Why I Love Singlehood: (34 page)

“Join who where?”

“You should work for our press. I’ll bet you’re a good editor. We could use another one. Or you can write another novel and we’ll publish it.”

I shook my head dismissively, not even giving myself a moment to consider the idea.

After dinner, Kenny drove us to the boardwalk in downtown Wilmington, where we walked slowly along the water’s edge. The night air gave me a chill, and I zipped my jacket and hugged my arms.

“You cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

He put his arm around me and I got another chill, this time on the inside.

We stopped walking and looked out at the water, the sun long gone. Kenny stood right behind me, pressing his body slightly against me, one hand gently resting on my waist.

I turned and looked up at him. His eyes wore an expression of contentment. I craned my neck to reach his lips, and he lowered his head to meet mine. The moment our lips touched and I tasted the salt from the fries, he cupped my cheek with one hand and pulled me to him in an embrace with the other, while I ran my fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. We stood for what felt like hours in an embrace.

“I should have done this a long time ago,” he said more to himself than to me, it seemed.

Eventually we made our way back to the Karmann Ghia, and Kenny drove me back to my house, holding my hand the entire time. When he pulled into the driveway and put the car in park, we kissed again and then sat and looked at each other for a moment.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I should invite you in,” I said.

“And I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I would’ve said no if you did.”

He opened his door, got out of the car, and circled to my side. “I had a wonderful time tonight,” he said, holding my door open.

“Me too. In fact, it’s the best date I’ve been on in a really long time.”

Maybe ever.

“Am I gonna read about it on WILS tomorrow?”

I shook my head. “That blog…” I trailed off. “It was over before it started.”

“No law that says you have to keep it going.”

I hadn’t considered WILS’s future any more than I had considered my own.

Kenny kissed me quickly one last time, and I practically floated to my front door as he peeled out once again and disappeared down the road.

As I lay in bed replaying every moment of our date, I suddenly knew that the thing I wanted most was also the thing that frightened me most. And that truth was no longer willing to be ignored.

31

Poutine

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON,
Minerva met me for lunch at the Blue Moon, a full-service diner in NCLA’s Student Center that was packed at all hours with a mix of students and faculty working from laptops or reading newspapers at the counter, studying or just hanging out in the booths. The retro-fifties décor consisted of chrome fixtures and black-and-white tiled floors, and the menu matched the theme by focusing mostly on burgers and fries and milkshakes. Even the jukebox in the corner contained Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly records.

We stared at our menus.

“You know, I can really go for some poutine,” Minerva said to herself, not looking up from the menu.

“Some
what
?” I asked.

“Heaven on a plate,” she said, still looking at the menu, “smothered in cheese and gravy.”

I sat up straight. “You’ve got my attention.”

She proceeded. “French fries with cheese curds sprinkled on them, covered in thick gravy.”

I cringed. “I never liked the word
curds
,” I said, folding my menu.

Minerva wasn’t listening. Her eyes were closed, and she was practically purring. “Warm, salty, ooey gooey, cheesy, coronary fantasticness.” She brought herself back to reality. “Poutine. Very
Québecois
.”

“We’re in the
South
, Minerva. You do remember that, don’t you? The closest thing you’re going to get to French is the fries.”

“But it’s comfort food. Cheese? Gravy? Potatoes? How much more Southern can you get?”

She stared at the menu for another ten seconds, frowned, and closed it.

“So I had a date with Kenny last night,” I said.

She looked up, dropped the menu, and opened her mouth.

“You move from comfort food to ‘I had a date with Kenny’ with no notice? No transition? How does your brain work, Eva?”

Before I had a chance to answer, the server came to the table holding his order pad. He turned to me first. “What can I get for you?”

“Burger. Medium-well. No lettuce or onions. Tomato on the side. Bun lightly toasted. And an ice water,” I recited.

He scribbled on his pad and then turned to Minerva. “And you?”

Her eyes narrowed, and I could tell our waiter was in for it. “You have fries?” she started.

“Of course.”

“And gravy and cheese?”

“I think so.”

“OK. So I want you to put it all on a plate and bring it to me. Please.”

The server looked at her with hesitation. “Are you sure?”

“I asked you for it, didn’t I?”

“All of it…just, on a plate?”

“You got it.”

He stared at the menus before looking at me, as if asking me to translate, before looking back at her. I raised my eyebrows at him, then her, amused.

“I’m not sure we can do that,” he said, tilting his head to the side.

Minerva laughed out loud again. “Listen…” she said as she squinted at his nametag, “Chris, I’m having a craving. Fulfill it and you can charge me the world.”

I tried to come to Chris’s rescue. “Just bring her an order of fries with some gravy and shredded cheese on the side, please.”

“Okey-doke,” said Chris, who was probably thinking our tip money was so not worth it.

“And a Coke,” she called out as he was leaving. Once he was out of ear- and eye-shot, I burst out laughing. She sighed. “Really, how hard is it to put some cheese and gravy on some fries?”

“I’ll bet you can get it at the Potato Shack.”

Minerva made a face. “The
what?
”

“The Potato Shack.” I said it as if I’d known the place my entire life. “That’s where Kenny took me for our date.”

“He took you to a
shack?
After all that?”

“It’s a restaurant. He brought me there because they use Long Island potatoes. Or at least that’s why I think he brought me there. They serve nothing but potatoes of all kinds and styles. I’ll bet you could find your little delicacy there, although I’m guessing they wouldn’t call it by your frou-frou French name. He had his fries with meat sauce.” I smiled at the memory. “It was cute.”

“Well, OK.” Minerva grinned like the Cheshire cat, and immediately I became suspicious.

“Wait a minute…did you say ‘after all that’? After all
what?
”

“So how was it? The date, I mean.”

“Don’t think you can distract me. What did you mean?”

“We’ll get to it. Promise. Now tell me how it went.”

I grinned like a happy idiot. “It was…” I searched for the right words.

“That good? Please don’t say ‘dreamy.’”

“I wasn’t going to say ‘dreamy.’”

Chris the Server brought us our orders. My bun was untoasted, and the tomato was on the burger. Min’s sides of gravy and cheese were in tiny cups more suitable for salad. She frowned and let out an ostentatious sigh.

“Steady,” I said.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asked.

“Can you bring me two more of these cute little cups?” she asked.

“Um, I’ll have to ask.”

“Thank you, that would be great,” Minerva cooed.

Moments later, Chris returned with two more cups of gravy and shredded cheese; he set them at the edge of the table and hurried away before either of us could ask for anything else.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You and your putin cravings.”

“It’s pronounced
poo-teen
, not ‘putin.’ We’re talking potatoes, not Russian prime ministers. You should serve this at The Grounds.”

“Keep wishing on that one.”

I shrugged and watched with mild interest as Minerva dumped all of the cheese onto her fries before drizzling the gravy on top. It looked terrible, but she was obviously pleased.

She savored her concoction for a moment before continuing. “He really cares about you, you know. He has for a long time.”

I took a sip of my water in an effort to hide the giddy grin that pinched the corners of my mouth upward.

She continued, “In fact, I’ve been rooting for Kenny since day one.”

“
Since day one?
” My eyes narrowed. “When, exactly, was day one?”

Minerva folded her napkin, tucking it under the rim of her plate.

“I told you not to rule him out.”

“And what did you mean by ‘
after all that
’?”

She looked like she was trying to decide whether to break her silence.

I folded my arms. “Say something.”

She sighed. “Do you remember how Kenny and Sister Beulah and I used to always sit together and hang out before he started his venture with the small press—he told you about that, yes?”

“Yes,
finally
,” I emphasized, waiting for more.

“Well, I caught him looking at you one day, watching you. So I asked him about it, and he told me that he kinda had a thing for you but begged me not to tell you.”

“And you
didn’t?
” I said.

“He’s my friend, Eva. How would you like it if I broke your confidence? Anyway, he was about to go for it and then you messed it all up and went home with Scott after the incident with Shaun and the Jeanette.”

I opened my mouth. “No.”

“Yes.”

“NO!”

“
Yes.
So he stopped coming around, and figured he’d just get over it. But he missed you and everyone at The Grounds. So when he came in for the Halloween party, he saw the fight you got into with Scott when Shaun was there and asked for my advice. The rest, yada yada yada, is history.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

“So what’d you tell him?” I asked.

“I told him that you needed a kick.”

“A kick?”

“A swift kick.”

“Thanks, Min. What’d he say to that?”

“He said, ‘Then call me Adam Vinateiri.’ Do you know who Adam Vinateiri is?”

“He’s the friggin’ president of the United States.”

“He’s the best kicker in the NFL.”

“He’s the best kicker in the NFL,” I repeated. “So last night was Kenny’s swift kick?”

“Did it work?” she asked.

I crumpled my napkin and tossed it on the plate while Minerva waited. “Something feels off, like I’m not ready.”

“Because of Scott?” she asked.

“No.”

“Because of Shaun?”

“Hell, no.” I paused before adding, “It’s
me
.”

Minerva nodded. “Oh.”

“OK,” I said. “Now, what about yours?”

“My what?”

“Your swift kick. It’s overdue.”

She shrugged and checked her watch. “You have to get ready for class soon,” she said.

We flagged Chris for our check. I slapped a five-dollar tip on the table.

“Didn’t Adam Vinateiri retire from the NFL?” I asked as we exited the diner.

Minerva shrugged. “How the hell would I know?”

As we walked across campus back to her car, I looked around; the view was postcard-perfect. Trees lined the sidewalks and dormant flowerbeds lined the perimeters of the brick buildings. The Southern sunshine cast shadows as it began to sink.

“I forgot how gorgeous this campus is at this time of year,” Minerva said.

I nodded in agreement. “You don’t miss med school at all?” I asked.

She said nothing and stared straight ahead, her lips clamped shut.

We reached the car in silence. She paused, her door half open.

“Look, it happened the way it happened and that’s that. I think Kenny’s got enough regret for the both of you. But now that you know, maybe you’ll think about how much more time you want to go by.”

It took me a moment to register that she had changed the subject. If she hadn’t been so clearly projecting her own situation, the words might have stung.

“If only it was that simple, Min,” I replied.

“It is.”