ake

 

 

 

 

“Jake! When you coming back to Chicago?” My buddy Saul from back home answers my call right away. We grew up together on the north side of Chicago, and we’ve been friends ever since. He runs a few bars in the city, and I’m calling for a favor.

“Soon, man. I’m just doing some shit for my uncle. You know.” I open a beer and walk to the window, looking out at the dirty street.

“You doing OK? How’s your mom?”

“Yeah. Fine. We’re fine.” Truth is, I haven’t really spoken to my mom in a while, but I don’t want to get into it, so I change the subject fast. “Dude, I got a favor to ask.”

“Yeah? Anything, man. What do you need?”

“Any chance you’ve heard something about Station Gray playing anywhere soon?”

“You fucking got ESP or shit?” Saul laughs loudly.

“Huh?”

“Fucking ESP? You read minds or whatever?”

“No, man, why? They playing at one of your clubs?” Yes. I grin and swig some beer.

“Dude, yeah. They’re going to be at Velvet, uh, Friday night. Eleven. They’re gonna fucking pack the place, but I’ll save a table for you. Bringing someone?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

“A date?”

“Yup.”

“Aw, Jakey!” He sounds way too excited. “Dude, you haven’t brought a fucking date date around in, like, years. Getting tired of mindless flings or what?”

“Something like that,” I mutter.

“She from that fucking little town you’re working in?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice. Bring her to Chicago, show her the city. Glad you thought of taking her to my place, Jake.”

“She’s a huge Station Gray fan,” I tell him.

“Good taste, man. Except for being with you.” He guffaws. “So I’ll see you Friday?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I hang up, thinking of what Melanie’s face will look like when she realizes we’re going to see Station Gray live.

~~~~

I debate the intelligence of taking Melanie to Chicago, to a bar where she’ll be underage. But honestly, it doesn’t take me long to make up my mind. Getting her away from Bells Park, even for one night, and taking her to see her favorite band ever will be amazing. Maybe it will make up for some of the things she hasn’t been able to do. For the things she’s missed out on.

And I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t wait to get her away from here, somewhere we can be together and not worry about who sees us.

I pick her up outside the antique shop. I would have picked her up at home, would have risked her mother seeing us, but Melanie insisted I meet her here. She smiles the second she sees me pull up, an expression so bright it’s visible even through the cloudy glass of the front door.

She looks fucking amazing. Tight jeans. Those boots again. Hair shiny and straight. Red, red lips. And that sweater, that white sweater she was wearing the first time I met her.

I take off the second she gets in the car, then feel shitty for driving away so fast, mostly out of fear of being seen, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s giddy, almost shaking as she looks at me with those huge hazel eyes.

“Tell me where we’re going!” she insists.

I shake my head and bite back a grin. “Nope.”

“Please?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I fucking hate surprises.” But she laughs.

Part of her good mood, I know, is derived from the same place mine is: the fact that we’re going somewhere. Together. It’s like being on a first date, and I feel like a teenage boy, like I’d do anything to impress her.

“You look pretty,” I say, resting my right hand on her leg, just above the knee.

“Really?” She scrunches her nose a little, and I know she’s not just asking to hear me say it again; in part she’s really not sure it’s true.

“Really. Actually, pretty isn’t the right word. You look absolutely fucking unbelievable, Melanie.”

“Oh,” she sighs, clearly surprised by my words, or possibly the strength of my tone. “But you still won’t tell me where we’re going?”

I shrug and grin, keeping my eyes on the road as I get onto the expressway. “Chicago.”

“Wait. What?” She turns almost completely in her seat so she’s facing me. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” I can’t stop smiling; I love seeing her so excited.

“Oh my god, Jake! This is so awesome. What are we going to do there? Can I see your apartment? This is so cool.” She’s practically bouncing up and down.

I laugh. “We’re going to hang out. Have dinner.” I don’t want to tell her about seeing the band yet.

“What was it like, growing up in Chicago?” she asks.

“Uh, it was great. I mean, I don’t have anything else to compare it to, you know? I was an only child, and my parents were great. My dad was a cop. My mom was always baking stuff, so all the kids wanted to be at our house. We were, you know, typical middle class.” Guilt washes over me thinking about what a great life I had compared to Melanie’s.

“That sounds so nice.” Her tone is wistful. “I always wished I had a house that I could bring people to. But even now, I’m embarrassed. About my mom. Like, even if people know she, well, drinks? I don’t want them to see it.” She’s quiet for a second before adding, “I’ve never told that to anyone before. I’ve never admitted I’m embarrassed of my mom. And dad.”

“How well do you know your father?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t. He left my mom when she was pregnant with me, and I’ve met him a handful of times when he came around for… I actually don’t even know what he wanted. My mom never said. Sometimes he’d stay for a few days. Once he lived with us for a few months.”

“What was that like?” I ask.

“I was in maybe fifth grade? And I remember thinking that I should care that he was there. That I should try to bond with him or something. But I only felt weird around him. Uncomfortable. And I could tell he felt the same about me.”

She’s quiet, looking out the window, before continuing. “He and my mom drank a lot. And fought. And finally he left. I thought I should be sad that he was gone—he was my dad, after all—but all I felt was relief. Is that bad? To be happier not to have a father than to have one?”

“He wasn’t really a father, though, was he?”

“No. He wasn’t.” She reaches out and takes my hand.

My heart fucking flutters. It’s ridiculous, how much a touch from Melanie does to me. How much I feel when I’m around her. I squeeze her hand but try to focus on the road, on driving, and not on how small her hand is, on the smoothness of her skin.

“You hungry?” I ask when we finally exit 290 and are in the city.

“Starved.” But she doesn’t look at me; she’s staring out the window at the urban landscape, and I think if I let her, she’d get out and walk, just to be somewhere new, somewhere that’s not Bells Park.

“You like burgers?” I have a perfect place picked out; it’s kind of a dive, but it’s got the best burgers in the city, and it’s close to Velvet, my friend’s bar.

“Yeah, I love burgers.”

I drive down Western until we’re in Wicker Park, a section of the city, and find a place to park, no small feat on a Friday night.

Burgers Seven is kind of a hole in the wall that straddles the line between hipster paradise and complete and total dump. But it’s been written up in several big publications as having one of the best burgers in the city. It’s packed, but the line moves quickly, and I order two burgers and fries, and one beer and one soda. We find two barstool seats by the window, facing out so we can see the sidewalk.

“Oh my god, I love it here!” Melanie stares out onto the street, where couples walk by laughing and cars light up the pavement. There’s a bar across the street, and from here we can see inside the big windows where people are hanging out.

“What do you like about it?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “It’s not Bells Park, for starters.” Her laugh is sarcastic but lovely. “There’s just so many people. And things to do. And, I don’t know, life.” She takes a big bite of her burger, then another. “This burger?” she says with her mouth full. “Is fucking amazing.”

I laugh out loud. “It’s good, right?”

She nods before setting the burger down and stuffing some fries in her mouth. “I’m so freaking hungry. I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be. You need to eat more.”

Her smile turns into a scowl. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t get all poor-Melanie on me, OK? Don’t act like you need to take care of me. Because if that’s all you feel for me, it’s not enough.”

I take a deep breath. “You fucking know that’s not all I feel for you,” I growl, and the smile she gives me, innocent and joyful, then suddenly sexy, makes my heart skip. I want to tell her more, but it’s not the time or place for this conversation, and I don’t want the mood to be too heavy. I want her to have fun.

When we’re done eating, I grab Melanie’s hand and we head out into the night. We still have time before the show, and I want to walk around with her. I want to show her this part of the city. I want to hold her hand where people can see. I want everyone to know that I’m here, tonight, with her.