I was staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace, and because I could see my reflection in the glass, flames appeared to be coming out of my head. I looked a bit possessed.
I was thinking: I resolve that next year, when New Year’s rolls around, I’ll have someone special to celebrate it with. Just once it would be great to go out on a fancy, expensive, special date with someone I really cared about. Who also happened to be very good-looking.
This year, Gretchen and I were watching the giant crystal ball preparing to drop in New York’s Times Square. For a few reasons, I felt really excited about the new year. So many things could change—they would change, whether I wanted them to or not. I’d be spending half the summer working in a program for kids in Duluth and the other half on a trip to England with my high school English club.
“To getting out of high school this year,” I said, raising my glass.
“To getting out of this cast this year.” Gretchen clinked her glass against mine, then took a sip of the sparkling apple juice we were drinking instead of champagne. She had this rule about not having alcohol in the house when I was around, which I could have told her was completely unnecessary. I’m enough of a klutz without adding something else into the mix.
“To finding the perfect pair of shoes at Nordstrom on sale,” Gretchen said.
“To world peace,” I said.
My sister and I are similar in some ways…and others, not so much. We look alike, and yet we don’t. We’re both about 5’8”, and we both could have the same blond hair, only she bleaches and highlights her hair so that it’s very California. She gets her nails done weekly. She tans. She knows how to put makeup on perfectly so that it looks like she’s only wearing a little.
My hair is its natural color. I wear a tiny bit of mascara and that’s about it. I paint my own nails—fingers in winter, toes in summer.
“To losing ten pounds by February second, so no one sees my shadow,” Gretchen proclaimed.
I smiled uneasily—February second. Groundhog Getaway Day.
“Come on!” Gretchen held her glass toward mine. “Okay, how about this one? To both of us meeting new guys this year and falling in love.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Really? You’re ready for that?”
“I’ve been dating plenty since the divorce.”
“I know, but nobody serious. All really superficial,” I said, thinking, Kind of like you can be at times. “Right?”
“True. But sometimes you look at me like I’m over the hill. I’m only twenty-four. So I made a bad choice the first time around, that doesn’t mean, like, my romantic life is over,” she said. “To me the real question is, are you ready for meeting a new guy?”
“What? Of course I am. What do you mean?”
“Come on, Kirsten. You’ve been dragging your feet ever since things didn’t work out with that Roger guy.”
“Roger?” I asked.
“Wasn’t it Roger?” she said.
“No, no Roger. Maybe you’re thinking of the town. Rogers? Out near Plymouth?”
“Okay, so it wasn’t Roger, you don’t have to get snippy about it.” She took a sip of the sparkling cider. “Richard then. That Richard guy.”
I shook my head. “Still no.” As I said earlier, we hadn’t been all that close lately.
“Give me a clue,” she pleaded.
“His name starts with a T.”
“I’ve got it!” she cried. “His name was Taylor.”
“Tyler,” I said.
“Tinker tailor soldier spy. Whatever,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve forgotten him already, and you should, too.”
“You didn’t even know him.”
“True. I didn’t have much to go on except Mom’s stories,” Gretchen said.
“I can imagine,” I said. “Those must have been good.”
“Good and boring, you mean. Yeah. But you’re not still hung up on him, are you?” she asked.
“No! I’m actually really glad we broke up. I mean, it would have been better if it hadn’t happened at prom, in front of the entire junior class, and it would have been better if it hadn’t involved one of my best friends…”
Tyler had actually broken up with me because he thought he had a chance with Emma, because he was completely infatuated with Emma.
I didn’t hold it against her. We both kind of enjoyed watching him make a fool out of himself. Well, she probably enjoyed it more than me, but still. Our friendship was stronger than Tyler.
“That did really suck, didn’t it? Hmm. You don’t want to date anyone else, though?” she asked. “No cuties in your class?”
“Cuties?” I wrinkled my nose.
“Cuties, hotties, dudes. Whatever,” she said. “Isn’t there anyone at home that you like?”
“No, not really. There aren’t that many guys I’d want to date. And the ones I do like, usually like Emma first. Or…eventually.”
“Yeah. I had a friend like that, too.”
“You did?”
Gretchen nodded. “Her name was Ashley.”
“Her name’s not still Ashley?” I said.
She glared at me. “You’re such a smart ass. No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Hey! That’s not fair.”
“Sorry. All I was trying to say is that maybe we have more in common than you think. I mean, there’s a lot you don’t know about me. When I was in high school, you were, like, ten.”
“True,” I agreed.
“And, being ten, you weren’t mature enough for me to talk to about things like boys. I wasn’t about to tell you all the things that were going on at school.”
“Not to mention the fact that you hated all of us back then, when I was ten. Actually, also when I was eleven, twelve, thirteen…”
“I didn’t hate you.”
“You didn’t like us much, though.”
“Sure I did!” Gretchen said. “I was a lot older than you, that’s all.”
“Uh huh,” I said, feeling a bit skeptical about this.
“I just…I needed to get away. Mom didn’t quite understand who I was. Not that she does now, mind you, but she has a better idea. We have a better relationship.” She shrugged. “You know what I mean, right?”
“I think so,” I said. Was it that hard to understand who Gretchen was, though? She made it sound like she was a deep, intense, nuclear physicist. She liked shopping and clothes. Her number-one interest was looking good. It didn’t go much beyond that, as far as I knew. But maybe now Gretchen and I could spend some time together and get to know each other as adults. If she’d treat me like an adult, which seemed doubtful.
“Time for me to go to sleep,” she said, yawning.
“Don’t yawn, you’ll make me yawn.” I took one of her arms and gently helped her get up from the sofa.
“Happy New Year!” she said and she gave me a little hug. “And good night!”
“I’d better take Bear outside for his first walk of the year before I turn in,” I said.
“You can just let him out front, you know—he’ll stay in the yard.”
“No, that’s okay. I actually really like walking in the snow,” I said.
I grabbed Bear’s leash and we went outside. Light snow was falling—it was supposed to snow overnight. There were already a couple of inches on the ground, which made the sky seem brighter. I started walking down the sidewalk, enjoying the cool flakes falling and melting on my face. It was one of those times when you feel like you’re in control, and you just know that whatever you think can happen and come true. So I thought: Maybe this was going to be My Year. It was starting differently than the others. I could put the negative things behind me. They were so last year now—for real.
Chapter 3
I love waking up on snowy mornings—even if it’s to the sound of a very loud snowplow scraping the street. I love the quiet, insulated feeling that settles over the world when it’s snow-covered.
I sat up in bed and peeke
d out the window. Snow covered the trees. The mailboxes. The fence. The cars. The window boxes. The steps. Which made me think: Ugh, I’ll have to go out and start shoveling soon. Gretchen wasn’t going to be able to handle it, and Brett was a little on the small and short side to help out.
I wondered if Gretchen had a snowblower. Not that I knew how to use one, but I could learn. Then again, her ex-husband Luke would surely have gotten it in the divorce settlement. He loved using that thing. Like my dad—he can’t wait until it snows so that he can run the snowblower.
But the sun wasn’t even up yet, and I wasn’t going out there to shovel until it rose. I’d have some coffee and let the temperature warm up a little first.
As if it would.
I got the coffeemaker started and sat down on the sofa to read.
Scrape. Scrape.
What was that sound? I looked out the window and saw someone shoveling our driveway in front of the garage. Are you kidding me? I thought. Gretchen has a snow shovel guy?
Whoever he was, he was kind of hunky. I felt a little guilty as I sat on the sofa, indoors, completely toasty warm, watching someone else shovel. But if Gretchen had hired someone, then she didn’t really need me to do it, did she?
Bear was whining loudly and pawing at me. He probably needed to go out. I thought about what Gretchen had said: I could just let Bear out in the yard. I’d have to be sneaky about it, so that shovel guy didn’t see me in my pajamas.
As I slowly pulled the front door open wide enough for Bear to fit through, the first thing he did was run straight for the guy. He jumped on him, barking.
“Bear, stop!” I said. “Bear, come back!” I stepped out onto the front stoop, just in time to see Bear lick the guy’s face.
He turned to me as Bear dropped to his feet and rubbed Bear behind the ears. “It’s okay,” he said. “Bear knows me—don’t worry.”
Not only does Bear know you, I thought as I watched him pet Bear, I know you! He was wearing his letter jacket again, so just in case I’d forgotten his name, which I hadn’t, it was there to remind me: Sean.
“You look kind of familiar,” I said casually. I didn’t really want to refresh his memory, about the skating wipeouts. So I said, vaguely, “I’ve seen you down at the lake. Maybe.”
“Oh, yeah?” He stood up and looked at me. “Yeah, of course. Yesterday. So…wait. You live here now? Or just visiting for the holidays?”
“Visiting,” I said. “But I’m staying for a month or two,” I added quickly, so he’d know that I’d be around. “Maybe more. So, do you like…are you hired by the neighborhood or the city or something?”
He laughed. “No, not exactly. I have a couple of part-time jobs, that’s all. The rink, plus snow removal.”
“You know? I didn’t know Bear was such a good, ah, watch dog,” I said awkwardly. And then I kind of realized what I’d done. I’d run outside in my pajamas, my hair was tied up loosely, and I had less than no makeup on. “So. Ah. Well.” I looked down at my slippers. “Good shoveling,” I said, nodding in appreciation.
He just stood there, frozen in action, shovel poised in mid-air. Staring at me. Completely speechless. And I thought, Well, I can’t really blame him. He was here to shovel, not to look at someone who’d just rolled out of bed and probably had sheet-crease-face. Happy New Year, Cursed Kirsten.
I wrapped my arms around my chest, for obvious reasons. “Should we go in?” I asked.
“You probably should,” he said.
“Come on, Bear!” I called, but of course he didn’t come, he was too busy romping around the yard. I headed for the door anyway. I had to at least go put on some regular clothes, even if Sean would be gone by the time I did.
I rattled the door knob. Nothing. It was locked. I was locked out. And I was the only one awake so far.
“She keeps an extra key over here.”
Sean’s voice startled me. He was walking over to the porch swing. He reached underneath and picked up a fake rock.
“How well do you know my sister?” I asked.
“Well enough not to expect the key to actually be here,” he said.
We both laughed.
“She must have used it and forgot to put it back,” he said.
“Typical, really. She’s been disorganized since birth,” I told him.
“Really?”
“Yeah. She could never keep track of her bottle. Stuff like that.” Why did I say that? I could have kicked myself, but then he’d see me kicking myself and that would be even more embarrassing than what I just said.
“But you’re the younger sister…right?” he asked.
“Right,” I said. “By, like…a lot. Seven years younger.”
“So how would you know if she lost track of stuff since she was a baby?” he asked, still not getting it. “You were, uh…”
“Not even thought of at that point. I realize that. I was just joking.”
“Oh.” And then he grinned, giving me that killer smile of his again. “You’re funny,” he said.
Hilarious, I thought. If my friends could see me now.
I went over to pound on the front door while he cleared the side of the driveway, but nobody answered it. Then I leaned over and knocked gently on the living room’s picture window. I knew Gretchen was still in bed, but I thought I saw Brett sprint past a couple of times, only he was so fast and little it was hard to tell with the sun coming up reflecting in the picture window. He usually woke up early so that he could watch the Koala Brothers on TV. Couldn’t he be a good nephew and come save me?
I turned around and saw Bear romping across the yard, snow up to his torso. Watching Bear try to run through the snow, leaping and diving and burying his nose in it like a pig rooting for truffles, was hilarious. “Oh my gosh. He’s completely buried,” I said. “The snow’s all the way up to his armpits.”
“Armpits?” Sean said.
“Legpits, then?” I said. “What do you call them?”
“Leg pits?” Sean and I both began to laugh. Bear apparently wanted to join in, so he started barking. For some reason that made Brett finally notice us out there.
“Sean!” Brett cried as he pulled the front door open. “Sean, come in, come in! Come in now.”
“Hey, kiddo!” Sean called back to him.
Thank you, Brett, I thought. I owed him, big-time. I was burying myself out there. Up to my armpits.
I looked over at Sean and smiled awkwardly. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Summon your inner flirt, I heard Emma saying. “Hey. Do you want to come in for a second?” I blurted. “And see Brett? Plus, I think the coffee was almost finished brewing when I ran out the door. If you drink coffee. If you don’t then that probably doesn’t sound very good.”
He looked at me as if I were completely nuts, as if everyone knew that you didn’t invite the hired snow removal guy in for coffee, even if you did know his name because it was sewn into his jacket, and even if he did seem to know your nephew. He still didn’t actually know me.
“I just thought…maybe you’re cold. But you know, you’re probably not, you’re used to this kind of thing, plus you’re active, plus you’re not wearing, ah, PJ’s—I mean, not that you’re naked, because you are clothed, in fact—” Oh God, did I just use the word “naked” in front of a cute guy?
“Sure. I can come in for a few minutes,” he said. “I always do your house last, ’cause it’s on my way home.”
“Oh really?” And where would that home be? “Well, great.”
“I’ll just finish up out here and then I’ll be in,” he said.
“Great!” I said. “I mean, uh, sounds good.” I quickly went inside, filled two mugs with coffee in the kitchen, then went back to the living room and managed to cover myself with one of Gretchen’s fluffiest fleece throws before Sean walked in.
He took off his jacket, revealing a thick blue wool sweater with little white flecks on it, one of those expensive, classic Norwegian ski sweaters. Except it looked a little older an
d tattered, as if it had been passed down through the generations, which made it even more cool.
Most people don’t really look that good when they take off their hat, but he really really did. His hair was sort of flattened and mashed and static-crazy, and he still looked great. His hair was the color of light wood, pine maybe. I think it was the way he was sitting near the stacked wood beside the fireplace.
My sister keeps cut logs of wood piled there, but it’s purely decorative. She has a gas-insert fireplace, the kind you turn on with a remote control. It may not be as romantic as a real fireplace, but it’s warm and very easy to use. Still, all her little decorations around the mantel, and the fake fire screen, are kind of ridiculous. She has a flair for home decoration. It’s from watching too much HGTV.
I leaned over, managing to keep myself completely covered by the blanket, and flicked on the fire. Then we just glanced at each other and both sipped our coffee.
Where had Brett gone all of a sudden? He wasn’t supposed to go back to bed. He was supposed to provide an amusing distraction.
“So. How much snow did we get?” I asked.
“I’d say about half a foot. Not bad.” Sean nodded. “Do you cross-country ski?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I don’t think I brought my skis, though. Shoot. Well, maybe I can borrow Gretchen’s. So, are they building an ice palace for Winter Carnival this year?” I asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m not totally sure though.”
There was small talk, and then there was miniature talk.
“So, how often do you work down at the lake?”
“A few days a week. I mean, weekends for sure. Then some nights.” He took a sip of coffee. “Why? Did you want to know when you should come down and single-handedly wipe out some more skaters?”
“I’m not that bad!”
“No. You’re worse.”
“Ha. Very funny,” I said. “So okay, I’m no Sasha Cohen, but I can at least stay upright.”
“Most of the time,” he said.
I smiled. “Well, you know, the thing about Crack the Whip…”
“What?” he asked, giving me a confused look.
Icing on the Lake Page 3
