Play Nice

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[This is where the summary would go if I'd bothered to write one.]

« Week 62Fear »
Ice Cream

“Do you think,” she starts, then stops. He waits, trying to figure out if she’s just thinking out loud or is too embarrassed to finish the question. After ten years, he’s learned not to assume anything when it comes to her.

She stands up and walks out of the room. He shakes his head and returns to his crossword puzzle. Number 43 down is giving him problems, but he doesn’t want to turn to the dictionary just yet. If he can only get the one perpendicular to it then—

“Well?” she asks, coming back from the kitchen. She has a serving spoon in her left hand and his—unopened—pint of Chunky Monkey in her right.

“Well what?” he asks, patiently though he’s worried about the fact that his ice cream is in her hands.

“Do you think we should,” she says, with a puzzled look in her eyes.

He sighs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. He stands up, walks toward her and reaches for the ice cream. “Thanks,” he murmurs. “But I think it’s a bit early for ice cream right now.”

She nods. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

He walks into the kitchen, relieved. Opening the freezer reveals that her pint of ice cream is still there, but again, with her you never know. He pushes the frozen meats aside and shoves his ice cream all the way to the back.

Turning around he discovers her sitting at the kitchen table. “It’s just that it’s Tony and I’d hate to disappoint him, you know?”

Finally understanding what she’s talking about he sits down next to her. “Honey, he understands that he’s asking for something huge here. You don’t have to decide right away.”

“I know,” she says. “Because it’s big I want to hurry up and make a decision. Get it over with. I’m tired of thinking about it. I want to be done with it.”

“Okay. Well ... I can’t tell you what to think or do here. It has to be your call.”

“But you’re going to be affected too.”

“Yeah, but not in the same way you will be, not even close really.”

“I know. I just wish—”

“I know.”

“I can’t think about it anymore right now,” she says, dejected. “You know what though? You’re wrong. It’s never too early for ice cream.”

He watched her as she stares out the window, her brow slightly wrinkled, her hand, unconsciously he guesses, at her stomach. He stands up, walks to the freezer, opens the door and once again pushes aside the frozen meats. He pulls his Chunky Monkey out from its hiding place and walks back to the kitchen table.

She looks up and smiles at him. “That’s yours,” she says.

“It’s okay. We’ll get some more tomorrow.”

Published 04/11/04 in Writing • | Views: 2653 times | Print

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