There is? What is it? Besides embarrassing myself in front of guys.
Finding a guy for GG. If I can, you can.
Yes, but you actually have guts. You actually asked someone out before.
So did you. Remember fifth grade?
FIRST grade. We went trick-or-treating together.
So? He said yes, didn’t he? This is silly. Get your phone.
My cell started ringing about two seconds later, and when I picked up, the first thing Jones said was that she had bad news. “I was talking to Keira at school today—”
“What’s wrong? How is she?” Keira was another friend of ours. We played on the soccer team together, and our moms had been good friends for a long time.
“Nothing’s wrong with her exactly. Well, yes, it is. Something’s wrong with her head. She told me she started seeing someone over the holidays. And then, you won’t believe this, but she told me that it’s Tyler. She’s dating Tyler,” Jones announced.
“That is bad news. For her,” I added. “It’s good for you, because you were next on his hiton list—”
“And then she told me that she’s already invited him to the cabin,” Jones added.
“What?” I gulped. “No way.”
“Yeah. Way,” Jones replied.
“Why would she…”
“I know. It’s totally weird. Girl has obviously lost her mind.”
I laughed. “No, I didn’t mean that—I mean, Tyler’s not a totally bad guy. He has his charms.”
“Oh, yeah, sure he does. I felt like telling her that the cabin was overbooked and she’d have to drop out,” Jones said. “I didn’t. Of course. She was in on this from the beginning, so it’s not like we can un-invite her.”
“Great.” I tried to smile as Jones told me some funny stories about her own attempts to find a guy for Groundhog Getaway, but as we said goodbye and I clicked off my phone, I felt this tightness in my chest. Now that Keira was seeing Tyler, I was really under pressure to find a date for the weekend.
I picked up my phone again and dialed the number for the cabin rental company. When a woman answered, I gave her Emma’s last name, and told her I would need space. For two people.
Sean’s image immediately came to mind. I could so easily see the two of us hanging out, having a good time. And I could see Tyler looking at us and having a huge pang of regret because that could have been him with me. Sean and I would skate together, we’d hold hands, we’d snuggle by the cabin fire…
“You’re all set,” the woman on the phone said.
“Great.” I tapped my credit card against the desk and stared out the bedroom window. Now which house exactly was Sean’s?
Chapter 5
Early the next morning, I was in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher when the doorbell rang.
I started to dash for the front door, hoping it might be Sean. I didn’t know why I thought he’d be dropping by, but that didn’t matter—I was either hoping, or praying, that it might be him. I didn’t stop to be rational.
But then I paused and checked my reflection in the hallway mirror before I answered the door, the way Gretchen told me that I should. When I finally took a deep breath and opened the door, I saw a FedEx truck parked out front, and a woman in uniform disappearing down the front walk. “Thanks!” I called to her as I spotted the box she’d left on our doorstep.
She turned around and gave me a small wave as she climbed into the driver’s seat.
So much for worrying about being put together nicely with my hair brushed.
The package was addressed to both me and Gretchen, and it was from Mom. There were about a dozen “Fragile” and “Perishable” stickers on the box. When I opened it, I wasn’t surprised to see a big rectangular Tupperware container full of cupcakes. Mom’s number-one choice for care packages. She’d sent them to me at summer camp at least twice.
“She didn’t,” Gretchen said, as soon as she saw me standing in the doorway with the box in my hand. “Mom knows I’m trying to lose weight. She can be such a sabotager when she wants to be!”
“I think the word you’re looking for is saboteur,” I said.
“Actually, I think the words I’m looking for are no cupcakes.” She glared at me. “Get them out of here.”
“Trashcan okay?” I pointed to the kitchen garbage can, wondering how many I could take out of the box and eat or save for later. I at least wanted to have one.
“No. That’s not good enough.”
“You’re in a lovely mood.”
I heard a scream coming from upstairs, so I left the cupcakes on the counter and quickly ran up to check on Brett, since Gretchen couldn’t easily do it.
Luckily, nothing was wrong. He was just practicing his superhero role: Caped Screamer Boy. He was jumping from his bed to the floor with a pillowcase on his shoulders. Over and over again.
“Come on, buddy. You should be downstairs,” I said. “Grandma sent cupcakes!”
“Cupcakes!” Brett screamed, and he ran for the stairs. I grabbed his hands to help him “fly” down the stairs (if I hadn’t, he’d have flown right to the bottom with a concussion).
When we ran into the kitchen, the container of cupcakes had vanished, and the garbage disposal was running loudly as Gretchen stood over the sink, her hand on the faucet.
Watching Gretchen annihilate those cupcakes was like a scene out of a horror movie. There ought to have been loud, screechy music playing, except that you wouldn’t be able to hear it over the sound of frosting and cake being ground to bits.
“Could we have at least saved a couple for Brett?” I asked as she finally switched off the disposal and she could hear me. “And me?”
“Sorry,” she said. She looked at Brett. “The cupcakes got spoiled in the mail—sorry, honey. How about a yogurt?” As she pulled one out of the fridge for Brett, she whispered to me, “I cannot have cake around.”
“So for Brett’s birthday party at the end of the month, what are you going to have? Carrot sticks?” I asked.
She handed Brett a spoon for his yogurt, and he dashed into the TV room to watch PBS.
“No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll serve celery.” She laughed. “No, actually, I’ll order a cake from the bakery. And I won’t eat any of it. Come on, just help me a little, okay? You know how much I love Mom’s cupcakes. The woman can’t cook a roast to save her life, but she can bake. These things are lethal. There are about a thousand calories in each one.”
“You’re crazy, you know that?” I said. “Mom sent those specially for us. What are we going to tell her? Thanks, your cupcakes grind up really easily? I think you overreacted.”
“Maybe slightly,” she agreed as she dried her hands on a dishtowel. “But I already had ice cream yesterday when I shouldn’t have, and I have to get back on course. I just have to.”
“No, you know what you need, Gretch?” I said. “You need to get out of the house more. Make some new friends.”
“You’re talking to someone with a broken leg, and it’s the middle of winter,” she replied in an irritated tone.
“So?” I shrugged. “Mind over matter.”
She glared at me as if maybe she was about to put me through the garbage disposal as well.
“Okay, I’m sorry. You’re in a bad way. I just want to help, okay? I was thinking we could just make a couple of routines, like, we go out for coffee every day. That way we’ll meet people.”
“I know people,” she said. “It’s just that—well, a lot them were both our friends. Mine and Luke’s. So it’s awkward. And I know I need a new routine, and a job, and new friends, but it’s so hard to get around with my leg like this!” I’d never heard Gretchen sound so frustrated.
“So, we’ll drive,” I said. “You’ll have to go like ten steps, at most.”
“True. But do we want to take Brett to a coffee shop?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Because then it wouldn’t be as much fun for us, we couldn’t just
relax. We’d have to keep track of him. He’d spill coffee, he’d bug people. He’d bug us.”
Sometimes I really wondered why Gretchen had wanted to have a child so much. It was like she couldn’t handle the responsibility, or at least, she didn’t want to. Then again, I had no experience being a mostly-single parent, so what did I know? “What are we going to do…leave him here?” I asked.
“No! I was just thinking…maybe while he’s watching Shrek for the eighty-ninth time, you could go to the bakery down the street and bring some coffee back for me and a treat for Brett. And maybe take Bear for a walk while you’re at it. Please?”
This life as Super Nanny was really shaping up nicely. I got to take the dog for a walk when it was ten degrees outside. Lucky me! “But Gretch. You won’t meet anyone that way.”
“I know, and you have a point. But give me until next week, okay? With all this snow…it’s just too hard to get around without wiping out. I’m completely exhausted from yesterday.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“And, you pass Sean’s house on the way to the bakery,” she said.
“Oh. Really? Okay. I’ll go,” I said with a smile. Though I was dreading the cold, I was actually dying for a chance to get out of the house by myself for a little while. And the way Bear was racing around the house, chasing Brett and his tail simultaneously, made me realize he needed the exercise, too. “But do I need to come right back, or can I hang out there a little while and write?”
“Stay as long as you want to,” she said as she jotted down the directions for me.
The bakery was only about an eight-block walk from Gretchen’s house. I went really slowly at first, just in case Sean was home, just in case he wanted to come running out and join me for coffee.
But of course, he had a life. I was the one wandering aimlessly.
As I walked up the block toward the bakery, the wonderful scents of bread and sweet things baking got stronger and stronger. I was definitely about to get pulled into the pastry vortex.
Actually, the way Bear pulled on the leash, I was about to get pulled all over Minneapolis. He could use another puppy obedience course—or two. Not that I knew how to train him. I’d never had a dog before. Gretchen had decided to get Bear for a couple of reasons—one, to entertain Brett, and two, to make her feel more safe about living on her own. I didn’t know how Bear would do that, except attack a burglar by licking his face.
Anyway, in typical Gretchen fashion, she’d gone for the dog that looked the cutest when she went to the humane society to adopt a puppy. And Bear had been cute, when he was three months old, before he turned into a gigantic white furry beast.
I tied Bear to the Star Tribune newspaper box while I went inside the bakery. When I leaned over to wrap the leash around the pole, Bear gave me a huge smack on the lips. “Mmm. Thanks, Bear.” Now I couldn’t say I’d never been kissed in the Twin Cities.
I walked into the bakery and just stood by the front door for a second, looking around at the tables and booths, and inhaling the delicious aromas. Then I noticed a guy behind the counter watching me, from where he was leaning against the bakery case, a paperback book propped in his hands.
“Hi,” I said, walking over to him. “Wow. Everything looks so good.” Oh God, I thought. Did I just look at a guy and tell him everything looked so good?
Hold on. As I walked closer I realized he was the Zublansky’s dairy aisle guy, and the one I’d nearly knocked down at the skating rink, and the one who brought me my hat.
“Can I get you something?” he asked, glancing up from his book. He didn’t seem to recognize me—or if he did, he didn’t want to acknowledge me.
I quickly looked down to hide my embarrassment and checked out all of the rolls, croissants, and donuts. “I’ll take a cinnamon roll. And a double latte, please.”
“Sure thing.” He set down his book and grabbed a plate and a small piece of paper wrap to pick up the roll. “You look kind of familiar,” he said.
“I saw you at the lake. The skating rink. New Year’s Eve day?” I said.
“Why did you say it like a question? Weren’t you there?”
“Of course I was. I mean, I think I’d know if I weren’t there,” I said. “I mean, I’d have to not be…there.” Oh, god, I sounded like an idiot.
“Ah. How true.” He didn’t mention the other time we’d seen each other, when I tried to carry out groceries for another customer at Zublansky’s. For that I’d be eternally grateful. Or at least grateful for the next ten minutes.
“Did you just move into the neighborhood?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t live here. I’m just staying with my sister for a while.”
“Oh.”
“For a month.”
“Oh.”
I had to be more interesting. It was time to bring out the inner flirt. Even if it didn’t work with him, at least this would count as practice.
“I’ve never been here before,” I said. “To this bakery. It’s really nice.”
He looked up over the espresso machine at me, with a perfectly blank expression.
“So you’ve never been here before?” A woman who’d been slicing loaves of bread turned to me with a smile. She looked like she was in her twenties. She had short, black hair and wore lots of silver jewelry, including three ear piercings and a nose ring. “It can’t be the incredibly helpful clerks, can it? Conor, your reputation precedes you.”
Conor, that’s a nice name, I thought. I’d never known anyone named Conor before.
“We used to go to this other bakery, but my sister got into an argument with the owner because her wedding cake wasn’t perfect.” I rolled my eyes. “My sister can be a piece of work.”
“Mine too,” the woman agreed.
“I mean, actually the cake was very nice, and I think it was everything it was supposed to be. But she said something about how the little figurines on top were supposed to be personalized, so they looked like her, and the figurine was too big or something…”
I’m babbling, I thought. I’m completely making a fool of myself.
“My sister is a control freak with a bad self image,” I explained, and the girl gave me a sympathetic nod.
“Got one of those at home, too,” she said.
“Double latte,” Conor said in a flat voice as he set a giant mug on the counter. “And we don’t do wedding cakes. In case you were wondering.”
“No. I wasn’t. No need for wedding cakes here,” I said. Not now. Probably not ever, at this rate.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Conor’s co-worker said to me. “This is what happens when you give a night person a morning person’s job.”
“Hey, Paula, you’re not exactly Mary Sunshine yourself,” he replied with a frown.
“Thank God,” she said. “Hi. I’m Paula.”
“Kirsten,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”
“So. What are you doing here?” Conor said to me. “Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”
This guy gave the phrase “Minnesota Nice” a whole new meaning. Or took it all away, rather. “Likewise?” I said.
“Oh, he’s done with school. He’s Mr. AP Class.” Paula bagged a loaf of bread and fastened a twist tie to close it.
“I am not.”
“He has nothing else to do but hang out here and insult customers.” She poked his arm with a wooden stir stick and then tapped his ear with it.
“And co-workers. Don’t forget co-workers.” He swatted at the stir stick as if it were a fly. “I’m taking some time off before I start college in the fall. Well, actually, first I’m saving money to go backpacking through Europe this summer.”
“Slacker,” Paula muttered.
“I’m going to Europe, too,” I said. “Well, England. Then maybe Europe.”
He covered his mouth as he yawned.
“Well, talk to you later. Maybe when you wake up,” I said, and Paula laughed.
So much for flirt
ing practice.
I went over to a table near the window, pulled up a chair, and opened my backpack. I wish I had one of those cool, really thin computers, but of course I don’t, because my parents are saving money to send me to college next year and I don’t make enough to buy my own. So I have the one my dad bought for himself about three years ago. It’s had more upgrades than Janice Dickinson on “America’s Next Top Model” (one of my favorite indulgent wastes of time) has had plastic surgery.
Anyway, it might not have been the newest, but at least it had a wireless card, so I could surf and email while I sat there trying to work on my Independent Study.
I looked up a few times as I head Conor joking around with other customers. He was funny and light-hearted with them…so why not with me? Why’d he have to give me such a hard time? Maybe he still resented me for nearly knocking him to the ice. That could sway a person’s opinion, I guess.
I felt like I should get to know him a little better. After all, it couldn’t hurt to try to meet as many guys as possible while I was here—or at least more than one. The old “putting all your eggs in one basket” theory. Although I didn’t really want to think about my eggs.
“So how long are you in town?” Paula asked when I went up for a refill.
“A month or so. I’m basically finished with school already, so they let me spend some time away working on my Independent Study.”
“Which is?” Conor asked, again in that blasé tone of his.
“It’s a collection of all kinds of writing. Stories, poems, letters, emails, IMs—”
“Since when are IMs worth collecting?” he scoffed.
“Oh. Well, maybe yours aren’t,” I said with a shrug.
Paula started laughing, while Conor looked at me as if I were the rudest person on Earth. Which I guess I sort of sounded like, but come on—he’d been equally insulting to me.
Icing on the Lake Page 5
