffeine and some McDonald’s french fries, I
could
be good as new by five o’clock tonight.

Adam has coffee waiting for me when I finally emerge from his bathroom. I had no choice but to redress in the Sith Lord outfit I’d sported for the wedding.

He hands me a mug. “Feel any better?”

“I puked.”

Adam raises an eyebrow and smirks. “I heard.”

“Sorry. I cleaned it up”

“Thanks, probably the first and last time that toilet’s ever been cleaned.”

My stomach roils at the thought. “Don’t tell me that, or I may need to hurl again.” I sip the cup of coffee and then have another before announcing that I need to leave.

Adam puts a hand on my shoulder. “Minnie, I’m serious. I could use some help on the wedding story.” As much as I hate to think about it for one more second, I did promise. I know I can get some details out of Clip and Sid that we can use to write the article.

“Let me talk to my brothers and I’ll e-mail you tonight. I really gotta get home.” My headache is seriously considering returning. I just want to be miserable and wretched by myself in my own bed.

“Let me walk you to the train,” Adam says.

I concede.

Adam’s apartment is around the corner from the train station and SNACKS. The minute we arrive in the courtyard, I turn to look at the café. My favorite place in the world is suddenly not so much my favorite anymore. Through the window of SNACKS, I can see people: my people. My family and Snack’s. And his new family—Megan. They must be having a day after the wedding brunch. Those have become very popular. I should know because I’ve been to a few since “the wedding phase” of my life started—the phase where every other weekend there’s a damn wedding. Turning away from the festivities, I grab Adam’s arm and pull him so we can get into the train station and out of sight, but I’m too late.

A voice I’ve known most of my life calls out from across the street. “Minnie!”

Busted! By my baby brother, Sid, during my pseudo walk of shame. Shit!

I turn and wave. I’m sure unnecessary guilt is written across my face.

Sid whistles. “You look rough, man!”

“Long night,” I explain tersely.

“You were in town and didn’t tell anyone?” Sid questions me with a tinge of anger becoming evident in his voice. I nod. He thumbs at Adam. “With this guy?”

“This guy is Adam. He’s my new… writing partner,” I say defensively.

Sid pulls me away from Adam and whispers in my ear, “OK, well. Snack saw you through the window. Wanted me to come check on you.”

I rub my hand up and down one of Sid’s arms, force a smile with my lips tight together, and shake my head. “Sid, tell him I’m fine. I’m always fine. Tell him don’t forget the Christmas cards. Even though he’s married he can still do that.”

Sid is utterly confused as I hug him tight. “What?”

I keep holding him. “Just say that to him. He’ll understand.”

Sophia Marie Snackenberg was born May 22, 2006. The birth announcement said they were going to call her Fifi. In the corner right below where Snack signed it were the letters NBU.

Colette, along with the pastries that Snack and I consumed as a midnight dessert, kindly left some casual clothes in the loft. Snack must have told her that he was bringing me here last night, and she took it upon herself to make sure I didn’t appear for a second morning in the clothes I went out in the night before.

This time, Snack and I emerge from the loft together. Hand-in-hand.

Dad and Colette are behind the counter with their arms around each other. Colette looks over Dad’s shoulder and waves.

My dad turns his head and lifts his chin. “Hey, look who’s here, kids. Just in time for brunch.”

We’re greeted by Aiden and Wookiee. They bounce up and down happily at our appearance. “Daddy! Minnie!”

Wookiee barks repeatedly and weaves figure eights around our legs. I pick him up and my fur boy covers my face with wet puppy kisses.

Dad warns Snack. “You better watch out. That dog is some serious competition for her affection.”

“Dad!”

Snack wraps an arm around me. “As long as he’s the only competition, I think I can handle it.” He kisses Wookiee on the head and then me.

Pictures of Henry crowd my mind.

I get a grateful reprieve from my thoughts when Fifi tugs on my arm. “Did you and Daddy have a sleepover?”

If I recall, sleepovers are a pretty big deal when you’re seven. I look to Snack for guidance with how to respond.

Snack throws his head back with a hearty guffaw. “Just go with it!”

I bend down to her level. “Yes, yes we did. That’s why we asked you to babysit Wookiee.”

Fifi runs over and gives Snack a hug. “Are you happy, Daddy? Your face isn’t so sad anymore.

“Yes, Fifi, I am.”

“When are you having another sleepover?”

Every time I hear the word ‘sleepover’ I can only picture the reflection of Snack and me tangled up together in the mirror. It’s a little disturbing to be visualizing while talking to a kid.

I glance at Snack, my eyebrows raised in hope. “Soon I hope.”

Fifi throws her arms around my waist. “Minnie, you can have a sleepover with Daddy anytime. I’ll watch Wookiee whenever you want.”

Snack whispers in my ear, “I think we should schedule the next one right away.”

Fifi has no idea what she’s just given permission for. This kid is actually a cock
unblocker
.

Snack’s words have me practically melting. I’d like to run back up to the loft and “sleepover” again.

Fifi looks up at me with her big eyes. “Soon,” I tell her. She claps her hands and goes to play with Wookiee.

I push up on my toes and kiss Snack. “Very Soon.”

He growls under his breath and we share a knowing grin.

“Now get me coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

All this frenetic family energy first thing in the morning before my first cup of coffee is overwhelming but I love it. My mind begins to wander, fantasizing what it would be like to wake up to this every day instead of the pristine quiet of my apartment.

Our brunch with my dad, Snack’s mom, the kids, and Wookiee is a thing straight out of a television show. The picture-perfect blended family happy and comfortable with each other is something I wish would never end.

I need to do a little more packing at my Dad’s house, and Snack is going to spend the day with the kids. He convinces me to stay in Downers Grove a bit longer. He wants to take me out again tonight. After checking my upcoming deadlines, I agree, but let him know I need to go back first thing Monday morning.

I can’t tell him, but there
is
another reason I need to get back to the city. I need to talk to Henry. I need to see if finding my way back to Snack has been the best thing to ever happen to me or if I’ve made a spectacular mistake. The way I see it now the former is true. I never considered myself a dishonest person, and Henry and I have never even discussed commitment. Knowing how Snack feels about cheating since he was none too shy about his feelings about his Dad’s infidelity, I want whatever this thing I have with Henry settled before I talk to Snack about any sort of future we can have.

I’m trying on shoes and figuring out what to wear on my date tonight with Snack when the doorbell rings. It’s a little too early for Snack to be here. He isn’t supposed to pick me up for another two hours.

Wearing one pair of pumps and holding another in my hands, I go down the stairs and peek out one of the windows beside the door. It
is
Snack. I don’t even get the door all the way open when Snack shoves the door open with purpose.