Ice Cream Lover

by Jackie Lau

  I never liked Rhiannon. She was one of those mean girl types, and I’m not sure what Lisa saw in her.

  “Know that he’s the inspiration for Marvin Wong?” Chloe says. “Yes, I’m aware of that. I read the book.”

  Rhiannon seems taken aback. “Right.”

  Her companion—a man who was her boyfriend three years ago and could be her husband now—says nothing but rests his hand on her waist.

  “Alright, we better be going,” Rhiannon says. “You kids have fun. But, Chloe, I suggest you don’t make the same mistake as my best friend.”

  As soon as she walks away, I chug one of my little glasses of cider.

  “Hey.” Chloe rests her hand on my knee. “Don’t let it ruin our night. I honestly don’t care what your ex and her friends think of you.”

  “Maybe you should,” I say, picking up the next glass of cider. “I don’t understand why it doesn’t bother you. There are tons of men or women you could date who weren’t left at the altar and didn’t turn out to be the villain in a bestselling memoir.”

  “It’s just bad luck that it happened to you.”

  “It’s not simply bad luck.”

  “I called you the inspiration for Marvin because I suspect it wasn’t entirely accurate. Lisa said you were grouchy, and okay, I can see her point, though you’re really not that bad. But you’re not a bastard who’s crushing my spirit and melting my inner ice cream sandwich.” She shakes her head. “God, I can’t believe I just said that. I’m serious, though. I like being with you, Drew, and I don’t feel like you’re stopping me from reaching my full potential, like Lisa seems to believe. Maybe you were different with her—it was several years ago. Maybe you weren’t well suited. Maybe she exaggerated to make a better story.”

  I look down. “She did overstate things a bit, but...” I take a deep breath, and I tell Chloe my deepest fear. “Even if the details aren’t all correct, I can’t help wondering, ‘What if she’s right?’ I think she might be right about me as a person. I bring others down. I’m not a great boyfriend.”

  I don’t mention the thing that haunts me the most, but still, I’m surprised I admitted as much as I did.

  “She isn’t,” Chloe says.

  How can she speak with such conviction? She hasn’t known me all that long.

  “For example,” she continues, “you might not like ice cream, you might not exactly understand my desire to run an ice cream shop, but you’ve never discouraged me. On Thursday night, after I had dinner with my family, you were supportive, as I knew you would be. Beneath that slightly surly exterior, you’re kind and thoughtful. I haven’t had...” She swallows. “I haven’t had a relationship like this in a long time. It’s not like I can open up to everyone.”

  I release the breath I was holding.

  “Do you believe me?” she asks, concern in her beautiful face.

  I nod.

  I do believe her, kind of. I feel better now, though I’m not fully convinced.

  But I won’t bombard her with my insecurities any further.

  Just my luck that in a large city, we somehow ran into a former bed partner of Chloe’s and my ex-fiancée’s best friend in the same night.

  * * *

  We stay on the patio until ten o’clock, and then we walk back to my place. Now that the sun has gone down, it’s cooling off, and I rub Chloe’s arms to warm them up. She laughs.

  “I’m fine,” she says. “Don’t worry about me.”

  And then she kisses me in the middle of the sidewalk.

  At home, I push down the straps of her dress, as I’ve been longing to do all evening, and take her nipples into my mouth. My hand slides up her leg, and I pleasure her until she’s trembling in my arms.

  Then I do it again. And again.

  And then I push inside her.

  Afterward, Chloe falls asleep quickly, but I stay awake. For three years, I almost never shared a bed with someone, so this past week has been quite a change. I’ve generally been sleeping well, but tonight is different. Tonight, my fears from earlier return.

  What if I’m bad for her? I couldn’t bear it if I drove the spark from her eyes, the spring from her step, and I fear that’s what a man like me would inevitably do.

  Then there’s the issue of children. I know it’s too early to be thinking about that, but I can’t help it. I suspect Chloe wants children. And I...

  Well.

  Marvin Wong would make a horrible father.

  That’s what Lisa wrote in her book.

  I finally fall asleep, only to have another vaguely disturbing dream about unicorns.

  Chapter 19

  Chloe

  Tuesday afternoon, I make a new batch of Hong Kong milk tea ice cream. When I come out to the front, a familiar figure is walking toward the counter.

  I smile. “Grandma!”

  Lillian is behind her, looking a little bigger than the last time I saw her. “Hey, Chloe. It’s super cute in here.”

  Grandma nods, then turns to Lillian. “Your little girl will love it.”

  I hope I’m still in business when Lillian’s child is old enough to toddle across the floor and sit on the rocking unicorn. “You’re having a girl?”

  “Yes!” Lillian says. “She’s giving me enormous cravings for ice cream.”

  “You came to the right place. You can try samples of anything you like.” I gesture to the blackboard that lists the flavors.

  “What’s taro?” Grandma asks.

  “A root vegetable.” I point to the tubs. “It’s the purple one.”

  “Purple! That doesn’t seem natural.”

  “Would you like to try it?”

  Grandma shakes her head, but Lillian says, “I’ll have a taste.”

  I hand her a spoon with the “unnatural” purple ice cream.

  “Hmm. It’s pretty good. You should try it, Grandma.”

  “I’ll try the green tea instead.”

  I hand a sample of green tea ice cream to my grandmother, bracing myself for her response to something that isn’t chocolate or butterscotch or vanilla.

  To my surprise, her face lights up. “You wouldn’t think tea and ice cream would go well together, but they do. This is delicious.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I want to try something else. Maybe ginger? I’m skeptical, but if the green tea was good...”

  Grandma tries the ginger, strawberry-lychee, Hong Kong milk tea, and Vietnamese coffee. I’d normally limit customers to two samples, but she’s my grandmother and we’re not busy. Plus, I like how she enjoys every single one, much to my surprise.

  This isn’t just my grandmother being nice. She’s always honest when it comes to food.

  “Durian,” she says. “That’s the spiky fruit, isn’t it?”

  Everything has gone well so far, but I seriously doubt my grandmother, who makes deviled eggs, meatloaf, and lime Jell-O salad, will enjoy durian.

  “It smells really, really bad,” I tell her. “Like natural gas.”

  “But it tastes good?”

  “Some people think so. It’s Valerie’s favorite thing in the world.”

  “I must try it,” she says.

  I hand her a sample.

  “Oh, God. That smells vile.” Lillian turns away, and I’m afraid my pregnant cousin is going to be sick, but she recovers quickly.

  Grandma sniffs and makes a face. “I can’t believe it’s a fruit.” She slides the spoon into her mouth, and her eyebrows pop up.

  She must be disgusted by this weird Asian stuff. It was bound to happen eventually.

  “Wow,” she says. “That’s amazing.”

  I stare at her incredulously. “Really?”

  “It’s your ice cream, Chloe. You must know it’s good.”

  I can’t manage a response. My grandmother likes durian ice cream?

  “Can I get three flavors in a medium cup?” she asks.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll have the green tea, ginger, and durian.” />
  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sit next to you,” Lillian says.

  “You’ll manage.”

  I suppress a laugh.

  “I’ll have the taro, strawberry-lychee, and Hong Kong milk tea,” my cousin says as she hands me a twenty.

  Valerie takes over at the counter while I sit with my family.

  “Your father tells me you have a new man,” Grandma says in between bites of green tea ice cream.

  “I do. His name is Drew.” Although I’m a little annoyed that everyone seems to know about this, I can’t help but smile when I say his name.

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Lillian says. “You told me at Grandma’s party that you were too busy with the store to date.”

  I shrug. “Sometimes things just happen.”

  Like my grandmother discovering she enjoys durian ice cream.

  She even buys a pint to take home.

  * * *

  That evening, I spend some time in the tiny office at the back, looking over the finances. Ginger Scoops isn’t doing terribly, but not as well as I’d like. People come in, they enjoy my ice cream, occasionally there are busy spells...but we’re getting into summer, and I’d hoped to be doing a little better by now.

  I have Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter accounts for Ginger Scoops and post semi-regularly. We also have a website. We’ve had a few small-time food bloggers write about us, but we haven’t gotten big press.

  This is a crucial time and I need to focus on making sure my business succeeds, yet I’m starting a new relationship. Is that really such a great idea?

  I imagine flipping the sign on the door from “open” to “closed” for the very last time, and I press my fists to my eyes to prevent the tears from falling.

  I have to make this work.

  “Chloe?”

  It’s Drew.

  “Valerie let me in,” he explains.

  I look at the time. It’s nine thirty.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “I’m fine. Just looking over the books.” I shake my head. “Our sales numbers need to be higher. I assume you aren’t an expert in marketing?”

  “Marketing.” He makes a face, and I can’t help but laugh. “You have a good product. You haven’t been open that long. It’ll work out.”

  “Look at you, Mr. Optimistic.”

  “Well, you do make a good product.”

  “First of all,” I say, “you only tried it once, and that wasn’t exactly a raging success.”

  “Everyone else loves it.”

  “Second of all, lots of restaurants make good food and don’t survive. A good product is only part of it.”

  “I believe in you.”

  “Have you turned into Havarti Sparkles?” I joke.

  However, he sounds like he truly means it, and I don’t think Drew is the sort to throw statements like that around carelessly.

  He pulls me up from my chair and gives me a hug. “Come home with me. You’ve been here since eleven thirty, haven’t you?”

  I nod.

  “Did you eat dinner?”

  “No.”

  “You have to take care of yourself. You can’t think clearly on an empty stomach.”

  We go to his place, and he lifts me onto a stool at the breakfast bar in his kitchen.

  “How about a grilled cheese?” he says. “Cheddar is the only cheese I have. Is that okay? I’ll put some basil in it, too. That’s how I like it.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Drew slices several pieces of cheddar and places them on top of a piece of bread with basil leaves. Although it’s not very exciting to watch someone make a grilled cheese sandwich, I love looking at him as he moves around the room, his intense concentration, the bulge of his arm muscles.

  I love that he’s taking care of me. It’s not something I’m used to anymore.

  While the sandwich is cooking, he cuts up some carrot and celery sticks for me. This makes me melt more than anything, the fact that he’s making sure I get my veggies.

  “Would you like your grilled cheese sliced in two?” he asks.

  “Diagonally, please.”

  “Not horizontally?”

  “What are you, a monster?”

  “Shh.” He puts a finger to his lips. “I don’t want word to get out.”

  “That’s okay. I like you anyway.”

  He smiles as he cuts my sandwich, then places the plate of grilled cheese and vegetables in front of me. “Eat up.”

  Drew is a little surly on the outside, but he’s complete mush inside.

  How did his ex not see that?

  Afterward, he lets me raid his chocolate stash and massages my shoulders. We sit on the couch together, arms around each other.

  I could stay here forever.

  But that’s a dangerous thought. I can’t lose my focus; I can’t afford to jeopardize my business. I started Ginger Scoops in honor of my mother, and I have to prove to my father that I wasn’t crazy to give up my goal of being a dentist.

  For tonight, though, I can let Drew be a distraction. I climb onto his lap and kiss him, really kiss him. His arms are around me, his hands slipping through my hair, and it feels so good. So right.

  In fact, I’m hit with the overwhelming feeling that I belong.

  Chapter 20

  Drew

  I didn’t look after Michelle last weekend, but I’ve decided to see her—and the rest of my family—more often going forward. I like spending time with my niece.

  When I get to Nathan and Adrienne’s house that Saturday, Michelle rushes to greet me at the door. “Uncle Drew!”

  “Hey, Michelle.” I smile.

  “We’re going to use the pasta maker together. We’re making fettucine with mushrooms!”

  “Sure, sweetie.”

  Nathan appears. He came back from Seattle for good last weekend. “Just going out to run an errand.”

  “You have to come back for lunch, Daddy. Uncle Drew and I are cooking for you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be here.”

  Michelle and I head to the kitchen. On the table, there’s a long list of pasta shapes in her handwriting, as well as the long list of cheeses she made the other week.

  “Mommy said you don’t know how to spell mozzarella,” she says.

  “She’s right. I don’t.”

  “It’s M-O-Z-Z-A-R-E-L-L-A.”

  Michelle spells it three more times to make sure I’ve learned my lesson—yep, I’m being schooled by a six-year-old—before we get out the flour, eggs, and salt. Since she’s made pasta with her father twice already, she’s the expert, and she keeps bossing me around.

  “I think we’re done,” I say after I’ve kneaded the dough for five minutes.

  She glares at me. “It’s not done. It has to be smooth and elastic, Uncle Drew. It’s not smooth yet. The recipe says eight to ten minutes.”

  She has the whole recipe memorized, apparently. I can’t help marveling at her memory.

  Finally, Michelle decrees that the dough is ready and it’s time to let it sit for thirty minutes.

  “How about ten minutes?” I say, just to annoy her.

  “No! It has to be thirty minutes!”

  I laugh. “Okay. Thirty minutes. What should we do while we wait?”

  “We’re going to make an arugula salad.”

  “Sure.”

  “And a ten-layer chocolate cake!”

  I give her a look. “You’re being silly.”

  She can’t stop giggling. “How did you know?”

  “Because it takes more than thirty minutes to bake a ten-layer chocolate cake.”

  I tickle her, and she continues to giggle.

  “Do you think Chloe can teach me how to make ice cream?” she asks.

  “You can ask her the next time you see her.”

  Michelle jumps up and down. “I’m going to make ice cream!”

  “Wait until you ask her.”

  But I’m sure Chloe will say yes,
and I get some warm, fuzzy feelings at the thought of them in the kitchen together.

  “Chloe is my hero,” she says.

  “I thought the rat in Ratatouille was your hero.”

  She shakes her head. “Chloe is real, not a cartoon, and she’s prettier than a rat—”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her you said that. Such a big compliment.”

  “—and she makes ice cream for her job! Isn’t that cool?”

  “Well, she’s my girlfriend, so obviously I think she’s pretty great. But I wish you hadn’t told your mother about our date. You did not hold up your end of the deal, Michelle,” I say with faux sternness.

  “I couldn’t help it. It was really exciting news!”

  She takes some vegetables out of the fridge, and we spend the next half hour preparing the salad and cutting up the ingredients for the pasta sauce. We work mostly in silence, aside from when Michelle is telling me what to do, but my mind is anything but silent.

  I can’t stop thinking about how heartbroken Michelle would be if Chloe and I broke up.

  I also can’t help thinking about how I’ll never get to spend time in the kitchen with my own children.

  After all, millions of people have read the line that said I would make a horrible father, and the person who wrote that book was in the best position to judge.

  I have no intention of subjecting a child to a horrible father.

  Suddenly, my eyes are watering, even though I’m not cutting onions.

  * * *

  After I have lunch with Nathan and Michelle, the three of us play board games for a while before I head back downtown, planning to have a bottle of beer and a few squares of chocolate while I read on my balcony.

  Then I remember that I finished my thriller last night and I don’t have anything to read. So after getting off the subway, I walk to the big bookstore nearby and find a few books in the mystery and suspense section. Books that promise dead bodies and creepy villains, and probably don’t contain unicorns or ice cream.

  But because of Chloe, I want to learn to like ice cream. I’m determined to do so. Maybe if I lick it off her naked body...

  I file this idea away for later and head to the checkout on the first floor. However, it’s crazy busy on the first floor. Perhaps there’s some kind of event.