Icing on the Lake (13 page)

C
onor had my double latte ready even before I claimed a table. He brought it over as I sat down, sliding the mug toward me.

“Thanks for making sure I got home okay the other day.”

“Oh. No problem,” he said.

I could tell that we both sort of flashed on that awkward moment when he was gazing into my eyes, and Sean walked into the house.

“See anything?” he asked, pointing to the mug.

“A very hot coffee with my name on it?” I asked. “Oh, you probably want your three dollars, don’t you?”

“Plus tip, yeah.” He smiled. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”

I looked around the bakery café, wondering if they’d made some change I hadn’t noticed when I walked in. All I noticed were several new posters for Winter Carnival on the bulletin board.

“I made a pattern.” Conor gestured toward the mug again.

“What?” I felt confused.

“A pattern. In the foam. It’s…well, it’s supposed to be a snowball. It kind of looks like a formless blob, now, doesn’t it.” He pulled over an empty chair from the next table and straddled it.

“Does that really look like a snowball to you?” I joked. “Well, snow, maybe. It is white.” I lifted the coffee cup to my lips to take a sip.

“Thanks.”

“Hey—part of the reason I came here is because we need to order a cake for Brett’s birthday.”

“Cool! Hold on a sec.” Conor got up from the chair and went over to the counter. He came back carrying a small piece of paper.

“How old is he going to be?” Conor asked. “Four, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“Vanilla? Chocolate?” he suggested. “No, wait. It’s Brett. It has to be strawberry.” He tapped his pen against the table. “We don’t actually make a strawberry cake. How about a white cake with strawberry frosting?”

“That’d work,” I said.

“What did Gretchen say?”

“She said get anything, but make sure it’s not her favorite. She’s been trying to lose weight. Her fave is chocolate, so this should be safe.”

“What’s your favorite?” Conor asked.

“Mine?” I laughed. “Chocolate, too. With chocolate frosting. No, wait—even better? Banana cake with chocolate icing—”

“Yeah, but have you ever had raspberry chocolate cake?” Conor said. “The baker here makes a killer torte like that.”

“A killer torte,” I repeated. “Hmm.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe I’ve been working here too long. So, about this coffee thing,” Conor said.

“What…coffee thing?” I wondered.

“The snowball. Have you heard about this Snow Ball party thing?” Conor asked.

Oh, no, I thought. He wasn’t really going to do this, was he? “Is everything a thing?” I joked.

“Hey, I’m all about the
things
,” he replied.

I laughed, hating to tell him something he wouldn’t want to hear. Because it seemed like he was about to invite me to the party, though I couldn’t understand why. Did he think Sean and I had a falling-out? Or had we had one…without Sean telling me? Was there something I didn’t know?

“Remember that day at Buck Hill?” I said.

“Unfortunately,” Conor mumbled. “I mean—not the hanging out with you part. The being on a float part.”

“We weren’t on a float, we were on a bed!” I said.

A few people sitting at the table beside us turned to look when I said that. Conor and I looked at each other and laughed.

“Same difference. So what were you saying?” Conor asked.

“Oh. Just that, yeah. Sean asked me to the Snow Ball then. I’m sorry, Conor.”

“Oh, it’s cool. You know, I just thought…
you’re here. I’m here. The party is fun.” He shrugged. “We could have fun together, snarking on the seven hockey players and their dates.” He coughed. “Six hockey players. Whatever.”

“Sorry.” I shrugged.

“Yeah. Well, speed has never really been one of my strong suits. Actually I don’t even have a suit, which is going to be a problem if I go to this thing, so maybe it’s just as well.”

We sat there in awkward silence for a minute. I willed Bear to bark at a police car siren, to race off with a heavy metal object, anything. Just get me out of this weird situation.

Finally Conor forced a smile. “Well, maybe I’ll see you there if I get that suit thing together. In the meantime, I’d better get this cake order turned in.” He stood up and shoved the chair back to its original table.

About twenty minutes later, I was about to go ask Conor for a coffee refill when he suddenly grabbed his coat and left the bakery. He didn’t even say goodbye to me. I watched him walk down the block and then turn the corner.

“Where’s he going?” I asked Paula when I
went up to the counter. She held out her hand, and I held out my mug.

“He went to the market. We’re almost out of half-and-half and our delivery’s not until later today,” Paula said. “What did you
say
to him, anyway? You’d think he was dying.”

“Not much,” I said. “He asked me to go to this party, but I couldn’t go with him because I’m going with his brother.”

“Oh.
Oh
.” Paula nodded. “No wonder he’s acting like this. Do you know how much he and his brother compete? And do you know how long it’s been since he liked anyone?”

Liked anyone?
I thought. So Conor really did like me—he wasn’t just inviting me to spite Sean? “How long?” I asked.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Paula said. “But I’ve known him a year and there’s been no one. Absolutely no one.”

“Oh,” I said. I was surprised. Conor kind of sounded like me. He didn’t go around dating just to date. He hadn’t had tons of girlfriends, just like I hadn’t had more than one boyfriend, and even he hardly counted.

So what was my situation now? I wondered.
Did I have a boyfriend, or just a date for the Snow Ball?

I went back to my table, sat at the computer, and emailed Jones. I wanted her advice, her take on things. I wanted to know what I should do. Instead I just asked her:

Before she could respond, Conor walked back into the bakery carrying three plastic bags, filled with cartons of milk and half-and-half.

I waited a minute to let him get settled, then walked over to the counter. “Want to go to Winter Carnival tomorrow?” I asked.

“What?”

“Do you want to go to Winter Carnival with me tomorrow? My friends were supposed to come down, but I don’t know if they’re going to.”

He frowned.

Oh, no. I’d totally said the wrong thing. I’d blurted out this invitation without thinking it through. Of course he didn’t want to go with
me. I was seeing his brother; it was probably wrong for me to hang out with him.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” I said quickly. “Never mind. It was just a…you know. An idea.”

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to.” Conor opened the fridge under the counter and started loading it with half-and-half. “I’m supposed to work at Zublansky’s tomorrow afternoon, but maybe I can get someone to cover for me. I was just wondering who, and how much I’d have to bribe them.”

“I’ll pitch in a few bucks,” I offered.

He seemed kind of taken aback by that. Too forward, I wondered? But we were just friends—what I was saying was exactly what I’d say to Jones.

“Brett would have to come, too,” I said. “Is that okay?”

“Sure. No problem,” Conor said. “Could you leave Bear at home though? I don’t necessarily think we should let him knock down any other people trying to check out the carnival.”

“I’ll take Bear to the off-leash park so he can run as long as he wants. Then we can be gone
for a while and he won’t miss us,” I said. “And I’ll make sure Gretchen can handle us all being gone. What am I talking about? I’m sure she can. It’s like her dream when Brett and I leave the house.”

Conor laughed. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I don’t know what she’s going to do when I leave to go home, actually. She’s gotten really used to having me around.”

“Me too,” Conor said. Then he cleared his throat loudly. “You’re, you know, kind of blending in here. With the furniture.”

“Thanks. I guess.” I looked behind me at the tables and chairs. I didn’t see any similarities, but whatever.

“Anyway, about Winter Carnival.” Conor crumpled the now-empty plastic bags. “Normally I don’t go to that kind of thing.”

“You don’t? Why not?” I asked. “I love Winter Carnival.”

“Well, I’m not really into mini-donuts and pork chops on sticks.” Conor made a face. “Ever since I ate too many one summer at the State Unfair.”

I laughed. “That sounds like a radical political group.”

“No, it’s just what I call the ‘big get-together,’” Conor said, making a reference to the ad campaign for the Minnesota State Fair. “I definitely haven’t liked it since I lost in the pie-eating competition, actually. Though I do like the milk bar and the butter sculptures.”

“Pie-eating? Don’t tell me about it. And don’t tell me about racing to eat any butter sculptures, either. But who did you lose to?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Some guy from Roseville. Why?”

“Just wondering,” I said. I’d figured that he must have lost to Sean, since it seemed like all they did was compete against each other, and gloat over who was better.

“You know something? You have a lot of emotional baggage when it comes to the State Fair. What, do you just have to leave the state every August, so you don’t have flashbacks?” I teased him. “What’s the clinical term for that? Post-traumatic fair disorder?”

“Yeah, well,
anyway
. I normally avoid these
kinds of organized-fun-slash-torture events, but Winter Carnival can be kind of fun. Sure. I’ll go,” he said.

“Great.” I smiled at him.

“D
on’t fall,” Conor warned as I stepped out of the minivan. “It’s really icy right here.”

“And I have a history of falling. Is that what you’re saying?” I opened the side door and unclipped Brett from his car seat. He looked a little drowsy, but I had no doubt he would perk up once he saw the crowds of people milling around downtown St. Paul.

Fortunately, we had a stroller with us, and it was one that Brett even liked.

“Just be careful.” Conor tapped the ice with his boot. “They could use a little more sand here.”

“That’s right—I forgot I was traveling with Mr. Snow Removal,” I teased him.

“Hey, did you or did you not whack your head
on the ice? Speaking of which, you feeling any after-effects?”

I shook my head. “No, but Gretchen made me go to the doctor with her yesterday just to make sure.”

“And? What did the doctor say?”

“She said Gretchen’s leg is healing. Slowly.” I unfolded the stroller, helped Brett climb into it, then slipped the necessity bag into its bottom basket. “And then Gretchen and I went to the spa to get manicures and look at possible new hairstyles. She has this habit of trying to give me makeovers whenever she’s stressed. Her coping mechanism is to try changing me.”

Conor laughed. “You’re not really going to cut your hair, though,” he said. “Are you?”

“No.” I blushed.

“Cool.”

As we started walking out of the RiverCentre parking ramp, Conor pointed to the huge brick buildings around us. “That’s the Science Museum, but you probably knew that. And here’s the Xcel Energy Center, where the Minnesota Wild plays. The NHL team.”

“Wouldn’t it be cool if we could go to a
game?” I asked. “I mean, a bunch of us.”

“Yeah. It’s fun—I’ve been to a few,” Conor said. “I used to think I could play hockey that well. Ha!”

“Maybe you can,” I said. “Just because you got cut from the school team that doesn’t mean you have to give up.”

“Yeah. Or I could transfer to a school with a bad team,” Conor said. “Not that I know of too many around here. Maybe I could transfer to somewhere in Hawaii.” He laughed. “Anyway, the state high school hockey tournament is at the Xcel, too. Have you ever been?” he asked.

“Two years ago,” I said. “Our school made it to the quarterfinals. Even that was a huge deal.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s nothing. When Sean was a sophomore he scored a hat trick. The place went wild.” Conor rolled his eyes. “I was proud of him, but it was a little disgusting.”

I decided to change the subject. “Is that like a miniature ice palace?” I pointed to a structure made of ice blocks in the park we were heading toward.

“That’s not an ice palace. That looks more like an ice fishing shack,” Conor commented.

As we got closer, we saw that it was intentional: The piece was titled “Ice Fishing Palace.” Conor smiled. “Well, we were both right.”

We walked around and checked out the other sculptures: a huge one of the State Capitol, an eagle, and a big wedge of Swiss cheese with holes carved into it, and tiny ice mice running on top of it. In the center of the park, a carver was working with a chainsaw on a plain large ice block, making a silhouette of a woman’s face, who was modeling for him.

As we walked over to another plaza to look at the snow sculptures, Brett suddenly decided it was time for him to start playing hide and seek. He hopped out of the stroller and sprinted right past the chains protecting a giant sculpture of a lion. “Roarrrr!” he yelled as he ran toward it.

“Sorry,” I said to the women working, as I scooped up Brett and retrieved him before he could do any major damage. He started crying right away, and nothing I could say made him feel better. I showed him the train made of snow, and the Santa Claus, and the dog…. Still, hekept crying.

“Hey, Brett. I have an idea,” Conor said.

“Wh—wh—what,” Brett sniffled.

“I heard there’s a snowman-making contest here. Do you want to help me build a snowman?”

Brett wiped his eyes and looked up at Conor. “A snowman?”

Conor nodded. “A snowman. You and me. We’ll win a ribbon, I promise.”

“God, you’re competitive,” I commented. “Do you ever stop?”

“Everyone gets a ribbon just for trying,” he said under his breath to me. “I used to do this when I was a kid. Okay? Come on, Brett.” He took Brett’s hand and they started skipping toward the area where giant mounds of fresh snow had been dumped, and small, very round stacked figures rose in the distance. “Let’s build!”

“Told you we’d get a ribbon.” Conor dangled the blue ribbon with a Winter Carnival button hanging from it in front of my face.

“You
bought
that,” I said. Buttons were used to gain entrance to different carnival events;
they cost five bucks, and the design changed each year, so they made cool collectibles when the events were all over.

“Well, the button, yeah, I did buy that. But we earned the ribbon. Right, Brett?”

“We won, Aunt Kirsten!” Brett cried happily.

“Well, good for you. I’m very proud of you.” I pulled Brett’s hat down a little, because he was about to lose it. “Are you hungry? You want a snack?”

He nodded eagerly, so we headed over to a couple of ice blocks to sit down. While I was getting a handful of peanut butter crackers out of the “everything” bag, I noticed a bus pull up, and suddenly girl after girl after girl was stepping off the bus, each one wearing a little tiara—like my Snow White one!—and a sash bearing the name of a town or suburb. Miss Owatonna, Miss Robbinsdale, Miss Stillwater, Miss Congeniality….

Where had they come from? What were they doing here? I knew the Winter Carnival crowned King Boreas and a Snow Queen every year, but this wasn’t the same thing. They started checking out the giant star-shaped ice sculptures
where Conor was standing.

“See this? I won this.” He held the ribbon and button up in front of Miss Eden Prairie.

She laughed at him. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Oh! Harsh.” He put his hand over his heart. “You guys want me to take your picture?” he asked as the mob of girls circulated around the giant stars.

I took out my camera phone and started taking Conor’s picture, as he posed with Miss Winona and the others.

“What can I say, I’ve always had a thing for princesses,” he said as he walked over to me. “Ah, royalty.”

I raised my eyebrow and glared at him.

“Kidding. Kidding!” he said. “I was doing my best imitation of Sean. He was junior prom king, you know.”

“Ew. My sister was prom queen. Me, on the other hand, I’ve never actually worn a sash.”

“I’ll go borrow one for you,” Conor offered.

“No! Don’t!” I called as he headed back to the group of girls.

He stopped and turned around. “Why not?”

“Because. I—I don’t know what size I take.”

“Um, I don’t think they come in sizes.” He started talking to different girls, and pointing over at me and Brett. Most of them looked at him as if he were insane, but a couple of them seemed to be considering it. Finally he came jogging over to me carrying a white sash with blue letters that said: Miss Midwest. I stood up and Conor draped the sash over my head.

“Wow, I get to be the whole Midwest? I must have some sort of hidden talent,” I said.

“Classical piano,” the girl said with a smile as she walked over to me. She held out her hand. “I’m Christie.”

“Kirsten,” I said, being careful to shake her hand gently, given that she was a piano-playing virtuoso. “You sure it’s okay if I wear this for a second?”

“You can take one picture,” she said. “Then I have to get back to the bus—we’re on a schedule. Also I think it’s against policy, so be quick about it.”

“Thanks!”

“And who are you?” Christie asked Brett, keeping him busy while Conor snapped a quick photo of me.

“You’ll always be Miss Midwest to me,” he said.

“Gee. Thanks,” I said.

We drove from downtown St. Paul over to Como Park, for the Frosty Fingers kite fly.

“Why are we doing this again?” Conor said as we trudged across the snow to Lake Como, where kites danced in the air. The wind had begun to howl a little, and some freezing rain was falling.

Brett was riding on Conor’s shoulders, and for that reason maybe the wind chill at that height was hitting him a little harder than usual. When I glanced up to check on him, I could have sworn his lips were turning blue.

Then I remembered the fruit-flavored snow-cone he’d insisted on having earlier. That was syrup stain on his mouth, not frostbite.

Still, I suggested we blow off the kite flying and head to the other side of Como Park, to visit the conservatory. We regrouped and headed indoors to look at plants and enjoy warm, humid air. Afterward, we took Brett over to the historic carousel, and I took pictures of him and
Conor going around on a wooden horse, making faces at me each time the carousel circled past.

All in all, it was a totally fun, totally exhausting afternoon.

“What next?” I asked as we walked away from the carousel, after I’d somehow managed to convince Brett that the Como Zoo was closed because it was too cold for the animals. It wasn’t closed, but I was too cold, and technically I am an animal of some sort, so it wasn’t a total lie.

Fifteen minutes later, Brett was sound asleep. We gently put him into his car seat and started the engine so the minivan would warm up.

We stood outside the car for a minute, and I felt Conor looking at me, out of the corner of my eye.

“What?” I asked as I turned to him.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking. You must be freezing.” Conor moved closer to me, practically snuggling against my side.

All I could think was,
He’s about to kiss me, this is a move, he’s totally about to kiss me
.