Dream Come True

by Gina Calanni

  “Sahara, what’s wrong? Why are you upset?” He holds on to my arms, His fingers are grasping my skin and I’m melting. I remember the last time his hands were holding on to me. But then I blink back my tears and settle myself for the reality of what it is.

  “Brandon, why didn’t you tell me that your daddy is the owner of Blue Ribbon?” I stare up into his dreamy blue eyes that are now shaded with grey.

  “Oh, that’s what you’re upset about?” Brandon lets go of my arms and runs a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t tell you. My dad said it would be better if people didn’t know who I was, while going through the training class.” He glances down. “And I don’t want to be associated with him anyways.”

  “Right, well, that makes sense. He didn’t want us regular people to think of you differently?” I blink back more tears.

  “Would you have even talked to me if you’d known who I was?”

  I stare at the ground. “Probably not.”

  “Exactly, so for once my dad was right. But it doesn’t matter. Now you know and our class is over, okay?”

  “Yeah, class is over and I’ve got to get to work.” I push past him and charge toward the entrance. I don’t want to be late on my first day in my new position and I don’t want to talk with Brandon anymore. He said it himself; his daddy didn’t want people like me to know who he was because we might treat him differently.

  Yet, that’s exactly what he did to me. He treated me differently and fooled me. I’m such a fool. Just like my mama always said. “Don’t be a fool.” Darn it. I am a fool.

  I slide into the locker room and put my purse in my stall. Everyone has their own lab coat, hair net and goggles. I’m not sure about the goggles. I’m a fan of safety. But what are they for? So I don’t poke my eye out with an ice-cream scoop? Or maybe with the knife Mr. Flints uses for scooping ice cream correctly? I let out a laugh and shake my head.

  “Hey, new girl. What’s your name?”

  I jump. I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone. I wouldn’t have openly laughed if I had known there was another person here to hear it. It’s almost as if they had a sneak peak in my head and goodness’ sakes that is a scary idea.

  I take in the woman. She probably has ten years on me. “My name is Sahara, how about you?”

  “I’m Jackie.”

  I nod and slide into my coat and put the net on my hair. We both pass through the door of the developing room. Its official title is Flavor Creation Station. It’s about twenty feet by twenty feet wide and got more cupboards and drawers than I can count in one scan. Blue Ribbon must have every flavor possible. I smile. I’m going to enjoy this. The options seem limitless. Nothing like Dairy Queen… and I made some pretty nifty scoops there. Yesiree.

  “Right now we are working on our summer flavors. We need something that screams vacation. You have till lunch to show me what you’ve got.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. Is she in charge? I thought Rebecca was in charge. I’m pretty sure I saw her name on the hierarchy list I was given a few days ago. Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I can do summer flavors. I can create something that reminds me of my summers. Not a vacation, as I’ve never really gone anywhere other than here, though being with Brandon was like a vacation because in the end you always have to get back to reality. It was just that temporary. I suck in my cheeks. Focus Sahara. This is real. You are here to create flavors. Summer flavors. Okay. I’m thinking apple pie. Yes, warm apple pie at a country fair. I run my eyes over the contents of the cupboard and take out the cinnamon, nutmeg and sugar. I see another label that reads crusts. I take it along with granny smith apples. I begin mixing all of these ingredients up and then head for the freezers. A row of twenty silver, single-door freezers are waiting for me to open them and discover a great flavor match-up. I take out the French vanilla and toss it into a bowl. I slap my head and dump the bowl of all the ingredients I just created. No. I’ve got a better idea. I head back to the nut section, which is probably where Jackie thinks I belong given the look she is giving me. It doesn’t matter. This is going to be good. I can feel it. I can almost taste it even before I’ve created it. This is how I know when I’ve got something good, when the flavors are in my mouth before it actually happens.

  I take down a clean bowl and grab the crust chunks and the pecans and grind them into each other. Drizzled butter over the top congeals them together and then I heat them in the microwave so they stick together better. Now I can mix all the ingredients back together. This will be an improvement over the idea of apple pie ice cream. I’m making the crust melded with pecans. It’s going to be delicious and it will be an exact representation of a Texas summer. Pecans, apple pie and ice cream. You don’t need a plane ticket to experience it. You just need a spoon. My chest squeezes together. I’m so excited about this. I finish stirring it all together and place my container in the work-in-progress freezer. I glance at the clock; it’s ten till noon. I’ve got ten minutes to run to the ladies’ and maybe even grab a soda. I need to celebrate the summer I just created in the freezer.

  I rush into the hallway and crash into Brandon. “Hey.”

  “Hey. Can we talk?” He grabs my elbows. “Like maybe in the creation station?”

  “Why?” I take a step back but his hands are still gripping me and my emotions.

  “I was just thinking you could show me around and show me how things work?” He raises an eyebrow at me and I couldn’t be sicker. There were moments where I wondered things about Brandon. But taking him into a secure area and showing him how things work? No. This is just wrong. Something is off, majorly off. I don’t have enough marbles to add it all together in my mind just yet, but I know a red flag when I see it and I know when to run when the fire is blaring through the woods and you’ve got to make it out before the smoke and flames engulf you.

  “I was just headed… um. Maybe later?”

  Brandon’s eyes glance at the ground. “Okay.”

  I push past him and head to the ladies’, thankful that he can’t follow me in here. I can’t get wrapped up in the idea of him. I need to stick in the moment of my job and how things are going. Which is good. I’m sure Jackie is going to like my summer flavor. I’ve just thought of the name. Happy Fourth of July Texas Pie. Yes. I raise up my shoulders. This might be one of the best flavors I’ve created. I can hear my mama in my head telling me to simmer down and not to try and bloom before it’s time. To settle myself and know my place. And that’s the thing. I am insecure. I know this and I know I’m not that special. But something I have, something I feel good about, is ice cream. Not just tasting it. Not looking at it and all the pretty colors. No. I see something and feel something more when I think and see ice cream. I see possibilities. I see my own creativity and it makes me happy. My ice-cream dreams. No matter what, I’ll always have my ice-cream dreams. I figured that out a long time ago.

  The night of my tenth birthday, after everyone had left my birthday party and my mama had gone to bed, it was just me. Me alone in the kitchen with the leftover ice cream and cake. I took out my mama’s spices and I mixed up something special that night. I had vanilla, chocolate and strawberry ice cream, a scoop of each. I melted them on the stove. Just a little bit so that I could stir them. Then I dropped in little chunks of cake. The cake my daddy wasn’t there for. I dropped it in and I thought about him and how he said “never turn down a piece of cake.” But he did; he turned down a piece of my ten-year-old birthday cake. I stirred all these flavors together and then I took out my mama’s container of sugar and I made my own caramel. I did it. It was a warm golden brown and I drizzled it into the mixture. I tasted it but something was missing. I could taste it. I knew it wasn’t complete; something more had to be added. And then a tear fell from my eye. Just one. It was a tear for my daddy and him not being there.

  I went into my mama’s spice collection and I found her super special ingredient: Pink Himalayan Rock Salt. It was so exotic it was almost a crime for it to be in a single-wide trailer.
But it was and I used it. I sprinkled the rock salt into the mix. My birthday mix. My ten-year-old wishes for a dream broke into a disaster of ice cream. It was a pretty sight and then I tasted it. That’s when I knew. It all made sense. I was supposed to make ice cream.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Day two as a flavor creator has me full of giddiness. And for one specific reason. I just found an answer to my accreditation nightmare. As it currently stands, Eagle Online is being received as an actual college. There is a mile-high stack of lawsuits (none of which involve me) but it seems the money makers are shaking what their momma gave them and putting up a fight to silence any issues or objections to the current classification of the accreditation part of Eagle Online. One report I read said that “this is the kind of thing that could spend years in the court systems before anything is resolved.” Which is fine with me. This gives me extra time to prove myself, which I intend on doing, every single day. I practically skip into the creation station and Jackie and Rebecca are both shaking their heads.

  “Hey y’all!” I slow my skip to a milder pace. Their faces are off… they are running their eyes up and down me like I’m wearing one of those ice-cream costumes in the dead heat of summer, and I don’t care if they say some have a built-in air conditioner; you know that has got to be hotter than a mud puddle in the back of Mayor Wilson’s backyard. My mama is always saying, “Bless his heart, he’s been trying to get grass to grow for a while but nothing has taken, just like his hair.” Which, to be honest, is true. The heat of the moment is rising to my cheeks, and if they don’t start talking I’m going to break out in a bit of sweat, not a cute one either. I’m not one of those sweet darling beauty queens with a bit of a shiny glow. No, when I’m hot… it’s like a heat wave has passed over me like a tornado of fire and my body is exhibit a, b and c of where the heat zones have taken over, my hairline, my nose, and the worst, my arm pits. This is about as awkward as things can get.

  “Sahara, you did it.” Rebecca nods her head and lets her fingers tap against the counter. It’s smooth and chilling, unlike me and my racing heart. Breathe, Sahara. Take this in slow, find out what exactly you did. You might be able to fix it. Probably not. No, don’t be negative. It’s very possible that you can fix whatever happened. You’ve been on the job for less than forty-eight hours. Breathe. There. Easy breezy.

  I raise an eyebrow. Shoot, what could I have done? No. It’s okay. I couldn’t have already messed up on my first day. This can’t be possible… how could that be? I haven’t done anything to mess up yet. Oh, I think I forgot to clean that first bowl.

  “I’m sorry. I totally forgot, but I will get that bowl cleaned right away.”

  They both are staring at me like I’ve said I want to sing them a love song. Which, if that meant barreling out my own heartbroken version of a Garth Brooks or Shania Twain to keep my job, well criss-cross over my heart I would do it. Yes, indeed, whatever it takes, even some low-key karaoke in an ice-cream factory. I’d muck up my bravery and step up to the counter.

  “Sahara, don’t worry about the dishes. We have a cleaning crew.” Rebecca shakes her head. “This. This is so freaking fantastic. You nailed it.” She takes another spoonful and swallows a bite from my container of ice cream. “This is summer. Texas summer.”

  Jackie is nodding. “Yes, Sahara. Wow. I’m so impressed.”

  I jerk my head back. “Oh, thank you. I’m calling it Happy Fourth of July Texas Pie.”

  Rebecca slams her hand down on the counter. “Yes. Fantastic.”

  “Is that the name of the flavor, or do we let the customers vote?”

  Rebecca lets out a giggle. “This is going to be a flavor. This is our summer flavor. As far as the name goes, we can throw it to our marketing team to make sure they are on board. But this is happening. This is so happening.”

  My eyes hurt from straining. My first week on the job and I’ve created our flavor of the summer? I want to run up and hug Rebecca, and Jackie, too, but that might be a bit awkward. No, I’d best keep that to myself. Maybe when I get home I can give Ms. Myra a hug. Though there is a little small person inside me wishing that Brandon could be the one to embrace me. He did offer his arms up for future hugs if I so desired and, shoot, I desire one right now, badly. I swallow and let that bit settle back down into my mind and other organs that should not be in this moment. Not when I need to focus on what is being said to me and what this all entails. What does this mean for me? I take in a deep breath.

  Wow. I can’t believe I’ve finally made it. This is my first real job, a proper career-job, not like serving in Dairy Queen; it’s the first time I’m being appreciated for something more than scooping ice cream and scrubbing the counters down nice. I know Blue Ribbon is all about the customers… we all scream for ice cream and all that good stuff. But I personally don’t have to. I don’t have to scoop up any more ice cream to customers. No sireee, I’m moving on up. I’ve left my scooper back in Mexia, not like the other day when Brandon wanted me to give one final goodbye to Dairy Queen. Nope. I did that on my own. And I’m doing this on my own. I can and will. I know my mama doesn’t think I can but I’m gonna prove her wrong, just like Eagle Online… My shoulders slump. She didn’t think I could finish the course… but I did. And even though they are tied up in lawsuits, I’m not. I still have to figure out the bills situation and I will. I’ll figure it all out. I can do this. I nod my head as if I’m agreeing with the speaker, which is me inside my head. Sahara is preaching to the choir of Sahara, and that is fine. I don’t need anyone else to cheer me on. I’ve been doing this for a while. Though it has been nice with Ms. Myra and even nicer with Brandon, that is neither here nor there, and most likely there, as in left, gone, bye. I need to let that idea float down into a moment of not going to happen. The only thing I need to focus on is my list. I made a to-do list and that is on it. Along with the rest of my chores for Ms. Myra.

  Ms. Myra did not look good today. I checked on her before I left and she was still in bed, which never happens; she is always in the kitchen by the time I finish showering. This morning I went and knocked on her door and she was still under the covers. She looked so frail. I’m sure she has cancer. She looks just like Dorothy Jones in her last days. It pangs at my heart. I’m so worried about her. But I know there is nothing I can do. I’m not some experimental doctor and, even with the fancy drugs and procedures, I’ve seen too many people just drift away until the end and then they’re gone.

  A tear drops from my eye. I don’t want Ms. Myra to be gone. I don’t know why, but she means so much to me. My shoulders slump again. Well, of course I know why. She treats me better than… well, she is just special and she makes me feel special. I don’t want to lose her, too. I can’t. I have to figure out something. I’ve got to get her to the doctor; maybe she hasn’t tried everything. There is always hope, no matter what. This I do know to be true.

  I glance at the clock. Lunchtime it is. I grab my purse from the drawer and pop up and into Brandon.

  I jump. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to check on you.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t think executives are supposed to be in this creative space.” I clear my throat and put the straps of my purse on my shoulder.

  Brandon grabs my hand and practically drags me out of the room. I follow behind him silently as we pass by several doors and he leads me into the stairwell. If it weren’t my first week on the job and he wasn’t the boss’s son, I would be screaming at him right now. Of course, it’s difficult for me not to want to follow him besides.

  “Sahara, don’t do this to me. I need you.” He presses his lips to mine and I can’t help but kiss him back. His scent is so strong, his heavy musk only reminds me further of our muddy magical moment and his lips are so full. Full of memories of what might have been. But I’m just a joke or something in his world. I can’t be a part of that. I step back.

  “Brandon, I don’t want to be your joke.” I swallow and pat my hair down.<
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  “What are you talking about? Sahara, I… I love you. I need you.” He steps closer to me.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Am I dreaming? Is this possible? This guy that seems too good to be true and definitely too good for me is standing in front of me, the guy I gave everything to, he… he loves me? I bite my lip.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I love you. Please let’s talk about whatever is bothering you and get past it. I can’t live another day without you in it.” He reaches for my hand and kisses each of my knuckles.

  Tears stream down my face. I can’t even respond. I don’t even know if I’ve ever heard someone speak those three little words to me. Three big words. Bigger than my whole world. How is it possible for Brandon to speak those words to me? Me? I’m a nobody. He’s a somebody. He was born meant to be somebody and I was meant just to exist. To pass through… I can’t.

  I shake my head. “Brandon, I can’t.”

  “What are you saying? Just because you didn’t know who my family was?” He runs his hand through his hair. “For the record, I didn’t know who your family was either… but that didn’t stop me. That didn’t keep me from caring. Sahara, if you are saying you don’t feel this bursting love I’ll back away. But I won’t believe you. I won’t.” He grabs my hand and places it over his heart.

  “Tell me. I know you feel it.” He pulls my chin up. And kisses me. “Tell me. I know you feel it, too.”

  My heart is aching. I want to tell him. But I’m afraid. What if this isn’t real? What if he changes his mind? What if I change my mind? That’s a silly thought. Of course I won’t change my mind; that isn’t possible.

  I stare up into his sky-blue eyes and let myself go. I nod. His lips meet mine and our tongues move in ways that should not be happening in the stairwell at work. Definitely not. I don’t want to stop. I run my fingers through his hair with such a need. I want him to whisk me up in his arms and return to his truck, to the moment where we experienced something that separated us from everyone else. We were all alone in our own world away from all my worries and fears.