Page 61 of Snowballed

What do you do for a special date with the woman who already does everything?

I like being with Zoe. She’s easy going, busy, and zero drama. In short, she’s exactly like she was before. But I don’t want to take her for granted; I want to do something special. Usually this is the kind of problem I throw money at: an expensive gift, a high-end dinner, or a special event. But since I wasted this month’s social budget on the stupid date with Helen, I can’t even take Zoe out for pizza. Besides, what would be the point of taking her somewhere she’s been a million times before? I consider the problem during my morning stretches and come up with a great idea: I’ll make dinner for her.

The only problem with this idea is that Zoe is a great cook and I’m not. But I have a secret weapon.

That evening, I call up my bachan. After reassuring her that I am not calling from the hospital or jail, I explain my problem.

“I’d like to make dinner for my girlfriend. So, I was thinking, Japanese food.”

“Japanese food is too difficult. Take her to a Japanese restaurant instead. Do you have them there?”

We do, but I haven’t gone to any yet. Besides, I can’t afford them.

“Don’t you have a recipe for something easy? Like yonshoku?” Homestyle Japanese cooking isn’t like making sushi. My grandmother would never make anything beyond a simple cucumber roll. She considers sushi the domain of chefs who have properly apprenticed in Japan.

“Can you cook now?” She adds a big dollop of skepticism to that question.

“No. So, it needs to be easy but delicious.”

I can’t see her, but I sense she’s thinking,everything I make is delicious, Noah.“I can send you a recipe, but maybe you won’t be able to get the ingredients there. You cannot get good Japanese rice in most places. Do you have a rice cooker?”

“Um, no.” I assume the Meyers have no rice cooker. We’ve had rice once since I got here, and it was brown.

My bachan sighs. It’s her long-suffering sigh that makes me feel guilty even though all I’ve done is ask for a recipe.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll just look up something online,” I say.

There’s a sharp intake of breath. Suggesting the use of an internet grandmother is a huge insult, but it spurs her to action. “I will send you a recipe. It will be easy and delicious.”

“Oh, that’s great, thank you so much. Do you have my email?”

“Give me your address. I will mail it.”

I have to stifle a sigh. Mail will take ages. But there’s no arguing with her, so I dictate the address.

“What is she like, your girlfriend?” Bachan asks.

“She’s really nice. She plays hockey, like Chi.” I was hoping to avoid this part of the conversation, but it’s the going price for recipes.

“And what is her name?”

“Zoe.”

“Ah, Zo-eee.” She says the name like she can divine everything about my girlfriend from that one identifier. “Does your mother know about her?”

“No, you’re the only one at home who knows.” I talk to Chi regularly, but aside from emails from my mother, I’ve barely spoken to anyone else in the family. Adam messages me, but since he made his NHL team, he’s really busy. And my dad has completely dropped out of the picture. I feel a headache coming on and rub my temples. Of course, I miss them all, but I can’t dwell on that shit. I have a new life here.

“I have been worried about you. But it sounds like you’re doing well,” she says. That small message of affection almost breaks me. We don’t do a lot of emotion in our family. Usually, it doesn’t matter since I can take my family’s support for granted, but this year is different.

I swallow down about twenty things I’d like to say, and instead go with polite honesty. “I am doing okay.”

“Your father—” she begins and then stops. My grandmother is not a gossip, she prefers to criticize people to their faces. “He is wrong, and he will realize this. Meantime this independence is good for you. Has it snowed yet?”

“Yeah, we’ve had snow on the ground for a few weeks now. I’m wearing my down vest and my coat whenever I go outside.” My teammates laugh at my complaints and tell me it’s nothing like how cold it’s going to be.

Bachan updates me on her bridge club, women I know nothing about, and then we say goodbye. Afterwards I look at the phone in my hand and think about home. Will I even be going back for Christmas? I certainly don’t have the money for flights. I’ve never spent a Christmas away from my family. It’s tough to think about all of them gathered together without me. This breach with my father seems almost insurmountable—if we don’t see each other, how can we ever make up?

My headlights illuminate the snow on the trees as I drive home after an evening lecture. So far, winter driving isn’t too bad since the highways are plowed. But the guys keep taunting me with warnings about black ice and whiteouts.

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