Snack (8 page)

Snack leans in and kisses me deeply again. That’s his response. I push myself off the wall and throw my arms around his neck and thrust my hands into the hair on the back of his head. I suck on Snack’s lower lip and when our mouths open to each other, each swipe of our tongues, every deep suckle is an apology to each other for time lost.

What a fucking weird night! A wonderful, weird night. Nothing like I expected.

Snack pulls away and, without warning, throws his head back and howls, “Woo-hoo!” He grabs my hand and pulls us through the door of the journalism room and into the hall. To everyone leaving the dance, to nobody at all, to the universe, he yells out, “My girl! Minnie Cooper is my girl!”

Snack takes my hand and entwines our fingers again. He starts to walk toward the stairs at the back of the café with me in tow. The stairs lead to the office upstairs. Wookiee lets out a sharp bark from the floor as his tiny legs attempt to keep up. Snack scoops him up and brings him to his chest. Wookiee cuddles into Snack and yawns.

“See, even Wookiee is tired… Let’s sleep.”

I don’t even attempt to argue. I’m exhausted.

As we climb the stairs I ask, “How are we going to sleep up here in your dad’s office?”

Snack grumbles something unintelligible. If I didn’t already know he wasn’t a curser, I would’ve sworn he said, “Fucker.” Snack leans against the back wall at the top of the stairs. “It was”—Snack turns back to continue ascending—“until he cheated on my mom and they divorced.”

I know this is not a pleasant topic for Snack. After years of marriage, Snack’s dad, Robert, had an affair and ran off with one of the vendors for the café—a woman in her twenties. Younger than Snack at the time. The worst part, in my opinion? She looked just like Colette only a newer model. I don’t know every detail of the story, but who would leave a woman like Colette? It’s like movie stars that fuck around on their gorgeous, talented spouses. To the outsider, it’s illogical and greedy and fucking mean.

Snack flips a light switch at the top of the stairs, and I’m surprised at what I see or don’t see. Gone is Snack’s dad’s cramped paper strewn office with its beat-up couch and old gray office desk. Gone are the stacks of paper goods and ceramic mugs. It’s all been replaced and remodeled into a gorgeous, expansive loft apartment. If I were guessing, I’d say it mimics the footprint of the café downstairs, which is not tiny, for square footage.

“My mom was going to move in here. She said after my dad was gone and I was married and rarely home, the house felt too large and ridiculous.”

“This is amazing!” I spin in place to appreciate every detail: the solid wood wainscoting, the multihued wall finish, the subtle lighting. Each aspect has been thoughtfully planned.

The ceiling is high and vaulted. It’s one large space. A large open kitchen with warm cherry cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and black granite counters is a chef’s dream. The large kitchen island merges into the open living space, which has a big inviting chestnut leather couch, a couple of chairs, and a coffee/ottoman thing—I never know what to call that particular piece of furniture. A floor to ceiling window takes up the front of the loft. The streetlights from below illuminate the falling snow outside. Some of it sticks to the top part of the window.

I just walk around in awe. “Wow! Snack this is so great”

There’s a screened off area to the right. I peek around the screen and view a king-size bed. I immediately wish I could climb in and crash.

“That’s the bedroom.” Snack lifts an eyebrow and gestures with a Vanna White worthy flourish.

“Really?” I ask with equal sarcasm. “Thanks for elaborating, that would’ve escaped me.”

Snack laughs, nuzzling Wookiee. “Nothing gets by her, huh, Wookiee? Smart cookie, that one.”

Snack points out the large bathroom adjacent to the bedroom space and the walk-in closet.

I’d picked up a stray newspaper from the café on the way up. Wookiee hasn’t gone potty since we got on the train, but I know he won’t step foot out in this snowstorm. I explain the situation to Snack as I pop into the attached bathroom and lay a thick layer of paper in a corner.

I point to the newspaper as I walk out of the bathroom. “Sorry about that.”

“Well, a man’s gotta have a place to go.” Snack kisses Wookiee on the snout and places him gently on the floor. “Right, buddy.” My heart puddles on the floor. Snack is being affectionate with Wook and Wook is letting him. Why can’t it be that way with Henry? Henry. I admit to myself, I haven’t thought about him much since I got back to Downers Grove.

I shiver. This loft is beautiful, but cold. Not cold as in uninviting, but really freezing cold. My brain pushes my manners aside and I bark out, “Fuck, it’s fucking cold up here.”

Snack snorts. “Never one to underuse the fuck word, huh, Min.”

It’s my turn to laugh. Snack just alluded to an old Cooper family joke.

I stand outside the bathroom door, screaming at my little brother once again. “Sid, jeez, get out of the fucking bathroom. I need to get ready for school. Snack’s waiting.”

“Wilhelmina Jane, don’t say the fuck word!” Dad yells from down the hall as he comes toward me.

“You mean, don’t say the F-word, don’t you, Dad?”

“Fuck! Yes! I mean don’t use the F-word. It doesn’t sound nice.”

Dad and I smile to stifle our mutual laughs, but they quickly overcome us.

Dad winks at me and bangs on the bathroom door. “Sid, get out of the fucking bathroom! Your sister needs to do her fucking girl stuff.”

“Nice use of the fuck word, Dad.”

“That’s enough out of you, Min.”

Snack’s next words shake me from my memory.

“You’re right. It’s pretty darn cold up here.”

Pretty darn cold? What is he? A monk? It is sort of adorable that he isn’t naturally profane. Unlike me.

Snack moves toward the large stone fireplace that wraps around the angled wall from the living space, so it’s also partially in the bedroom space. “I’ll start a fire. You want to turn up the thermostat? It’s on the wall near the top of the stairs.”

I go over and push the heat level up. Still shivering, I cross my arms and rub my hands up and down them. I stomp my feet, too.

Snack squats and places a couple of logs in the fireplace. He turns and smiles at me. “Frozen?”

“Almost.” I respond through nearly chattering teeth.

“We don’t run the heat up here all the time since there isn’t anyone up here all day.” Snack lights a match and tosses it under the balled-up newspaper. Of course, it lights right away. It’s Snack. Perfect, Eagle-fucking-Scout Snack.

I watch his shoulders and back move as he attends to the area around the hearth. I know what’s under that gray sweater. Snack’s muscular torso. Just imagining it makes me exhale quietly to myself. I scold myself yet again for thinking about him like that when I know he’s still grieving his wife.

Snack stands, wipes his hands of his chore with satisfaction, and then turns and strides over to me. He stands about one foot away. “Get in bed.”

What? I feel my entire body flush. Get in bed? With Snack?

My expression must telegraph my confusion—if not my delight at his order—because Snack chuckles. “Yes, take your shoes off, but leave your clothes on and get in bed. You’ll be warmer. And I know you’re tired.”

Wookiee wastes no time following Snack’s orders. He has already made his way up onto the bed and barks his agreement with Snack’s idea. I’m being herded.

Snack pokes the fire a few more times. Once in bed, I roll over to watch Snack’s back some more. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I stop myself from these thoughts? He bows his head and lets out a long deep sigh.

Wookiee comes to roll up in a cinnamon bun shape in front of me, but not before he barks at Snack to stop what he’s doing.

Snack looks over his shoulder at both of us. One of his eyebrows raises and the same corner of his lip curls up in amusement. “OK, buddy, I’m coming. Wow! He’s a bossy little thing, Min.”

“Yep, he keeps me in line.”

Snack crosses to the other side of the bed behind me. Two loud thumps tell me he’s taken off his shoes. I don’t move a muscle. This is really happening. He’s getting in the bed! A gush of cold air blows over me when he raises the sheet and duvet to slip in. I shudder.

“You’re cold. Come here.” With a quick move of his powerful arm, he pulls my back tight against his chest. “Let’s spoon. You’ll be warmer.”

I can’t or don’t argue.

Wookiee readjusts so he’s even closer to me, his head propped on my neck. He has to be staring right at Snack.

My suspicion is confirmed when Snack says, “Hello, Buddy!” I hear him kiss Wookiee on the head and am momentarily jealous until I feel his breath in my hair.

Everything in me tells me to scoot back a little into his embrace. I want to be close to him, I’ve always wanted to be close to him my whole life, but I’m pretty sure he’s just looking for comfort from an old friend, not a hookup. Instead, I position myself into my usual sleep position. I lift my lower leg up toward my chest.

Snack laughs in my ear. “You were always terrible at this.”

I peek back at him. “What? Spooning? I’m excellent at spooning.”

“No, you’re not. You sleep like a can opener. It’s like trying to spoon in the cooking utensil drawer.”

He’s actually right and I chuckle. I’ve never been too good at this. Reaching behind me, I smack him on the butt or hip or something, I can’t really tell, I just know it was firm. Snack pulls me in closer.

Then I hear him sniffle and something drips on my ear. Is he crying? Yes, he is. His emotions must be all over the place. I can feel his chest vibrating, heaving against my back. He squeezes me tighter. What should I do? What should I say? Without warning, my own tears come softly at first and then in gushing waves. We hold each other and cry for what seems like hours. I don’t really know precisely what we’re crying about, but the emotion in the room alone is palpable. The source of this shared sadness could be, oh-so-many things: the death of his wife, Megan, our always off-track love, his now motherless children, my overwhelming loneliness and pathetic “relationship” with Henry, seeing each other after such a long time, or even, in my case, at least, guilt over being attracted to a newly widowed man.

I can’t take this much longer. I slam the floodgates shut and turn my head toward him to meet his eyes. I sniffle back as much emotion as I can. “That blubbering is truly unsexy. You may never get laid again if you do that in front of girls.”

Snack’s face breaks into a huge grin, and for the first time all night I hear his carefree laugh that I missed for so long.

“Minnie, I’ve really missed you. You have no idea.”

I finally admit aloud to him and myself that I felt the same. “I’ve missed you, too, Snack.”

Snack blows out a cleansing sigh and pulls me back against him, wrapping me tighter in his arms. “OK, Can opener, we’ll talk about it tomorrow. Now, go to sleep.”

I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Like ever, ever.

Snack brought me home after the homecoming dance last night and kissed me at the door like a real date. Getting my brain to shut off and go to sleep was a real challenge. I eventually succumbed sometime after one thirty in the morning. That was the last time I looked at the clock.

Snack showed up at my house at seven thirty this morning. I was just coming out of an amazing dream about him when it’s cut short by Sid’s cracking adolescent screech. “Minnie, Snack’s here! I’m sending him up to your room!”

“No!” I yell through my bedroom door. Suddenly, I don’t want Snack to see me with bedhead and morning breath.

I jump up from my bed and scramble to find my favorite gray Stormtrooper sweatshirt. It’s somewhere on the floor in the pile of clothes that aren’t quite dirty enough to put down the laundry chute. After digging halfway through the pile, I find it. After pulling it on over my tank top, I move over to my dresser, grab a hair tie and scoop my unruly brown mop up into a high pony. OK, just need to brush my teeth and I’ll be presentable…

“Hey, there’s my girl.” I practically jump a foot. I didn’t even hear my door open. Snack’s in my room. This shouldn’t be surprising. He’s always been welcome, but for some reason it’s different this morning. “Why did you tell Sid I couldn’t come up?”

An awkward shyness overcomes me, and I pull at the bottom of my oversized sweatshirt, trying to cover my boxer shorts. I’ve never felt exposed in front of Snack before. Hell, he’s seen me in my swimsuit. What’s my deal?

“I was still in bed. I wanted to get dressed before you saw me.”

Snack lowers his head and tilts it to the side. He presses his lips together, but a slow smirk turns up the corners of his mouth. He looks at my bare feet and his gaze wanders up my naked legs. His hooded eyes finally meet mine. “Oh man, I wish I’d gotten up here a minute earlier… I’m sorry I missed that.”

Swoon.

Snack plops down on the bed next to where I’m standing. Reaching out for my boxers, he takes the hem between his thumb and forefinger and tugs it lightly. The back of his finger grazes my upper thigh, leaving tingly warmth in its wake. “Nice boxers,” he says. “Whose are they?”

I have no idea. Probably my dad’s or Clip’s. I shrug.

“I’ll bring you some of mine. I only want you wearing mine from now on.”

“Uh, O-Kay.” I stutter in response to his demand and most definitely his touch. I have no problem with that. Must be another one of Snack’s weird possessive things.

Snack twists the fabric of my boxers around his fingers and pulls me toward him. “Come here and kiss me. I can’t believe you haven’t kissed me yet.”

My heart thumps out of control and my brain is frozen. I’ve heard actors say things like that in movies, but in real life? I guess it does actually happen. I want nothing more than to push him back on my bed and kiss him until lunchtime, but I haven’t peed or brushed my teeth or anything yet.

Untangling his fingers from my boxers after much resistance from Snack, I back away toward the door. Everything in me wants to travel in the opposite direction—toward him, not away, but physiology wins out. That and fresh breath.