On the way back, he had stopped at a little ice cream place. Adults with their children, dressed in little costumes, like ladybugs or tigers, stood in line or sat at little picnic tables eating ice cream.
The building was orange, like a Tangerine, with a white roof and wide window that had different pictures of ice creams and prices taped to it.
The place felt almost comforting, and innocent compared to the rest of the world.
"What do you want?" He asked, still in that soft voice. "Pomegranate sounds good."
I looked up at him, and then the different pictures of ice creams in the window.
"I've actually never had ice cream," I said, a little sheepishly.
"Never had ice cream?" He looked at me and mouthed a wow. "Well," he leaned down, closer to my eye level, "vanilla's good... or, if you want to be a little adventurous, you could try pomegranate."
I stared at the window, looking at the price of a pomegranate cone ($2.99), and then a mini cup ($1.15).
"... I don't have any money on me."
He smiled, "I'm not gonna make you pay. So... A pomegranate?"
I nodded after a moment, "just a mini, please."
He walked up and ordered two pomegranate cups and then sat down at a little table.
"So... why haven't you ever tried ice cream? That's kinda bizarre to me," he laughed softly.
Carefully, I worked over it in my mind. What I could say, what I couldn't say.
"We weren't allowed sweets at the orphanage."
"Really?" He leaned back. "They sound strict."
I nodded, looking down at my feet briefly. The shoes that were Clara's and that were a little too big for me, the small scuff marks along the sides, the small pen sized hole in the front.
"You don't like talking about the orphanage, do you?" He lowered his voice.
"Um... not really," I said. And to my relief, a lady had called out our order.
He got up and grabbed them both.
"One pomegranate. Trust me, you'll like it," he said.
I picked up my spoon and took a small bite.
It was rich, with a tart edge, and a cranberry-cherry undercurrent. It was delicious.
"It's good," I said.
"Just good? Not, thank you? This was the best decision I've ever made?"
I smiled, "thank you. It's good."
He nodded, "that's better," and smiled. "So, what do you do?"
"I don't... I don't understand, I'm sorry."
He smiled, "what do you like to do? Paint? You seem like you would be a painter."
"Oh... No, I don't paint. I... I like to read," I said.
"Mmm, what like?" He leaned closer, putting his elbows on the table as he ate.
I stared, noting this, noting that was something we wouldn't have been allowed to do at the orphanage.
"I, um... classics mostly, history. I like biographies."
"Mm, okay. Have you read Frankenstein then?" He asked.
"Yes."
"We read it in school my junior year. Too much chasing, not enough monstering."
I laughed softly, "Oh. It was good, wordy, but I liked it... Um, do you read?"
He looked at me and smiled, "not in the slightest."
"Oh."
We had left soon after, and he dropped me off at my house. "Bye," he said.
I looked back before I shut the door, "bye."
I went inside, Clara asking me how it went.
"Good," I said, and I left it at that.
She smiled, and then we had both gone to bed.