Normally I was the quietest tenant imaginable, not even turning my music up loud. I opened the door to reassure him. “I’m fine, Mr. Rahimian. Sorry about the noise.”
He ventured a look around my apartment from his vantage point in the hall. “Did something break? It sounded like maybe pictures falling off walls.”
I gestured vaguely. “Oh, no, nothing’s broken. I was just, um, throwing these books around.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Throwing books? Why you throw books?”
I couldn’t think of anything to tell him but the truth. “They were journals that I wrote in when I was married to Jeremy, and I had been reading through them lately, too much. They made me mad and I threw them. I lost control. That’s what you heard. I’m sorry if it disturbed you.”
“Aha. I see. Yes, I understand.” He patted my arm awkwardly. “You’ll be fine, you’re strong woman. It will turn out right in the end. You’ll see. Don’t worry.”
I felt tears spring up in response to his kindness. I wished I could believe his reassuring words. I wasn’t convinced that I’d be all right, and I certainly didn’t feel strong. “Thank you, Mr. Rahimian. I hope so. I hope you are right.”
He nodded and turned to go. “I don’t want to bother you more. I go now, but if you need anything, you come down and see me and Mrs. Rahimian. She can fix you some nice Persian food. You a good girl, we’re your friends.”
When he left I cried for a long time, letting myself grieve over lost dreams and love gone wrong. I sat on the floor sobbing about my lack of a real family and my tough luck in hooking up with a guy like Jeremy, who had never wanted normal. I was alone and jobless and pathetic. I had turned my apartment into a mess with journals everywhere, my written record of the past six years turned into so much debris.
When the tears ended, I fixed myself a sandwich. I put butter on one slice of bread, chunky peanut butter on the other and filled the inside with peach jam. It weighed about half a pound, with the jam oozing out the sides. I ate it over the sink, the best meal I’d had in a long time. When it came to comfort food, broiled chicken breast and asparagus had nothing over a peanut butter and butter and jam sandwich on thick white bread.
I washed it down with a glass of skim milk, all I had. It tasted like water, white water at ninety calories a cup. What I needed was Oreo cookies, the kind with extra filling. I seemed to remember having hidden a package away when I realized how much weight I had gained after the divorce. But if I couldn’t find the Oreos, I could whip up a batch of Chocolate No-bake Cookies, perfect for when you crave sugar in a hurry.
I pulled a chair over to the pantry and searched the top shelf. Aha, Oreos! There in the back, half a bag left. I sat down at the table and laid them out. Ten should be enough. I took the tops off and made them into five double-double-stuff Oreos. I ate them one by one. Five felt like nothing. I set up six more and combined them into three, poured another glass of milk, and then I ate the left over plain tops. I finished the few cookies left in the bag using the same system. Take off the tops, make double doubles, consume them first, then the tops.
Although I wasn’t as full as I wanted to be, there was no more junk food in the house. Except peanut butter which counts in a pinch. I dipped my spoon into the jar, making sure to get plenty of the chunky nuts. Too bad I didn’t have any chocolate chips to add to it.
After months of dieting, it felt good to let go and eat with abandon and get really full on fat and sugar. Except that my system wasn’t used to the fat and I began to feel sick to my stomach. I went into the bedroom, tossed the journals that had landed on the bed onto the floor and lay down, pulling the quilt halfway over my head. I wondered briefly if I might be sinking into a permanent state of depression. I had no time to ponder that question, because I promptly fell asleep.
When I awoke, it was dark outside. I went to the bathroom for a glass of water, stripped down to my underwear and crawled back into bed to sleep through the night. But first I promised myself that tomorrow I’d box up the old journals and take them to the basement storage room. Enough was enough.
The Best Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich
¼ cup chunky peanut butter
¼ cup jam of your choice
2 tbs. real butter
2 slices thick home-style white bread
Spread peanut butter on one slice of the bread and butter on the other slice. Spread jam over butter side. Close together and enjoy. Best eaten alone, while standing over the kitchen sink.
Chapter Twelve
Suzie set up a dinner for Saturday night with Zac Kline, the snowboarding friend of Rob’s. They planned it at a local restaurant rather than in their home which can be a madhouse, kids around of every age group, not one bit conducive to two hopeful singles meeting for the first time.
The four of us would gather at the Left Fork Grill, an obscure-looking diner on West Temple that has the best food in the valley. The owner used to be a chef at The Roof, a classy restaurant at the top of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building downtown, before he left to open his own place. There’s a menu at the Left Fork Grill, but you don’t want to miss checking out the chalkboard as you go in. It has the specials, or whatever the chef felt like whipping up that day.
Saturday night there’s always prime rib. As I stepped inside the warm and cozy diner I saw bleu cheese and pear soup on the chalkboard. Hmm, interesting!
Rob and Suzie waved me over from a booth. I strained to see if anyone was with them, feeling butterflies about meeting this man, wondering what on earth had possessed me to agree to a blind date. I approached the booth where they sat together on the same side. They were such lovebirds.
Rob stood to greet me. “Zac’s not here yet. I just got a text from him. He’s on his way, about ten minutes out. He’s coming down from Park City so he has a way to drive.”
“No problem,” I said mildly. I slid into the booth across from Suzie, leaving plenty of room for Zac to sit next to me when he arrived. “I’m nervous,” I whispered to her. “Do I look okay?”
It was March, the weather still quite chilly, especially at night. I had chosen a tan turtleneck sweater that matched my hair, pairing it with jeans and black, high-heeled boots. I had left my hair down and curled at the ends for a softer look. I wore large, silver hoop earrings and a thickly twisted, silver chain at my neck.
“You look fantastic,” Suzie gushed. “Goodness, Karoline, I haven’t seen you in makeup for ages. It’s about time, I would say.”
Perusing the menu, Rob commented, “Everything sounds so good, I don’t know what to try. Since the board says prime rib, I’ll go with that.”
“Looks can be deceiving, can’t they?” I waved my arm toward the lunch counter with its plain bar stools and slices of pie on display in an enclosed case. “You have what appears to be an ordinary grill where regulars might come and order fried eggs for breakfast, hamburgers for lunch and meat loaf and mashed potatoes for dinner. One would never guess that a five star chef is hiding back in the kitchen, whipping up masterpieces every night.”
“Until you try the food,” Rob added. “Then you go ‘Whoa! Who’s running this place?’”
I ruminated over the menu. “I think I’ll choose from the blackboard specials. The prime rib, of course, and I want to try that bleu cheese and pear soup.”
As I closed the menu and set it down, I noticed a tall blonde man with a wide, friendly smile approaching us. He had white, straight teeth, a muscular yet slender build, like a runner, and long legs. This must be Zac. Very nice, I thought with satisfaction. I smiled back at him.
“Hey,” he greeted and slid into the bench next to me. “I’m Zac.” He smelled like soap, no aftershave or cologne. I liked that. Reaching across the table, he shook Rob’s hand, then nodded to Suzie. “Rob, Suzie, hi. Good to see you again. It’s been awhile.”
Rob did the introductions. “Zac, this is Suzie’s sister, Karoline London. Karoline, Zac Kline.”
Movie star eyes turned to me wi
th a sparkle. He grinned and showed those fabulous white teeth. It was March, but he was as tan as if he’d just returned from a month in Florida.
“Hi, Karoline. I’m Zac. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi, Zac,” I said, hoping my voice came out normal.
I felt tremendously nervous. Since college, the only man in my life had been Jeremy. It was weird being on a date with someone else, like I was cheating on my husband. It didn’t help that Zac was extremely good-looking.
I simply would not think of it as a date. I was out with my sister and brother-in-law, period. They had invited their friend along. No big deal. I relaxed a bit and managed longer eye contact with my handsome non-date, and another smile.
“Sorry I’m late,” Zac said, twisting position slightly to face Rob and Suzie.
I felt the heat of his thigh next to mine, barely touching. I cleared my throat and tried to focus on the conversation.
“You know what traffic is on I-80 in the canyon, even on a Saturday,” Zac was saying.
“No problem. We haven’t been here that long,” Rob assured him. “Long enough to get comfortable and decide we want the prime rib.”
“Sounds good to me,” Zac agreed. “I’m ready to order when you are.”
What is it about servers that they know exactly when people want to order? Ours showed up in an instant with her note pad out, materializing out of thin air.
We ordered our food and sat back with our drinks to make small talk. Suzie and I had water with lemon. Rob got a root beer and Zac a Coke. I wondered if he drank alcohol. Not being a drinker myself, and recalling how Jeremy went alone to bars, or private clubs as they’re called in Utah, I hoped that Zac didn’t drink. It was at the bars that Jeremy would find trouble. I liked that Zac ordered a soft drink right off, without asking about the wine list.
Many restaurants in Utah don’t serve alcohol. They need a special permit, because the liquor laws are strictly controlled by the state. Grocery stores can sell beer but not wine or hard liquor, which are sold in state-run liquor stores. In a restaurant you have to order liquor by the drink, but you can order wine by the glass or bottle and beer in bottles, cans and on draft, but only if the restaurant has a full service liquor license.
It’s complicated, and different from the norm in other states. The only reason I knew anything about it was due to Jeremy. He complained about the liquor laws and blamed the Mormons because he couldn’t get a vodka tonic whenever we went out to eat. Unless it was a place with a full-service liquor license and those are hard to come by.
It’s not that Jeremy was an alcoholic, but he liked to de-stress at his favorite private clubs. Okay, maybe Jeremy was an alcoholic. Who knew what was blended in with that mass of addictions he had going for him.
I glanced over at Zac, who was laughing at a joke Rob told about a guy trout-fishing with a Catholic priest and a Mormon bishop. Zac had a nice laugh, a good build, and he smelled clean. If he asked me out, I would go. I definitely wouldn’t mind seeing him again. Zac was hot, no question about it.
When our food came, we dug in and enjoyed it without a lot of talking, except for praising the chef. The bleu cheese and pear soup tasted incredible, smooth with a hint of tartness. Decadent. It came in an exquisite small bowl. Good thing, because it was creamy and filling and I wanted to save room for the prime rib.
Our entrees were huge servings, seasoned to perfection and unbelievably tender.
Zac ate fast and then sat back waiting for the rest of us to catch up. He pulled out his cell phone to check messages or whatever, but put it down when Rob finished his food and said, “This is my favorite restaurant, no contest.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Zac agreed, with one last peek at his phone before sliding it back in his pocket. “I don’t usually like prime rib, but that was better than any I’ve had. I’d order it again.”
The waitress stopped by to see if we needed boxes and if we wanted pie for dessert. “Our pies are made fresh every morning. Anyone having dessert?”
We shook our heads, groaning in satisfaction at how full we were. I had finished my prime rib, but Suz needed a box for hers. I guessed the prime rib was a ten ounce serving of meat, easily a thousand calories. I would never lose the last five pounds at this rate.
Rob offered to pay for everyone. Zac refused. “I’ll pay for myself and Karoline,” he said.
Very gallant of him, I thought. Good-looking and well-mannered.
After dinner, we gathered in the parking lot to say our goodbyes before heading to our different cars. Rob and Suzie made sure they left first, to give Zac and me time alone. I knew exactly what those two were up to with their subtle matchmaking techniques.
“We better get back to the kids,” Suzie said. She gave me a quick hug, whispering, “Have fun and be good” before grabbing Rob’s hand to lead him firmly toward their car.
Rob and Zac shook hands again. To me, Rob winked and said, “Bye, Karoline. Drive safe.” And he and Suz were off.
Zac leaned toward me with a pleasant but questioning expression. “So, Karoline. Where do you live again?”
“In an apartment house on Ninth East, over by Trolley Square. Not that far from here actually.”
Pause. Was he waiting for me to ask him over? Sure, why not? I said, “Do you want to come over? It’s still early. We could watch a movie, or just talk or something. You know, get better acquainted.”
“Thanks, that’d be great. Since I live in Park City, I don’t really want to turn right around and drive back.”
“Okay, sure. Want to follow me then?”
I hoped this was the right decision. Lately I’d doubted myself and my choices. But it felt right and it was high time I broke free from the past and met someone new. Besides, I felt comfortable with Zac now that I had lost that initial sensation of cheating on Jeremy. This could be fun—a new friend, a new adventure.
Chapter Thirteen
My place was ten minutes from the restaurant, giving me barely enough time to calm myself in preparation for entertaining a very attractive man. I had no clue where this evening would go. It had been a long time since I’d been alone with a hot prospect, basically a lifetime ago. I met Jeremy when I was twenty-two and since then had eyes for no other. That was about to change. Not that I wanted to go to bed with Zac. I’m not a slut after all and generally have maintained the no sex on a first date policy.
I had a good feeling about Zac. He seemed interested in me, he was cute, and there had been no warning signs or turn-offs during the two-hour dinner. He didn’t talk with his mouth full or pick at his face. He hadn’t made snide comments about how much I ate, or ignore me when I spoke. He didn’t monopolize the conversation or on the other hand, be unnervingly quiet. Except for that one time when he politely waited for the rest of us to finish our meals, he hadn’t checked his cell phone. And he had not tried to duck out of paying.
I knew men who did all this and more, somehow managing to hit thirty without learning basic social skills. Yet they couldn’t figure out why they were still single. I had a feeling Sheila’s nephew might be one of these. Or perhaps it was just my prejudice against Wyoming. Anyway, now that I had met Zac, I could exaggerate our relationship to Sheila and use him as an excuse for not getting set up with her nephew.
I’d slyly observed Zac while he talked to Rob and Suzie, and decided he was a nice, normal guy of above-average intelligence. I clearly noticed interest on his part. I sensed a spark between us.
I parked along the street in front of my building, Zac pulling in behind me.
“My apartment is on the second floor,” I said in an apologetic tone, thinking of Sheila’s complaints about having to climb the stairs.
“No problem,” he said and followed me up. Oh right, being an athletic snowboarder, why should Zac care about a steep stairway?
I was uncomfortably aware that it gave him a chance to check out my still oversized butt, but I couldn’t make him go first, leading the way to my place where he�
��d never been before. That would have been too obvious, like I wanted to check him out.
“Here we are,” I said cheerily, as I unlocked the door and pushed it open.
I showed him around—the small kitchen with an adjoining dining area that doubled as an office, the bedroom and bath, and the spacious living room with its row of tall windows looking out to the street.
Zac admired the hardwood floors and high ceilings. “You have some sweet architectural features,” he pointed out. “I like the crown molding. You never see it done like that on modern homes. Does the fireplace work?”
“No, it’s been bricked up. Still, the mantel makes a nice place to display photos, doesn’t it?”
Mine were mainly of Suzie’s kids, except for one shot of her, me and our parents taken last fall when they came out to visit before their trip. None of Jeremy. Those remained hidden back in the bedroom, top dresser drawer.
Zac and I settled on the sofa in the living room until I remembered my manners and jumped up. “Let me get you something to drink,” I offered. “What would you like?”
“Depends on what you’ve got.”
He leaned back against the sofa and stretched out his long legs.
“Mostly diet drinks, no juice,” I replied, glad he hadn’t asked for alcohol.
“You’re not one of these skinny girls obsessed with your weight, are you?” He took me in appraisingly.
I laughed nervously at the close attention. “Well, I’m certainly not a skinny girl, and I’m not obsessed with anything. I had a few pounds to lose after my, um, my divorce, and I’ve been watching my calories.”
“You look fine to me.” His eyes moved slowly over my figure, making me uncomfortable. “Don’t lose any more weight. You’re exactly right.”
“Thank you, that’s always nice to hear. I think. Okay, what will it be, Diet Coke or Fresca?” Then I remembered. I did have wine, might as well offer it to him. “Oh wait. On second thought I do have a bottle of white wine, if you’d like that. I don’t drink, except sometimes a glass or two of wine when I’m out socially. I forgot I had it.”
Lighting Candles in the Snow Page 10
