Ice Cream Lover

by Jackie Lau

  I want my mother.

  I also want Drew, but if my mother had lived, I may never have met him.

  This is why it’s best not to think about what might have been.

  I hug my knees to my chest, trying to substitute for the touch of another person, but it’s not the same. It’s nowhere near the same.

  I am alone.

  * * *

  The rest of the week is a blur.

  I go to work. I obsessively straighten the tables and napkins. I make a new batch of passionfruit ice cream. Valerie asks me if something’s wrong, but I force a smile and say, “Nothing.”

  I don’t think she buys it.

  On Saturday morning before Ginger Scoops opens, I have a Skype date with my aunt and her new family. I’m doing it at the ice cream parlor so they can see what it looks like. Anita and two little girls appear on the screen.

  One of them waves at me. “You’re our new cousin! Chloe, right?”

  I nod. “And you are?”

  “Keisha!” She bounces in my aunt’s lap. “I can’t believe you work in an ice cream shop! My other cousins are babies. They don’t do much other than cry. They don’t work in ice cream shops. Mommy says it’s really good ice cream!”

  I walk to the counter with my tablet and show them the tubs of ice cream. Keisha asks me about each one. Sasha doesn’t say much but watches intently. She’s apparently the quiet one and spends lots of time with her books. She also likes drawing.

  “Which ice cream would you want to try, Sasha?” I ask.

  She twists her mouth, as though thinking very hard. “Chocolate-raspberry.”

  “Good choice.”

  “I want to try all of them!” Keisha says. “Especially the purple one.”

  “Taro,” I say. “That’s a good choice, too.”

  Sasha crosses her arms. “They can’t all be good choices. I bet the purple one is nasty.”

  “You’re wrong!” Keisha pushes her sister.

  A minor kerfuffle ensues, but my aunt soon gets everything straightened out, and I show them the unicorn in the corner and the patio out front. Keisha decides to name the unicorn Twinkle.

  A few minutes later, I talk to Isaac and Deidre, and then Aunt Anita returns.

  My mother would have been thrilled for her. If Mom were still alive, I bet Anita would have told us about her girlfriend and invited us to the wedding, even if it was a small affair.

  “So, what’s new with you?” Anita asks.

  I don’t want to talk about me. “How was the rest of your honeymoon?”

  She tells me a little about Montreal and Quebec City but quickly turns the conversation back to me. “What’s wrong, Chloe?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  She gives me a look.

  “Mom would have been very happy for you.”

  Her smile is sad. “I know.”

  I hesitate. “Drew broke up with me, and I had a fight with my father. So, to be honest, things aren’t great, but somehow, I’ll make it through.”

  “I know you will.”

  I don’t feel like telling her the details, but it’s good to know she’s back in my life and plans to stay there. She says she’ll call me next week.

  If Aunt Anita and I can have an argument and then come out stronger on the other side, then maybe that will happen with Dad and me, too. But it’s a different situation. I was angry at my aunt, but ultimately, we wanted the same things. She showed up in Toronto already wanting to make a change.

  My father, however, hasn’t called me since our argument, and I’ve been doubting myself. Whenever the phone rings, I keep expecting it to be him, but it never is. Perhaps I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about everything? After all, I don’t have it that bad.

  Still, it had been haunting me for so long.

  I blow out a breath. I’m not sure how it will turn out with my dad, but I don’t think I regret telling him the truth. It had to be done.

  * * *

  Valerie and I arrive at Sarah’s at seven thirty on Sunday evening. Sarah immediately pushes me into a chair, shoves a glass of wine in my direction, and hands me a meat pie.

  I down most of my wine in one gulp, and Valerie and Sarah exchange a look.

  “Okay, work week’s over,” Valerie says, “and you’ve had some wine. Now will you tell us what happened?”

  “Why do you think something happened?” I ask, playing innocent.

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You haven’t been yourself all week. You’ve got bags under your eyes, and you aren’t talking much, and your smile looks forced. And Drew hasn’t come by Ginger Scoops. Did you break up?”

  I nod before shoveling meat pie into my mouth.

  “Well?” Valerie demands. “I need some details. Did he end it?”

  I nod again.

  “That bastard. Tell me where he lives and I’ll—”

  “Val.” I sigh. “Stop it. There’s no need for any of that. I expressed my feelings for him, and he told me we don’t belong together.” My voice hitches on the last two words. “I thought he felt the same way about me, but I was wrong.”

  “I guess that idiotic book was right after all. He’s an asshole. Like most men.”

  “No, Embrace Your Inner Ice Cream Sandwich is a load of garbage. The way Lisa Mathieson told it, he wasn’t supportive at all and he held her back, but that’s not the guy I know.”

  “You don’t need to defend him,” Valerie says. “He’s your ex. Besides, the man hates ice cream. That’s not natural.”

  “But he wasn’t melting my inner ice cream sandwich!” I can’t believe I said those words. I eat some more pie and drink some more wine. I’m starving. I forgot to eat lunch today. “We like very different things, but he made me stronger rather than holding me back. Really, he did.”

  I can’t reconcile the Drew I know with the Drew—well, Marvin Wong—in Lisa Mathieson’s book. Has he changed over the past few years? Is she lying? Is he a lot different with me than he was with her—and why?

  Drew feared that his ex was correct about him, but I know, in my heart, that she’s not correct about him being a crappy boyfriend, at least not anymore. But perhaps that’s why he ended it, saying he wasn’t right for me. He truly thinks he’s no good for me because of what she said.

  I shake my head. No, I’m pretty sure he just didn’t want me but was trying to be kind.

  “More wine,” Valerie says to Sarah. “She needs more wine so she can forget about that fucking asshole.”

  Sarah fills my glass with white wine, then hands me a piece of chocolate tart with Vietnamese coffee ice cream.

  “Chocolate,” I whisper. “He loves chocolate. He has a chocolate stash in his kitchen, did I tell you that?” I shove the plate away.

  Yeah, he’s ruined chocolate for me. I bet that’s temporary, but it’s upsetting nonetheless.

  “Shit,” Valerie says. “This is serious. You sure you don’t want to tell me where he lives?”

  Sarah puts another pie dish in front of me—a quarter of a lemon-lime tart—then squeezes the top of my shoulder, near my neck. Like Mom used to do.

  I’ve been holding in my tears since I came back from the cemetery on Tuesday, but now, I let them fall.

  “I miss my mother,” I sob. “I had a fight with my father because he’s still pushing me to go into dentistry. He can’t accept that I have no interest in it anymore, and he can’t accept that I’m...never mind. It’s stupid.”

  “I bet it’s not.” Sarah hauls me to my feet, and she and Valerie support me as they lead me to the couch. Valerie returns to the kitchen to get the lemon-lime tart and our wineglasses, and then my friends each sit on either side of me.

  Valerie was my best friend before my mom died, and she’s still my best friend now, but there’s a distance between us that wasn’t there before. Losing my mother was an isolating experience, not only because I lost such an important person in my life, but because it set me apart from all my friends, who s
till had two parents.

  One minute my mother was there, and the next she was gone. She died instantly, which I guess was for the best—I hate to think of her lingering in agony—but I never got to say goodbye.

  That gulf between me and other people was partly my own doing. It was my way of surviving, and that’s exactly what I did. Being cheerful in public, but not opening myself up further, helped me cope.

  I am a happy, peppy person, and people expect that of me, and I like being that person, but being with Drew was like permission to not have to act that way when I wasn’t in the mood. He made me feel safe.

  Most of the things I tell my friends, while I drink my wine and stuff my face with dessert, are things I’ve already told Drew. It’s not so hard now.

  These are my friends, and I belong with them, too.

  And it’s okay to feel what I feel. It’s been a few years now, and I no longer have to keep everything bottled up in an attempt to manage my grief.

  By ten o’clock, I’m drunk, high on sugar, and all cried out. I’ve said everything I need to say, and I feel...well, pretty crappy, to be honest, but a part of me feels at peace.

  “I miss Drew so much,” I whisper. “I still don’t really understand what happened. We were so good together, and then...”

  “It’s okay,” Sarah says soothingly. “Sometimes these things just happen.”

  “I really want to kick that idiot’s ass,” Valerie grumbles. “If only you’d let me.”

  “Did you see his arms?” I certainly spent a lot of time admiring them. “He would have no trouble defending himself from the likes of you.”

  “Then I’ll force him to eat ice cream.”

  That makes me laugh, really laugh. I feel unhinged, crying one moment and laughing the next.

  I try to stand up, but my legs aren’t working right.

  “Do you want to spend the night here?” Sarah asks.

  “Sure.” It’s only a twenty-minute walk home, but that sounds impossible right now.

  Valerie decides to stay, too, so we pull out the couch to turn it into a bed, and Sarah gets us some blankets.

  I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

  * * *

  I open an eye, then immediately shut it.

  The room is too bright. Why is it so bright?

  And why is someone snoring next to me?

  Drew!

  Yes, it must be Drew.

  I’ve never heard him snore before, but it’s a light snore, not loud enough to shake the marbles in my brain. How I’ve missed him.

  I throw an arm over the other side of the bed, and to my surprise, encounter a breast.

  “Chloe!” shrieks someone who is definitely not Drew.

  Valerie. Right. The events of last night slowly come back to me.

  I’m at Sarah’s, on her pull-out couch, and Valerie is next to me

  “Sorry,” I mumble, opening my eyes. “I thought you were Drew.” I sit up. My back hurts—the couch probably wasn’t the best place to sleep—and my head hurts, too. Is that from the booze or the crying? I fumble for my purse and pull out some ibuprofen. I’m about to swallow it dry, but Sarah appears with some orange juice.

  “What the hell is Havarti Sparkles?” Valerie asks. “You kept mumbling that in your sleep.”

  “It’s the unicorn Drew painted at his niece’s paint-your-own-unicorn party.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m sorry I tried to snuggle you. I didn’t mean to grope your breast.”

  “It’s okay. We’re cool.”

  Valerie and I sound like shit, but Sarah is perky.

  “Breakfast?” she asks. “I can make blueberry pancakes and bacon. Coffee?”

  “Sounds good,” I say.

  As Sarah sets about cooking breakfast, I check my phone. To my surprise, I have texts from an unknown number, as well as several missed calls. All from this morning.

  First message: Dear Chloe, I have gotten a smart phone. Now I can be cool and text! Love, Grandma.

  Second message: Dear Chloe, Sorry, I accidentally pocket dialed you four times. Love, Grandma.

  Third message: Lillian informs me that I don’t need to say “Dear Chloe” and “Love Grandma” in every message. I don’t know. It seems impolite to me.

  Fourth message: Here is my first selfie!

  There is not, however, a picture of my grandmother, but one of the carpet.

  Fifth message: Sorry, that didn’t work. Here is my first selfie!

  This message is accompanied by a picture of half my grandmother’s face.

  Sixth message: I hear these emojis are cool.

  This is followed by the eggplant, peach, and poop emojis.

  I stare at the screen, eyes wide, unable to make a sound.

  Seventh message: Do you think that last emoji is supposed to be soft-serve chocolate ice cream?

  “What’s going on?” Valerie asks. “You look horrified.”

  “My grandmother learned how to text.” I hand Valerie my phone.

  As she scrolls past the eggplant and peach emojis and bursts into laughter, I’m reminded of the present Drew gave me. The eggplant and peach amigurumi, which are sitting on my night-table at home. I feel like someone is clenching my heart and squeezing too hard, just at the thought of an eggplant and a peach.

  Ugh. This is ridiculous.

  “Chloe? Did you see the video your grandmother sent you?”

  “She sent me a video?”

  “Well, it took her four attempts, but...”

  Valerie holds the phone between us. Grandma’s text says: You know that ice cream sandwich book I gave you? Apparently the author did a signing in Toronto last week.

  There’s a link to a jerky video taken on a phone. Valerie turns on the sound, and I hear someone shout, “Marvin Wong! It’s Marvin Wong!” A crowd of women rush toward a man standing by a table.

  It’s Drew.

  Drew was nearly trampled at one of Lisa Mathieson’s signings. And if this was last week, maybe it explains everything.

  “What was he doing at that signing?” Valerie asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe he wants her back?”

  I glare at my friend. “She left him at the altar and trashed him in a book. I don’t think so. If I had to guess, I would say he wanted answers.” I replay the video. “I bet this is why he broke up with me. Being mobbed by a group of angry women made him think that the book was correct, and he started to truly believe he didn’t deserve to be with me. I thought he didn’t share my feelings and was trying to let me down easy, but—”

  “Chloe.” Valerie looks at me sadly. “You have to move on. It’s over.”

  Sarah comes over with our cups of coffee. “I don’t know. Chloe might have a point. Drew’s situation is rather unusual, and some things deserve a second chance.”

  “Absolutely not.” Valerie is probably thinking about her ex.

  My friends continue to argue about second chances, and I sip my coffee and stare at my phone. Should I visit Drew? Ask him exactly what happened with Lisa?

  Or should I just move on?

  I can’t stop myself from sending him a text, a simple Hey, how are you?

  An hour later, he hasn’t responded.

  But my grandmother has texted me again: My boyfriend has informed me that I should not have sent you the eggplant and peach emojis. When he told me what they mean, I was mortified. I’ve also learned that the other emoji is not actually chocolate ice cream...

  Wait a second. My grandmother has a boyfriend?

  Chapter 24

  Drew

  Glenn is busy with his family, so it’s another week before we’re able to meet at the bar. I sit sullenly at a table in the back, imperial stout in hand, as I wait for him.

  It’s been a shitty week. I haven’t slept well, and I had another dream—I refuse to call it a nightmare—about unicorns. Also, a colleague stole my chocolate at work again, and it took every bit of restraint I had n
ot to yell at him.

  I’ve spent most of my free time at home, moping and thinking about Chloe. About how it felt to wake up with her pressed against my chest, about the way her laugh made me smile. I remember eating dinner with our hands clasped together under the table. I want more of that, but I can’t. I can’t do that to her.

  And after a year of not being able to eat ice cream, I’ve finished two pints in a week.

  A video of me being chased out of the bookstore has gone viral, and it’s racked up millions of views and thousands of comments on YouTube. Some people have commented on my resemblance to Chris Pang, and there’s even a petition to cast Chris Pang as Marvin Wong in the movie adaptation of Embrace Your Inner Ice Cream Sandwich. There’s also wide speculation about why I was at the book signing. Some people suspect I was trying to win Lisa back; others think I was there to give her a piece of my mind. One weirdo thought I was trying to warn her of an impending alien attack.

  A Korean-American journalist used the video as a starting point for his rant about how tough Asian men have it in the dating world. Of me, he said, “This guy has it all. A good job, good looks, a full head of hair, and rather than chasing after him for a date, women are trying to run him out of a bookstore.” Actually, that video spurred a number of discussions about race, which I’ve done my best to avoid, though I did see a post by someone who complained that my bad reputation was making things even worse for Asian men in the dating world.

  “Hey, Drew.” Glenn sits down across from me. “I saw the video.”

  “You and everyone else in the world,” I mutter.

  “Is that why you look like trash?”

  “Do I?” I say mildly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  He gives me a look.

  “I had a break-up.”

  “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. I thought you weren’t dating anymore.”

  “I wasn’t, but Chloe...she was special.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  I shake my head. “But I was wondering if you could ask Radhika to do me a favor.”

  “Sure, man. What is it?”

  “Chloe owns an ice cream shop on Baldwin Street. Homemade ice cream, Asian-inspired flavors. Taro, Vietnamese coffee, Hong Kong milk tea ice cream—things like that. It opened a few months ago, and business is not as great as it could be. I was wondering if Radhika could review it on her blog?”