The Stars in the Sky

Chapter 30: Ice Cream

"Don't you miss bacon and eggs?" Will asked.

It was Saturday morning. We were both feeling the night before, but it was nothing that some Gatorade and Advil couldn't fix. We had shuffled into the chow hall in our sweats. Cookie had given Will a spinach and egg casserole for breakfast, while I had retrieved my cereal and rice milk from my stash and poured myself a bowl. We sat together in the middle of the room and ate with the wranglers and ranch hands. After they took off to check on the horses, Will had started asking me questions.

"Not really," I answered. "I have more of a sweet tooth. The one food I really miss is ice cream, but there are some good vegan ice cream brands out there, so I make do."

Will rolled his eyes and then gestured at my bowl with the fork in his hand. "How long have you been a vegan?"

"Three years. Before that, I was vegetarian. I haven't had meat since I was sixteen."

He just stared at me and shook his head. "You're missing out."

"I'm not going to kill any animals, Will."

"You don't kill a cow to eat ice cream."

"True. But I think that we raise animals in inhumane conditions and I'm not going to support the mistreatment of any animals. I don't support all of the growth hormones and antibiotics that are force fed to them. And then there are all of the resources that are required to produce the cattle — all of the land and processing and fossil fuels that are—"

"Inhumane conditions," he repeated, interrupting me.

"Yes. I saw this PETA video—"

"Fucking PETA. PETA's never been to my ranch. Have you seen our cattle?"

Here we go again with the arguing. Round one million.

"Well, clearly you don't have inhumane conditions—" I started, but he interrupted.

"I don't use growth hormones either."

"It's just something I believe in," I said, defensively. "It matters to me. I'm not going to change it."

Will looked over at my rice milk box, disgusted. "What you eat — it's not even food, Marie. It's — I don't know what that is that you eat. Why don't you just eat a normal meal like everyone else?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Would you do it on a dare? What if I took you to some fancy, organic, no-growth-hormone, ice cream place. The good shit. Would you eat it?"

I took a deep breath. Ice cream really was the thing that I missed the most about being a vegan. The other stuff, no. I didn't need it.

"Are you asking me if I would compromise a belief for you? I mean, that's what you're asking me, right? Would I change something about me if you dared me."

"Suppose so, yeah."

"That sounds an awful lot like a game, Will Thrash. You accused me of playing games, but now you're the one doing it."

"Fuck, I need more coffee before I can argue with you," he muttered.

"No you don't." I let out a sigh. "Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll do it if you do it too."

"Meaning?"

"I'll go eat ice cream—"

"—compromising your beliefs," he said mock-serious, now teasing me.

"—if you wear the tie dye all day and go with me wherever I want. We drive in my car. And we're going to go to every hippie store I can think of, Will, and you're going to try a lot of new things."

He laughed. "Can't picture me wearing that tie dye."

"Neither can I, so I want to see it big guy. And that's just the beginning. I'm thinking yoga and drum circles and spiritual enlightenment book stores. You're going to learn about the Law of Attraction and we're going to go to the Democratic headquarters in Santa Barbara."

"Oh, now that's just mean," drawled Will. "I offer to take you to have an ice cream cone. That's a date. You're punishing me."

"Take it or leave it. I'll eat ice cream, massively compromising my beliefs, I might add, and in exchange you do whatever it is I want you to do."

"No."

"No?"

"I'll wear the shirt and you can drive your car and we'll go wherever you want except nothing political."

Guess he didn't want to go there either.

"Mr. Thrash, I think you have yourself a deal."

After breakfast, we went over to the stables to check on the horses. Happy didn't really eat his breakfast, but I suppose he wasn't hungry. His stall looked pretty clean; the wranglers must have already mucked it out.

Since I had this strange living arrangement where I slept with Will — just sleeping for now — in his house, but my stuff was not there, I went to the bunkhouse and showered and changed, putting on white short shorts, flip flops, and a blue and white striped sailor shirt. Then I walked over to Will's house.

When I walked in, he was nowhere to be seen, so I called out, "Will," and he yelled from upstairs, "Come on up."

When I got up to his room, he was standing in his bedroom, dark hair wet and wavy, barefoot, shirtless, wearing Levi's.

My boy actually owned jeans other than Wranglers.

And he looked gorgeous in them: dark wash, low slung, hugging his ass just right. They hung below his boxers, so I guess he only went commando in Wranglers.

He smiled and said, "I can't believe you're actually making me do this." And he reached over, picked up the black and blue tie dyed shirt he made, and put it on.

Hoo-boy. Mr. Will always wore his shirts a little tight, and this was no exception. It hugged his chest, and his arm muscles bulged in the sleeves.

"Don't feel like myself," he said.

"You don't look like yourself," I said, and looked him up and down. He looked like a gorgeous guy that you would see at the health food store; but he didn't look like my Will. It was almost like it neutralized him. Truly, it was amazing how much his clothes and his cowboy persona defined him. He looked beautiful, but it was different.

Almost too different.

I had half a mind to let him take it off.

But nah.

"Can't wear boots with this," he said. "It feels wrong." And he pulled on some flip flops and some sunglasses.

I had not realized how much I was attracted to him as a rancher. Making him look like someone he wasn't felt off. I felt like I needed to throw him a bone.

"Tell you what. I'll buy me some Wranglers today and wear them for you, okay?" He shrugged. "Just Wranglers, no shirt."

"Deal," he said immediately.

We walked out to my car and he shuddered. "Can't believe I am letting you talk me into this," he said under his breath.

"I heard that."

"I don't know which is worse. Driving this hippie mobile or being driven."

"I'll drive," I said. "I know where I want to go."

"And I'll take you to McConnell's for ice cream."

Ooh. Local, old fashioned, the good stuff.

Yum.

I almost forgot that I was vegan.